A Man Called Hope

by Sentimental Star

**COMPLETE** He was raised among the Elves of Imladris, and befriended the Elven Prince of Mirkwood. His name meant Hope in their language. But is that enough to allow him passage to Valinor?

8. Beyond Hope

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE GOING ON—ESPECIALLY #2!

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

WARNING #1: Messy emotions and tears ahead, so please grab a tissue box!

WARNING #2: Please understand, with the emotions as high as they are in this chapter I could think of no better way to express them than in the form I did. This should not be taken as slash if you do not wish it to be, but there are two males kissing on the lips—nothing explicit, but still…So if you are squeamish about that sort of thing, please skip over it.

A/N: ::sighs:: There, I think that covers it. I'm pretty sure this chapter should be rated M for the intensity of the issues dealt with in here, but I will not change the entire rating for one chapter. ::wryly eyes writing:: The difficult thing about writing very long chapters is that sometimes you cannot stop, so this is, once again, rather long. But I truly do hope you enjoy it, I know everyone has been waiting on pins and needles for this particular chapter.

Reviewers: All 60 of you, thank you! You have no idea how much I've appreciated your reviews, even if I do not always answer them.

'Sindarin (Elvish)'

"Westron (Common Speech)"

/Personal Thoughts/

Chapter VII: Beyond Hope

(Flashback, Two Hundred Five Years—TA 2936, Late Evening after Legolas's Arrival)

'I swear, Legolas! Estel has permanently adopted you into our family,' Elladan grumbled good-naturedly as he and Mirkwood's Crown Prince put the now sleeping young child to bed. 'Next time he refuses to sleep, I am sending an envoy to Mirkwood with express directions to drag you here by your hair if necessary.'

Legolas laughed softly. 'Please do! Anything to get away from those endless trade meetings.'

With Estel now firmly tucked in, Elladan went about the room lighting a few flaxseed oil lamps scattered throughout. Both Elves had their keen eyesight and ethereal light by which to navigate, but Estel's young mortal eyes, in spite of his heritage, were as yet untrained to see easily at night. And so the lamps were lit.

Legolas remained at the tiny Dúnadan's bedside, smoothing the five-year-old's dark tresses, arranging his blankets, and very much doting on the child as he watched him sleep.

Two hours prior, the three young Elves had bid Lord Elrond good-night in his study and taken Estel upstairs to bed. The young Human, however, simply would not sleep, unless Legolas told him a story. Which the prince did, unable to refuse him.

One story had turned into two, and two into three, until Legolas finally promised a very long story the next evening. Only then did Estel consent to lay down.

As often occurs with little children, it had not taken very much longer until the small boy was fast asleep. Elrohir had left the two of them to tuck him in, and Legolas knew Elladan was to bring him along when he followed. But strangely, he had no real desire to leave the child's room on this night.

'Does he always ask for stories about Elves and Humans, mellon-nin?' the Silvan Elf inquired softly of the Noldor.

Elladan finished lighting the final lamp and came to join his friend at his Human brother's bedside. 'Aye, usually,' the older twin murmured. ''Tis all he knows. Unfortunately, the only thing he remembers from his time with Men is the Yrch ambush on the Dúnedain encampment.'

Legolas leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the child's forehead before straightening and following Elladan out of the five-year-old's bedroom. 'And that is what his nightmares are about, yes? You told me something similar earlier this evening.'

The Peredhil nodded grimly. 'Aye, so I did. Wait 'til we arrive at mine and El's room, Legolas. Valar knows, the last thing Estel needs is the whole of Imladris hearing this.'

And with that statement, the two Elves fell silent, soundlessly traversing the empty upper corridors of the Last Homely House.

They arrived at the twins' shared quarters only a few minutes later and Legolas followed Elladan through the doors to find Elrohir already fast asleep on his bed. 'Guess he was tired,' Elladan muttered with a fond smile. He motioned the Wood-Elf over to a pair of overstuffed armchairs in front of the lit fireplace.

Gratefully, Legolas sat, realizing how tired he was. /I should head back to my rooms soon,/ he thought idly as Elladan took the chair across from him. /But I want to hear what 'Dan has to say first./ 'Elrohir will not mind?' he asked quietly, nodding to Elladan's still sleeping twin.

The older of the two shook his head. 'Nay. He knows already what I am going to tell you.' The Noldor Elf sighed. 'Well, shall we get on with it? A warning, mellon-nin, 'tis not something happy of which I speak.'

'I guessed as much,' Legolas murmured, pulling his legs up onto the chair.

'He has nightmares—you know this, I told you earlier. Or better to say,' the Peredhil observed bleakly, 'night terrors. He will not sleep after he suffers through those demons, Legolas. No matter whose bed he is in—Ada's, mine, Elrohir's, even Glorfindel and Erestor have had no success. Perhaps if Nana were here, but…' Elladan trailed off shaking his head. 'And it does not improve with daylight. Sometimes he goes for several nights on end with little more than naps to get him through. 'Tis worrying, mellon-nin. And scary. We have resorted to holding vigils in his room some evenings for fear he will wake because something tipped off the night terrors during the day. He rarely talks then, and is not particularly happy, even though he tries to hide it from us.' Elladan's eyes were dark as they glared into the weaving flames of the fire, dark and angry.

Legolas recognized that look. For the twins had worn the same expression whenever they hunted for Orcs. Standing from the chair, he crossed to where Elladan sat and rested his hand gently on the Noldor Elf's shoulder. 'You have not the power to take those memories or night terrors away, mellon-nin. No matter how many Yrch you kill,' he pointed out softly.

'I should,' the older Peredhil twin growled, not looking up from the flames.

The Silvan Elf shook his head. ''Twould not help Estel, Elladan. You know this.'

'But nothing does, Legolas!' the Noldor Elf cried quietly, whipping his head around to gaze up at their friend.

