Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line.

Wherever the Surge May Sweep
by partheon

Chapter Five: The Razor's Edge

For all on a razor's edge it stands.
- Homer

Gandalf the Gray leaned heavily on his staff as he squinted at the house sitting before him. Wind was whipping past his long hair – mussing the strands not held back by his hat and he absently brushed a few tendrils from his face.

Blue, windy sky that spoke of early fall had a few clouds speckled across it. The sunlight was cool and the air was crisp. Leaves were tumbling by as they fell from the deciduous trees that surrounded the clearing. The house was of an average sort with a stone chimney rising into the clear sky.

The old wizard grunted in something that almost sounded like annoyance to anyone that did not know him. He planted one hand on his hip as if his back pained him slightly and began to walk towards the house at a pace that belied the wrinkles lining his mouth and eyes.

He drew up in front of the wooden door and rattled the knob for a few seconds before he rapped noisily with his staff.

And he waited.

One thick, gray eyebrow raised and his mouth quirked slightly. "It is all right, little one. I assure you, Legolas is expecting me. Or he soon will be anyways." He directed his large blue-eyed gaze at the tiny, plump face peeping around a curtain in a nearby window. "There are many in this wild land you should not trust but I am one you should trust completely. I mean neither you nor the elf any harm."

The face disappeared from the window but there came no sound of the door unlocking. Instead, the wizard could hear the sound of little feet scampering quickly away from the door.

Gandalf pursed his lips into a frown and then turned to look at the swift moving clouds. "It is too windy for a Maia to be running about or much less sitting on some doorstep while warmth and comfort lay just an arm's reach away," he muttered to himself. "In that case…"

He turned back to the door and withdrew what looked to be a long hairpin from within the folds of his robe. Mumbling another grumpy curse, he partially leaned on his staff while inserting the hairpin in the tiny lock. His nose wrinkled up as he fished around the mechanism for a few moments. A couple twists with his wrist and the lock opened with a soft clack.

Grinning with satisfaction, he stowed the hairpin away. "I may be old but the touch is still with me." He tried the knob and the door swung inwards, revealing a vacant hallway. Ah, so the little one had hidden himself. Well, Gandalf was not so old that he could not appreciate a good game of hide-and-seek. And now that the blasted wind was not chilling his bones, Gandalf found himself in quite a jolly mood.

He leaned his staff against the nearby wall and placed his hands upon his hips, surveying the small house.

At the moment, it appeared he was in the living room. There were a few sputtering flames in a tiny fireplace and two worn arm-chairs were set close to it. A ragged throw rug lay on the wooden floor between the chairs and bitter dim sunlight streamed in from two windows.

A few steps further into the house and he found himself in the bright kitchen. Legolas kept the area quite tidy, he noted, glancing around the spotless area and neatly stacked jars. Fastidious elf.

When he heard a rustle coming from one of the backrooms, Gandalf swung around and a smile was twitching at the corners of his lips. "Ah, so this is where you go to hide from me."

The clean floor creaked softly underneath his heavy steps as the aged wizard approached the doorway. He paused, leaning against the frame and peering inside the relative darkness of the room.

A bed standing against the back wall and a desk and chair set below the single window were the only pieces of furniture in the room besides a low chest of drawers next to the bed. All were made of light brown wood and seemed to be very sparse and economical, Gandalf noted with a humph.

Following his instincts, he stole to the bed and lowered himself on to his knees. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows the bed created. "I see you," he said and his deep voice echoed in the confined space.

Huge gray eyes glimmered at him from the dark and small arms pulled a stuffed bear closer to his face. "Go 'way."

Gandalf sighed dramatically and lowered himself further onto the wooden floor. "You would throw an old man from your house."

The pale face was luminous in the shadows despite the smudges of dust. "Le-las said not let anyone in."

"I assure you, young one, I am not just anyone." Gandalf leaned his face closer, his heavily bearded cheek just brushing the planked floor. "Now, how about you come out of there?"

The little boy pulled the stuffed bear over his eyes and curled up into a tighter ball. "No."

Gandalf sighed heavily and pushed himself to sit upright against the bed, his large nose wrinkling from the sheer amount of dust beneath the bed. "Fine. Then you will not see my magic." Studiously ignoring the child, he withdrew his pipe and was soon puffing away.

A swaying, smoke pony was directed in the direction of the bed, followed by a ship and some laughing hobbits. There was the sound of something moving beneath the bed and Gandalf puffed a stuffed bear much like the one the little boy held, making sure to aim it so it drifted underneath the confines of the bed.

After several moments, the dusty face peeped out at him from underneath the bed. Gray eyes stared at him in amazement as another little bear appeared from the top of Gandalf's pipe and began drifting towards him. "Cobi?" he giggled and poked at the smoke representation of his toy.

The wizard smiled as the smoke dissipated underneath his probing fingers. "Come with me to the kitchen, little one, and I will show you more tricks. This floor is hard on an old man's bones."

Still looking a little wary, the little boy crawled fully from beneath the bed. He placed Cobi the bear on the ground and then levered himself to his feet, holding onto the bed frame for support. With one hand still on the bed, he reached down and grabbed Cobi tightly to his chest. "Who're you?"

"I am Gandalf the Gray," the wizard slowly rose to his feet, trying not to frighten the child anymore than he already had. "Legolas is a friend of mine."

"Le-las?"

"Yes, Le-las is a friend of mine." Gandalf smiled benevolently and motioned to the outer rooms. "Shall we?"

With one last skeptical glance, the little child toddled from the room, holding Cobi by one arm while the rest of the bear was dragging on the floor behind him. "Le-las comin'." He said when they had both reached the kitchen and he had turned to stare at Gandalf with round eyes.