The Crown Prince smiled slightly. 'Are you a Vala, then, to determine what will or will not work? Perhaps it needs only time, mellon-nin. 'Tis possible that whatever it is simply has not been found, yet. I am willing to try, if you are,' he whispered.

Elladan's anger washed away to be replaced with thoughtful surprise. 'You would do that?'

Legolas's smile widened. 'I like Estel, 'Dan. And given time, I am sure I could come to love him, too.'

In spite of everything, the older Elf snickered softly. ''Come to love,' Legolas? I saw you tonight in Estel's room—you can hardly resist him.'

The Wood-Elf fondly rolled his eyes, but remained serious. 'I would help, Elladan,' he murmured.

'Your help would be most welcome,' the Peredhil finally responded quietly.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Little more than a few hours had passed since Legolas had taken his leave of Elladan, yet, he found himself unable to sleep as had originally been his intention when he returned here. He thought it might have something to do with the older twin's revelation, and found himself suddenly very glad that his guest quarters were located between the twins' and Estel's rooms. That meant if—Valar forbid—Estel awoke screaming from a nightmare, he would be able to hear him with ease.

But what Elladan had not told him was that only on occasion did Estel forget himself enough to scream during these 'night terrors.' Most often, he was aware enough of his physical location to realize that a scream would bring half the Last Homely House tumbling into his bedroom.

So when the door of Legolas's own bed chamber creaked open, causing him to snap his head up in surprise from where he was sitting up in his bed and reading a book by the light of a flaxseed oil lamp, he at first did not comprehend who exactly would be wandering around at this time of night. Then he caught sight of the silver eyes peeking through the crack the doors had made when they were opened.

Slowly, he laid aside his book, fearing that any abrupt movement might cause his little midnight visitor to flee. Carefully, he pulled back the covers on his bed and set his feet one at a time on the floor. 'Estel?' he scarcely dared breathe.

Shyly, Estel shuffled into the guestroom, closing the doors behind him with hardly a sound. The small Human merely stood where he was for several long seconds, lightly toeing the rug in front of him, with his hands fisted behind his back. His bowed head caused his wavy dark hair to fall in front of his face, hiding it from the prince's sight. But Legolas was quite sure his eyes were not deceiving him when a beam of moonlight caught a rivulet of water trailing down the young Dúnadan's cheek and made it sparkle.

The Silvan Elf held a slim hand out to the child, still sitting on the bed and keeping his voice low and soothing, 'Estel, hen, come here.'

Quickly, Estel did so, crossing the space between them in several small strides. He did not take Legolas's hand right away, pulling to a halt but a foot away from the prince. Large, scared silver eyes gazed up at the Wood-Elf.

Then, somewhere outside, an owl hooted.

Painfully skittish, Estel gave a tiny yelp and fairly launched himself into Legolas's arms, pressing his face tightly against the archer's sleeping tunic and clutching great handfuls of the silken material.

Legolas chuckled softly. 'That is only Brother Owl, Estel. He will not hurt you.' He gently brushed a hand through the child's tousled dark hair. 'I promise.'

Estel nodded frantically, but spoke not a word, and did not look up.

'Did you have a nightmare, tithen pen?' the Elf asked tenderly, continuing to run his hand reassuringly through the young boy's hair.

Estel nodded again, this one smaller and less frantic, almost as if he were ashamed. Still he did not speak.

'You need not fear my displeasure or disappointment, penneth,' Legolas soothed. 'I have also had nightmares, you know.'

This finally elicited a reaction from the shaking child in his arms. Estel looked up, a few soundless tears wending their way down his cheeks. Legolas was careful to keep his thoughts to himself/What child cries silently?/ he wondered sadly.

/One who's Naneth would not let him cry loudly for fear of giving away their position,/ his mind sniped.

Gently, he lifted Estel into his lap. 'Aye, Estel, I, too, have had nightmares,' Legolas confirmed. 'As does your adar and the twins. I am sure even Glorfindel must sometimes.'

The five-year-old pouted slightly. Clearly, he did not believe it.

The Crown Prince smiled indulgently. 'Well, think what you like, then,' he retorted lightly.

Estel's little hands reached up and wrapped themselves in the Silvan Elf's loose golden hair, allowing them to see eye-to-eye…er, chin. The young Dúnadan finally spoke, voice tiny, 'Lirimaer, please…can I stay with you tonight?'

Legolas's smile widened. 'Of course you can. But you also may.'

The child managed a small giggle, causing the Wood-Elf's smile to brighten. 'Come, Estel,' the prince murmured, easing them under the covers and allowing his smile to soften. 'Let's try to sleep, hmm?'

They were laying side by side now in the rather large bed, and Estel determinedly shook his head, hands clutching tighter to the Firstborn's hair. /Ah, so it begins,/ Legolas thought, hiding a wince.

'Are you scared to sleep, tithen pen?' the Silvan Elf asked gently.

Estel nodded slowly, burrowing his face in the prince's neck.

'Hmm,' Legolas muttered thoughtfully. /How to work this one out…/ he wondered. He smiled down at the dark head. 'Would you like to hear another story, then?'

Again, merely a nod. Legolas kissed the top of the tousled head. 'Shall I tell you about Túrin Turambar and Beleg Cúthalion—Strongbow—and how they outwitted some very nasty Trolls?'

Estel pulled back from Legolas's neck, a faint glint of excitement entering his eyes even amidst all the pain. He nodded eagerly.

Legolas laughed softly. 'Very well. That summer was very hot, so the evenings were always the best time to travel…'

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Estel fell asleep that night in the young Crown Prince's arms. Before his eyes slid shut, he asked one question that would put into motion events unforeseen by all save, perhaps, the Valar: 'Will you be my Strongbow?' asked in an innocent voice on the verge of sleep.

The Silvan archer started, throat seizing up. But finally, just before the child drifted off, he managed thickly, 'Yes, Estel. I will be your Strongbow.'

He never knew whether 'twas that promise which allowed the tiny Dúnadan to fall asleep in his bed when Elladan had said not even the child's Elven family had managed so much as to get him to smile. No one ever asked, and Legolas never told them, fearing much the possibility of hurting his friends.

(End Flashback)

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(Present Time—1541 S.R.; Just Before Dawn, Ship Bound for Valinor)

"Legolas! Legolas! Land! White shores!" came Gimli's excited roar, throwing the heretofore silent Elf out of his memories of the past.

The stout little man was actually standing on the ship's railing, facing West where Legolas had stood only the night before, waving elatedly to the Eagle who had called out the warning in thanks.

Slowly gaining his feet, Legolas wearily crossed the deck to join the Dwarf, his very steps flagging. Oddly, at first sight of those long-promised shores, no overwhelming joy rose in his heart as it should have. Instead, his heart—what little it felt like there was left—was awash with sharp, dancing pains.

He did manage to smile at the Dwarf, however. "My friend, wave any harder and you will topple yourself into the sea. And that would be quite disastrous, no?" he teased quietly.

Gimli just turned and grinned fiercely at him, too happy to care. "Then you will just have to dive after me, no?" he teased right back, and far more exuberantly.

"You can swim," Legolas retorted primly.

Gimli gave a great guffaw. "So I can, and so can you!"

"Ah, but you would drag me down," the Elf remarked easily, eyes twinkling faintly.

The Dwarf did not counter, and instead studied his fair friend's countenance with an unnerving intensity.

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. "Gimli?" he queried after several seconds of silence.

His shorter companion shook his head. "Laddie, you're a sight," he murmured—not unkindly.

The archer self-consciously hugged his shoulders, dropping his eyes from the shores before him and the Dwarf beside him. "Am I?" he whispered, his very soul laid bare to the aged warrior who knew him so well.

Gimli smiled ruefully. "Aye, just a bit."

The feeble spark of mirth had long since gone out, and the prince rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I'll just go wash up, then, shall I?" he managed, whirling away from the rail as his eyesight blurred and the shreds of his heart knotted painfully.

The Dwarf could do nothing but nod, gaze frightfully worried as it tracked Legolas's haphazard gait towards the hatch leading down into the bowels of the ship.

Swinging down into the cool, darkened interior of the vessel, the Silvan Elf closed his eyes gratefully as the tears finally flushed down his cheeks.

Topside, the first rays of dawn fell slanting across the grey, wooden planks.

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(An Hour and a Half Later, Shores of Tol Eressëa)

Estel was antsy. There simply was no other way to describe it. He had been woken at the crack of dawn by his twin brothers, Aries's twin brothers, and Aries himself…only to find that the Last Grey Ship had pulled within sight of Tol Eressëa's dock.

Of course, his Elven brothers and friends had neglected to include that it was within a Firstborn's sight. So by the time their whole contingent arrived to join Thranduil, Elrond, and Celebrían (who had left before dawn), Estel could see no Grey Ship.

However, either Ilúvatar had worked some magic on the Man's eyes, or the ship had pulled in much closer, because after only about half of an hour, Estel, too, was able to see it, if not the beings on board.

In vain, he scanned the railing, searching for the two figures he knew ought to be there.

Slowly—oh, so slowly—as time inched by the ship inched closer. Soon (but not soon enough for Estel), the vessel bumped its prow lightly against the dock where Estel, his family, and their friends stood. At some point, Gandalf, Frodo, and Sam had joined the small welcoming group who waited with barely tempered impatience.

In excited whispers beside the Dúnadan, Frodo and Sam conversed eagerly about the Eagles now clearly seen circling above. It seemed, in spite of the numerous times the Hobbits had surely watched the magnificent birds, they never quite lost the awe that they held over them.

The lead Eagle gave a cry and dropped the long Elven rope he had been carrying in his beak. One of the Silvan twins caught it—Estel did not see who—and waved up in thanks.

One after the other, the remaining Eagles dropped their ropes to those waiting below—even Sam, who quite nearly toppled over when he caught it.

Estel laughed and quickly relieved the Hobbit of his burden. "Allow me, Master Samwise," he advised warmly.

The Hobbit gave him a very thankful look and righted himself with Frodo's help.

The Eagle who had dropped the rope cried down an apology, but both Hobbits had since turned back to the ship so Estel called back in return, ''Tis all right, mellon-nin! Welcome home!'

The majestic bird flew in a great sweeping circle over the ones waiting on the shore, causing Estel to laugh out loud in pure joy. Then the lead Eagle gave a final cry, and circling one last time over the gathered company, the birds flew off towards Valinor's highest peaks, rising high in the distance.

At that same moment, Frodo exclaimed, "Look there he is! Gimli! Gimli!"

Forgetting the rope (which Aries deftly removed without the Human's noticing), Estel whirled around to face the ship. Frodo and Sam had already run up to the left side of the vessel and were waving ecstatically to the stout being who had rushed to that railing at the Hobbit's call.

The young Dúnadan quickly followed.

On that side of the ship, the railing happened to be slightly taller than the Dwarf, with no rung on which he could stand, but the graying warrior did not let that deter him, and kept trying to throw the woven ladder over the side. After the second or third try, he managed it.

With something to climb on, his head finally appeared over the railing.

It was then, of course, that he caught sight of the young Man who stepped gracefully up to the bottom of the ladder, two Hobbits on his heels, and grinned up at him.

The look of utter shock on the stout little man's face was priceless.

Estel's grin widened. "Good morning, Master Dwarf!" he called cheerily (and somewhat cheekily), as if they were just preparing to sit down to breakfast.

Gimli's cheeks swiftly reddened. "You...! You…!" the Dwarf sputtered, indeed, near-roared. His tongue unlocked itself somewhere halfway through. "You…you…you young upstart, you! Of all the half-witted, inconceivable, despicable--!"

Aries and the Peredhil twins, who had arrived shortly after Estel, exchanged amused glances. 'Mayhap we should go up first,' the older Silvan Elf suggested, eyes twinkling. 'Else I fear Estel will not long be here.'

The Human's Elven brothers quickly smothered their laughter. 'Yes, let's,' Elladan agreed, grinning at Celethoron and Gilaith who had just joined them after safely fastening the ropes to the dock.

Estel made a face at them, but willingly allowed the five Elves to climb up before him, admitting only to himself that they were probably right. More than one-hundred years had passed since he had first met the fierce little man, and still, Gimli's temper had not changed.

"Are you coming up or not?" Aries's somewhat muffled, very amused voice called down to him in Westron, throwing the young Man out of his thoughts. The blond head poked itself over the railing and grinned at him.

Estel resisted the sudden urge to stick his tongue out at the Firstborn. "Gimli is right," he shot back as he mounted the woven ladder with ease and made his way nimbly up the side of the ship. His own head quickly appeared over the railing and he swung his feet onto the deck, nearly stumbling as it gave an unexpected list to the right, but kept talking, gazing at the older Silvan Elf (who had steadied him) with sparkling eyes, "Elves are some of the most impatient creatures on earth." His nose scrunched up as he reconsidered that last line. "Well, on Valinor, anyway."

Aries merely laughed, stepping back as the Human stood up straight. The Dúnadan's piercing silver eyes swiftly found Gimli's onyx ones, crinkling merrily at the corners when they did so and practically dancing.

His eloquent display of temper through, the Dwarf's eyes were now warm and suspiciously bright as he quietly regarded the young Man before him. "So this is Estel," he murmured at last.

Estel quirked a bemused eyebrow at the stout warrior. "Has your sea journey been taxing, Master Dwarf? I should think you would know me by now."

"Know you?" Gimli rumbled happily. "King Elessar, yes. Strider the Ranger, perhaps. Aragorn? Most definitely. But Estel? The child who stole away an Elven heart? Nay, him I have yet to meet."

Estel felt tears creeping into the corners of his eyes, and cracking a smile, dropped gracefully to his knees to sweep the Dwarf into a tight hug. Valar, he had not known until this moment just how much he had missed this endearing being. His thoughts up until this point had only been of Legolas, and he had forgotten how much the gruff little man had meant to him in the years following the end of the Fellowship. He was beyond pleased that the Dwarf was here to remind him of that fact.

With a sputtering laugh, Estel pulled away some moments later. "We are quite the strange mortals, you and I," he remarked thickly, chuckling.

"I agree whole-heartedly!" Elrond called as he and Thranduil clambered up the ladder to join the younger Elves.

Estel looked up at his Elven father and the former Elvenking as they came to stand behind him with Aries and the two sets of twins, grinning through tears. "Ada, that wasn't very nice!" he spluttered, laughter garbled.

Elrond raised an eyebrow, hearing snickers coming from the younger Elves behind him. "Who said anything about being nice? I was merely agreeing with you."

After staring in shock for a full moment at the Elven Lord, Gimli burst into a great, loud guffaw. "Oh, I like that one, my lord!" he chortled. He turned wildly twinkling eyes to Estel. "Tell me, is he always like this?"

"I should hope not!" the young Dúnadan laughed. "Two sets of twins and Aries are more than enough!" He smirked as indignant protests came from said Elves, but had to laugh once again when his adopted father lightly cuffed him upside the head.

Thranduil was the only one who had not joined the bantering. Upon boarding the ship, he had glanced around the top deck, at every railing, in every direction (even up at the main mast) that he could. Now he turned back to the Dwarf, and effectively silenced all mirth by asking, "Gimli? Where is my son?"

Utter silence fell.

Gimli nodded in the direction of the hatch, but his eyes were on Estel. "Down below, my lord." Addressed though it was to Thranduil, it became clear that the Dwarf intended it for the Man.

Estel quite nearly shot to his feet. He held no illusions as to why Legolas was not up on deck, all the worries and fears Aries and Lady Celebrían had not managed to completely assuage now rushing back to savage him, stronger and fiercer than they ever had been.

He pulled up short, however, when he noticed all the Elves watching, and making no move to follow him. Not even Legolas's family. The young Dúnadan slowly turned, gazing incredulously at Thranduil, Aries, Celethoron, and Gilaith. "Aren't you coming?"

Thranduil smiled slightly, and shook his head. "'Tis your right, penneth," he offered softly. "I have missed, my son, yes, but 'tis you whom he stayed for. We shall see him when you both return topside and to the shores." The former Elvenking's smile widened. "And doubtless, after you have cried yourselves hoarse."

Estel managed a wavering grin, tears rising once more in his eyes. "Hannon lle, your Majesty."

Thranduil reached out and lightly touched the Human's cheek with his palm. "Please. 'Tis Thranduil here."

Unable to speak, the Man simply nodded, and with one last smile at those on deck, whirled and sprinted for the hatch.

When he disappeared from their sight, Thranduil's smile dropped. Elrond's hand rested on his arm, and the Sindar turned, practically digging his nails into the Peredhil's skin.

Carefully hiding his wince, the Half-Elven Lord whispered, "You can go, mellon-iaur. I am sure Estel will not mind."

But Thranduil shook his head. "I cannot," he choked. "If Legolas wishes to fade, none will be able to stop him. Only Estel has any chance of righting this—my presence would only hinder him."

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(Below Decks)

Estel did not slow his gait, not until he was at least halfway down the darkened corridor. When he did, his ears picked up on a quiet sound further ahead. He paused, and listened, straining any senses he could in an attempt to locate it.

It was soft, and pained, and after a moment more of listening, silver eyes widened in the gloom. His feet started running again.

He knew this sound, terrible as it was—he had heard it recently, and wished never to hear it again. He had heard it far too many times during his life on Arda, and each time he had, was indelibly etched into his memory…

(Flashback, Two Hundred Five Years—TA 2936, Mid-Morning Several Weeks After Legolas's Arrival)

Estel scrunched up his nose in concentration, trying to track his elusive prey. With him he carried naught but a small satchel, filled with a child's small treasures, a flask of dew, and a leaf-wrapped package of lightly honeyed lembas. Erestor, in order to occupy him for the day, had packed it earlier this morning before sending him off to play.

He had not meant to be a bother, really. But everyone could just be so busy sometimes that he grew lonely. The twins were not here—they had gone off on one of their long "hunts" several days ago, and because Estel was only five, he could not go with them. His Ada was locked away in his study with 'Restor and Glory, and even Lindir the Minstrel and the kitchen staff were busy. No one had any time for the young mortal under the Last Homely House's roof on this day.

He had at first searched out Legolas (whom he continued to call Lirimaer, much to the Silvan Elf's pleased embarrassment), but had not found him in any of the places the prince usually was. The archery fields were full, the gardens had (too many) happy couples walking up and down their paths, and the stables were buzzing with activity as the horses were groomed and taken out for exercise. But his friend was nowhere to be found.

Estel had watched them for a while, then, the Elves that took care of the horses, and even was allowed to help once or twice, but he soon grew restless and wanted to explore (hopefully finding Legolas in the process). As of yet, he had had no luck, and did not wish to risk his Elven father's temper by asking where the prince had gone.

Because Erestor and Glorfindel were with his Ada, he had no lessons, and welcomed the chance to try out the little he had learned so far about what the twins called "tracking." He had gone into the wood that was within Imladris's borders—as far as he was allowed to go on his own—and began by trying to follow the game trails (one of the first lessons his brothers had taught him). Of course, they were only very tiny game trails because the twins did not wish their little brother to be, as Elrohir so nicely put it, 'skewered by a wild boar.' That, of course, had led to Estel asking what "skewered" meant, and what a "boar" was. The younger twin had then wisely decided that he should remain quiet on the matter.

He had started following what he had been excited to recognize as a squirrel's trail while—apparently—it hunted for acorns. Like most young children, however, Estel was soon distracted by the abundance of little "treasures" he found littering the forest floor. He entirely forgot about following the squirrel, and instead took to looking for (and collecting) anything that caught his fancy. Into his satchel went a bright orange leaf the color of sunset, followed by a half-shell of a blue robin's egg (long since hatched), a smooth, almost entirely green pebble from a nearby stream, and oddly, a twig (though, apparently, not so odd to Estel).

It had been as the child was crouching down to pick a bright yellow flower he vaguely remembered as being one of his Naneth's favorites that he heard it.

Quickly (but gently) snapping off the stem and stowing the flower carefully in his satchel, he stood up straight and perfectly still, listening intently to the wind, astonishing in itself for such a very young mortal. But perhaps not for one raised among Elves.

It came again.

Barely heard, but nonetheless recognized: early last summer, a baby bird had fallen out of its mother's nest and onto the ground, breaking its wing in the process. It had cried and cried out with all the strength its little voice possessed, but its mother never heard it, or, as sometimes happens in nature, chose to ignore it. Estel had been in the forest—this very same one, in fact—with his brothers for the first time. He had heard the cry on the wind, and followed it to its source, surprising the twins quite a bit.

He had begged and pleaded to be allowed to bring it home, the latent healer within him already beginning to rear its head, and the twins had finally relented with the firm directive that as soon as it got better, and learned how to fly, that he let it go.

Estel had promised, and so, at the end of the summer, with only a few brave tears, had let it fly away. Strangely (and much to Estel's delight), that same bird had returned to raise its own babies in a nook of the young boy's balcony during this spring.

And the sound he had heard on the wind, sounded very much the same as that baby bird's. Which led him to where he was now—trying to track it.

When the wind carried that plaintive cry to him for a third time, Estel quickly turned his head to follow it, his eyes falling shut without his being aware. Keeping his eyes shut, and miraculously avoiding any trees, he followed it as it came again and again. But the closer he drew to its source, the less it sounded like a bird's and the more it sounded like another being's, and caused his chest to hurt.

Frowning, and continuing to close his eyes, the tiny Dúnadan rubbed at his chest.

His search led him to an ancient, gnarled oak tree which—for all it had aged—was nonetheless one of the shortest trees in the entire wood.

But it was wonderful for climbing, as Estel had started doing at the beginning of the summer.

The cries—which had begun to sound more and more like sobs—abruptly stopped, and frowning deeper still, Estel opened his eyes and tilted his head back to stare up into the oak's canopy.

He nearly dropped his precious satchel when he saw an astonished, pale-faced Prince of Mirkwood staring back at him.

The Wood-Elf was sitting on one of the lower, stronger branches, seemingly not having expected anyone—let alone Estel—to find him.

However many minutes the two spent staring at one another was known only to the trees surrounding them, but it gave Estel enough time to notice the tear tracks on his friend's face, and enough time to start feeling very, very worried.

The child broke the silence first. 'Lirimaer?' he practically squeaked.

Legolas did not wait, or answer, but in a flash had vanished further up into the tree.

Estel suddenly understood what his Ada must have felt when he had accidentally fallen in one of Imladris's ponds last year and nearly drowned because he did not know how to swim.

He panicked, and as quickly as the prince has disappeared into the tree, he followed, climbing the branches with an ease and swiftness that a newly-instated climber was not supposed to have.

'Do not follow me, Estel!' came Legolas's tear-choked, rather rough cry, muffled because he was further up into the tree.

But the child stubbornly shook his head and continued climbing, reaching out to grab branches that normally should not have been able to support his weight. But the tree, who loved Elves, and the Human child raised in their midst, was helping him along—or so he thought later when both he and Legolas were safely on the ground.

As it was, he did not know what was going on at that moment, and would not have cared if he had, much too concerned about the prince whom—after that evening in the Wood-Elf's room—he had become very much attached to.

He reached the top of the tree within ten minutes of starting to climb it and found Legolas (thankfully) sitting on a wide, well-supported branch at the top of the oak, huddled against its trunk and watching him with tear-bright, haunted midnight eyes. 'Why must you follow me?' he forced out, voice cracking.

Estel, who had never seen an Elf cry, cringed back at the utter pain in his Elven friend's voice, but nonetheless carefully crawled forward on the branch, keeping his precarious balance with an ease that would take him a long time to rediscover.

His hand touched Legolas's booted foot.

Stiffening, the prince hurriedly pulled it away and closer to his chest, hugging both his knees in such a way that Estel could come no closer to him.

Or so he thought.

The young Dúnadan tried not to be hurt by this action, he really did, but for all he was much more serious and grown-up than other Human children, he was still only five years old, and as a five-year-old, started to cry, as well. 'Because you're hurting!' he burst out.

Stubborn and persistent to the last, he somehow managed to force his way through the barrier of the prince's knees without toppling either of them and fisted his hands in Legolas's jerkin, forehead resting against the prince's chest and angry tears streaming down his cheeks.

Anger at Legolas for trying to keep him away, anger at himself for not having understood that something was wrong with his Elven friend much earlier than this, and anger at whatever it was that was causing the Silvan Elf such pain.

He felt the prince try to push him away, but shook his head violently against the archer's chest and clung all the more determinedly to the Firstborn's leather jerkin.

Legolas finally gave up and let the small Human have his way. 'You're awful,' the Wood-Elf choked, starting to cry again. 'Just awful. Why could you not simply leave me alone?'

But the hands that suddenly clutched at Estel's tiny shoulders told quite a different story.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

It was only later, when both the prince and Estel were much calmer, that the child found out the cause of Legolas's distress.

'Your Naneth died?' the young boy asked softly.

The Silvan Elf nodded, blinking back yet more tears that wanted to fall. 'Today, many years ago, and it still hurts,' he whispered.

The small Dúnadan was now situated comfortably in Legolas's lap, with the Elf's arms looped tightly around him to keep him firmly tucked against the Firstborn's chest. 'Well, I s'ppose I can't be mad at you for that,' the five-year-old reflected, voice quiet. 'After all, my Naneth died, too.'

He saw the prince squeeze his eyes shut at that and wondered why, until Legolas managed faintly, 'I am sorry.'

Estel tilted his head back and gave the prince a quizzical look. 'Why? It wasn't your fault. Not my Naneth's leaving, and 'specially not yours.'

Legolas's eyes snapped open in shock and he stared down in unconcealed surprise at the child in his lap. The boy cocked his head to the side and smiled warmly up at him. The Wood-Elf finally thought to close his mouth and slowly shook his head. This was not the scared child that had come to him several weeks ago (and several nights since), terrified of his nightmares, and he wondered what had changed. For the first time all day, a coherent thought made it through the mass of grief and pain that had dominated his mind and heart/I wonder if 'tis as I told Elladan, it simply was not time, yet./

'I'd like to show you something.'

The child's soft voice broke into Legolas's thoughts, and when he refocused his gaze on the five-year-old, he was very bemused by the shy look he received from Estel.

'Twas endearing, and the prince suddenly realized that he would gladly follow this child wherever he might lead.

'Lead on, then, penneth,' the archer murmured, managing a slight smile.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

With much help from the tree, the two beings carefully made their way down to the ground. Once there, Estel further confused Legolas by shooting a brilliant smile up at him and eagerly grabbing his hand. Before the Wood-Elf quite knew what was happening, the little Dúnadan was off and dragging him through the small forest.

It did not take long to emerge from the shelter of the trees, and Legolas had to rapidly blink his watering eyes in order to adjust to the bright sunlight. The abrupt change from dark to light did not seem faze Estel, however, and he continued to drag the Firstborn towards whatever destination he had in mind.

Some of the other Elves that they passed favored the pair with indulgent looks, quite used to seeing the small mortal dragging one or the other of their Lord's twin sons (and sometimes even their Lord himself) through the corridors of the Last Homely House. Legolas bit his lip to keep his embarrassed grin from appearing, and continued to allow the young boy to haul him along the pathways of Imladris. /Elladan was right,/ he conceded sheepishly, recalling his older friend's words from several weeks ago. /I can't resist him./ He studied the pleased grin decorating the five-year-old's face and felt his own soften in response. /Nor do I want to./

Legolas noticed they had since left the main paths and were now entering one of the smaller, more secluded, gardens surrounding the Last Homely House. It took him a moment, but the Wood-Elf soon realized that this particular garden was just beneath the balcony of Estel's room.

The path they were following felt relatively smooth beneath his feet, and seemed only a few years old—not even very many weeds had sprung up, yet. Along either side of it ran a row of short hedges, allowed to grow out without being hindered by annual clippings. A few minutes later, the tunnel of bushes ended at two small saplings, as did the path.

Estel paused here, too, and adjusted his hold on the prince's hand. He did not look up at the Elf, and instead gazed straight ahead. 'She's in here,' the child murmured shyly.

The archer startled slightly. 'Who is, penneth?'

Estel finally glanced up, a tiny smile on his lips. 'My Naneth.'

Legolas felt his throat tighten, and allowed the small Dúnadan to gently pull him into the hidden glade. There at the center of the clearing, sitting among lilacs, lavender, and elanor, was the white marble likeness of a young woman all too well-known to the youngest prince of Mirkwood. Tears rushed into his eyes at the saddened, guarding, yet peaceful look upon her face, so lifelike that the Silvan Elf found difficulty in believing that she was truly gone. Whoever this stonemason was, they had done their work well.

Estel started speaking as they drew nearer to the marble memorial, his earlier cheerfulness and exuberance much more subdued, 'Hi, Nana!' he chirped would-be happily to the unmoving stone statue. 'I have something for you today! See?'

He dug into his satchel with his free hand and produced the yellow, star-shaped flower he had found in the wood, placing it gently and almost reverently on the base of the statue. A tiny smile was on his lips, but Legolas was abruptly aware that tears were threatening to fall from the young child's eyes. 'It's one of your favorites, isn't it?'

The marble statue, of course, could not respond, but continued to gaze benignly at the slightly trembling little boy.

Legolas winced and tightened his hold on the five-year-old's hand as a small sob made it past the child's lips, feeling suddenly very guilty that the young Dúnadan had thought it necessary to bring him here.

Estel continued talking, and the Wood-Elf was gratified to note that his voice was a bit steadier when he did so, 'I brought someone to meet you, Nana, did you see? He's the Prince of Mirkwood. I've never been there, but Ada says when I'm older, and if the prince says it's okay, I can visit. That's all right, isn't it?'

The child's only response was silence, and that tender, penetrating gaze.

Estel started trembling again. When next he spoke, it was Legolas at whom he directed his words, voice terribly small and eyes still fastened on the statue, 'Whenever I got lonely, and no one could find any time for me, I came here, and talked to her. I don't remember much about her, but Ada says she loved me very much and would have been very proud of me.'

Legolas swallowed, kneeling beside the little boy in the grass. 'I am sure she would have,' he managed thickly, blinking as his own tears started sliding down his cheeks once again.

Estel turned tear-clouded silver eyes to his friend, grief in his face—an emotion that a child all of five springs old should never have known. 'I always thought, somehow,' the tiny Dúnadan choked, 'that she could hear me, and would respond in any way she could. But…But she never does…and it hurts. I don't want it to, but it does. And I don't like it!'

With this fierce statement, the child again erupted in tears, and Legolas was obliged to fold his arms protectively around the sobbing young Dúnadan, pulling him snugly against his chest. The tousled dark head turned and dug itself into his tunic. 'I...I thought with you, it might be better,' came the thick response, muffled by the fabric. 'But it isn't, and I…and I…' His weeping continued, drowning out whatever else he wanted to say.

Legolas's own tears slid faster down his cheeks, as he railed himself again and again for not realizing the extent to which this sweet young boy must still be hurting. 'Oh, tithen pen, I know that if she could, she would come and tell you right away anything you wanted to know,' the Elf whispered into the dark locks. 'I cannot say the hurt ever goes away. But 'twill not always be there, where you can feel it as sharply as you are now. One day you will not notice it anymore, and 'twill feel only as a dull ache at certain moments when you wish she could still be here. You will miss her, but that is all.'

The five-year-old's tears had slowed as he listened to Legolas talk, now he lifted his head to gaze up with unguarded eyes at the Elf from where they sat together on the grass in front of his mother's memorial. He sniffed. 'Is that the way it is for you, Lirimaer?' he asked almost inaudibly.

The Wood-Elf shut his eyes tightly. 'I will not lie to you, tithen pen, I, too, still feel that sharp ache. I only tell you what my oldest cousin once told me when I was much younger. But now…I think I am starting to understand, Estel.' He opened his eyes to gaze down openly, warmly, and with no little wonder at the rather remarkable child in his arms. 'Because now…you are here.'

Estel beamed up at him through gradually drying tears and reached as high as he could while staying in Legolas's lap, managing to wrap his little arms tightly around the archer's neck, saying nothing.

The Silvan Elf was more than happy to comply as the small head nudged into the crook of his neck.

They sat together thus for a while, merely listening as the sounds of Imladris swirled around them. Indeed, Legolas even began to think Estel had fallen asleep when the child's soft voice suddenly spoke up, 'There's writing on the picture of Nana, did you see? I can only read my name…'

Slightly startled, the Firstborn blinked down at him, then glanced up to follow the small fingers that were now tracing the letters craved into the marble. As the fingers traced, Legolas read, 'Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim,' and felt his breath catch. 'Gilraen…' he breathed softly, understanding far more about that statement than Estel could yet know.

The little Dúnadan had actually begun to doze, as the prince had first suspected, now he looked up at the Elf, wide-eyed and very much awake. 'You knew my Naneth?' he asked excitedly.

Legolas silently cursed himself. Ever since he had promised secrecy about Estel's true heritage, he had been dreading this very situation. 'I knew her, Estel. Please understand, I cannot tell you any more than that, only that Lord Elrond is correct, and she indeed loved you.'

'Oh,' the child's eagerness subsided, and he seemed disappointed. But he perked up slightly. 'Can you at least tell me what those words mean in Common? I know "hope" and "Men," but not the others.'

Legolas sighed. 'I will tell you what they mean, but I cannot explain them to you.' When the young boy went to protest, Legolas held up his hand. 'Estel, that is final.'

The child pouted, and the prince silently thanked Ilúvatar that the five-year-old was not yet aware that his pouting could(and would) make Legolas do almost anything for him. So instead, the Wood-Elf kissed the smooth forehead, and murmured in Westron, hoping to distract him, "What it means, Estel, is this: I gave Hope to Men, I have kept no hope for myself."

Estel frowned thoughtfully when the prince finished, young brow furrowed with confusion as he tried to understand. 'That's…kind of sad,' he replied finally, then shook his head. 'And she didn't give me to Men,' he looked back up the Elf, 'she gave me to you.'

Legolas hugged him tighter. 'Aye, and you will always belong to us,' he whispered, shutting his eyes again, 'long after you have grown, and learned who this "Hope of Men" is. And I promise you that when you do, I will be right there beside you.'

Estel smiled again, and shutting his own eyes, snuggled further into the Woodland archer's warmth. 'Well, that makes it all right, then,' he declared confidently, completely trusting this one who held him.

(End Flashback)

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

(Present Time, Below Decks in Ship Docked at Tol Eressëa)

And oh, he had, far more than Estel had ever imagined he would. To think that so much had happened in that one day…!

Shaking his head, the young Man came out of his memories and opened his eyes to find himself standing nose-to-nose with an only partially shut wooden door. From within came the sound that had driven Estel to find Legolas up in the old oak on that day long ago—the soft, harsh sobs of a deeply grieving Elf.

Swallowing thickly, the Dúnadan gingerly pushed open the door and stepped into a small cabin brightly lit by the morning sunlight streaming in through several portals. The sobs came from the left, muffled slightly as if smothered by cloth.

Estel's breath caught and his throat seized as he turned in the direction from which the weeping had come, and found there a bed with covers rumpled, and a horribly shaking, beloved form laying upon it.

The Elf's face was buried in what Estel quite forcefully recognized as his old leather Ranger's jacket, the archer's usually immaculate braids unraveled and golden hair tangled. With each broken sob, his shoulders quivered and his slim hands clenched convulsively in the worn material.

The young Man slowly glided forward, footsteps silent as he crossed the bare floor to his best friend's side. Reaching out hesitantly, half-eager, half-scared to death, he gently gripped a trembling shoulder, unaware that his own tears had long since begun to fall. Crouching down near the prince's head, he tried to catch a glimpse of the fair being's eyes.

They were squeezed tightly shut, and ragged breaths came from the Firstborn's lips. His shoulder was rigid underneath Estel's hand. 'Please, please, go away,' the Silvan Elf choked, not daring to see, not daring to admit that this touch, so long cherished, was as familiar as the stars which had guided him here.

Nay. 'Twas all whimsy and want as far as he was concerned. But that did not stop his longing…or his grief.

When the grip tightened, he continued to beg, 'Please, please, please go away.'

The hand slid gently under his chin, rough and callused and warm, and tenderly urged his face upwards. Thumbs—two of them now—lightly brushed across his cheeks, insistently rubbing away the tears, and at last the apparition (for surely that is what it must be), spoke, familiar timbre rough with pain and tears of its own, 'Would you turn from me, then, Lirimaer? For 'twas you who promised a wayward twenty-year-old 'a' gurtha ar' thar (to death and beyond),' and 'twas you who promised a heartbroken, fearful child to be his Strongbow. And so, here we are, beyond death and all hope.'

With a choked gasp, Legolas's midnight eyes flew open, locking on tear-bright cerulean-streaked silver orbs mere inches from his own. 'Estel!!' he cried, starting violently upright, neatly bashing their foreheads together.

As a flash of momentarily dizzying pain shot through the Dúnadan's mind, both beings toppled backwards with a crash, the one pulled off the bed, the other having lost his balance.

By the time the cabin no longer upended, he had become aware that he was sprawled out on his back, the warm weight on top of him pressing him flat against the floor. His fingers had been woven tightly into silken gold strands which were now splayed out across his chest, and a tear-streaked, wincing face hovered not half an inch from his own.

Then those midnight orbs warily blinked open again, and both beings froze.

Neither moved, and neither dared, each fearful that the other would vanish should they do so. At last, after what seemed like half of eternity, Legolas shakily pushed himself off Estel's chest with his arms, still staring down at him in raw, disbelieving anguish.

The Human, tears streaming freely from his eyes as he stared back, unsteadily ran his hand through the Wood-Elf's golden tresses. Sweet Valar, how long had it been since they had last seen each other? How much doubt and pain and time and fear had passed since last they parted? It seemed like forever…

'Hurry home, dear one…I will be waiting.'

'Coramin niuve tenna' ta elea lle au' (My heart shall weep until it sees you again)…'

'Weep no longer, then, dearest,' Estel managed to whisper as their words to one another echoed around the cabin, intermixing with the sounds of waves lapping against the shore. 'I am here now, and I will not leave.'

Legolas did not respond with any words of his own. He could not—for what words were there to say?

Instead, he lunged at Estel, crushing their lips together in a wild, desperate kiss.

In response, the Dúnadan's hands clenched painfully in his hair, but he did not care. When they broke away, gasping and chests heaving, mere moments later, tears swiftly rose in Legolas's eyes.

Estel, beloved, wonderful, infuriating Estel, simply smiled in return.

TBC

A/N: ::stares:: Wow, the things that come out of my head at midnight while listening to the Return of the King soundtrack. ::grins, well pleased:: But I love this chapter, probably more than any other chapter I've written so far, and I hope you did, too! Keep in mind, however ::looks sneaky::, that there is one last chapter I am intending to write, and will be posted the first free chance I get.

Elvish Translations:

Estel (Hope; one of Aragorn's many names, given to him by Lord Elrond)

Mellon-nin (My friend)

Yrch (Orcs)

Imladris (Rivendell)

Peredhil (Half-Elf)

Ada (Papa)

Nana (Mama)

Hen (Child)

Tithen pen (Little one)

Penneth (Young one)

Naneth (Mother)

Adar (Father)

Lirimaer (Lovely one; in this fic, "lovely singer" and "Angel")

Hannon lle (Thank you)

Mellon-iaur (Old friend)

--(Please note that I've used a mixture of online Elvish dictionaries, Tolkien, and my own experience to create these words and phrases, as well as those within the story—SS)