"I have no doubt." Gandalf watched the toddler struggle for a moment to climb onto one of the chairs before he gave in and helped the child up. "And what is your name?" he asked when he was positive the boy would not tumble from the chair to the wooden floor.

"Esel," the boy answered, scooting to sit cross-legged.

"Esel?" Gandalf paused to think on that strange name for several seconds. "Do you mean Estel?"

Estel nodded vigorously at the sound of his name. "Esel."

Smiling at the child, Gandalf bent down so he was face-to-face with 'Esel.' "And how old are you?"

Four grubby fingers were held up in answer before the boy was tugging at Gandalf's robes. "Get Cobi." Smudges on the boy's face scrunched adorably as the boy wrinkled his brows tightly together. He motioned with one hand to the stuffed bear still lying on the ground where he had laid it while trying to mount the chair.

Gandalf bent and picked the inanimate creature with one hand. It had obviously seen a lot of loving, the wizard observed. Clumps of brown fur were missing from all over the plumped body and stuffing was seeping out of one loose seam on the bear's hind leg. Dark button eyes that must have gleamed brightly at one time were dull with grease and scratch marks. A faded bow was unraveling about the neck. Gandalf sighed at the bear's pitiful state and handed the bear over to the child.

Estel took Cobi in his outstretched arms and brought him up to rest against his chest. With his hands clasped about his bear, the child stared expectantly up at Gandalf. His lower lip quivered into a small pout and gray eyes blinked pleadingly. He waited while Gandalf sat down in the other chair before speaking. "Tricks?"

Gandalf sighed. How did the elf refuse this child anything? "All right." With a wink in Estel's direction, the wizard raised one wrinkled, dirty hand. He would start with a simple trick – but one he was assured would impress a small child. He closed his eyes and whispered a word. Actually, Gandalf did not need to close his eyes or whisper a word… but it made for good show. The staff came whizzing into the room from where he had left it by the door and thunked solidly in Gandalf's outstretched hand. The wizard gave a hearty chuckle at his own cleverness and then turned to child.

Estel blinked and rested his chin on the top of Cobi's worn head. Another moment passed and he stifled a yawn in one of Cobi's ripped ears, gray eyes sagging in sleepy boredom.

Gandalf looked and the staff and then back at the decidedly unimpressed child. He hoped Legolas would get back soon.

The sky was darkening when Legolas stepped up the stone steps to the wooden door. He fished in his key for his pocket, balancing the basket from Idella in his other arm. Wearily, he slid the key into the lock and attempted to unlock the door.

When the locking mechanism simply allowed the key to turn instead of the customary click, Legolas's dark brows furrowed inwards and his mouth pursed inwards. Why had the door been unlocked?

Sudden fear exploded in Legolas's belly and sat like a lead weight there. Legolas fingered the smooth handle of his knife and wondered what he would do if… if he entered and found masked men destroying his home and hurting Estel - if he entered and found Estel dead on the floor – if Estel had been taken with no sign. His hand curled around the knife.

Take a deep breath. Legolas fingered the handle, marveling at the smooth, cold feeling the iron gave him. Balanced on his left foot, he threw the door open. He was only dimly aware of the door crashing into the opposite wall as he flung himself inwards, prepared to see anything.

He stood on the clean wood, hands trembling, as he surveyed the neat, peaceful living room. His lungs contracted with a whoosh and air flowed out of him and white fingers uncurled from the knife's handle. Carefully, he set the basket down besides the door and prepared to go in search of Estel.

"Le-las?"

Luminous blue eyes, still touched with fading panic, looked towards the kitchen and the four-year-old running – or trying to run anyway – towards him on stubby little legs, Cobi clutched in one arm.

Legolas smiled in relief and knelt on the floor to embrace the small boy. He felt the softness of dark hair against his neck, the imprint of a small face against his shoulder, and the warmth of tiny arms wrapped around his neck. "Estel," he greeted and he was proud when his voice did not waver as he inhaled the soapy smell that was distinctly the scent of the small child. "Why was the door unlocked?'

Estel lowered his face and as Legolas stood, he wrapped his legs around the elf's slim waist, Cobi pressed between them. "A man came."

Fear surged up into Legolas's heart and he tightened his hold on the boy. "What did he do?"

"He came and found me." Estel lifted his huge gray eyes to Legolas. "Please, don't be mad. I sorry."

"Shush. It is fine." Legolas ran a hand over the boy's neck and felt the bunched muscles. "Where is the man now?"

"I am here, Legolas."

The elf jerked his head up in the direction of the voice. Sky blue eyes went wide and the mouth fell open just a tad. "Mithrandir!" he cried. A genuine smile slid up over his cheekbones as he hastily executed a bow – a feat made even more difficult with the small child nestled in his arms. "I did not know…"

"Yes, Legolas. I have come. I was entertaining Estel here with a few magic tricks while we waited for your return." Gandalf's eyes alighted on the child and his smile turned grave. "We have much to speak of, young one."

Legolas looked down at the dark hair and the jaw line that reminded him so much of young Arathorn. "Yes, we do. But, first," he added a lighter tone to his voice, "I am sure you are both hungry. Idella packed a lovely food basket and I would hate to see it go to waste."

Gandalf folded his arms across his chest and raised one eyebrow at the elf. "Then let us eat. And then we will talk of many things."

Smoke curled from the fireplace and the sparks burst from withering logs. The orangish glow reflected across the room and shone in Legolas's river blue eyes as the elf stepped lightly into the room.

"Please, Mithrandir," Legolas lowered himself into the threadbare chair next to the fire and turned to look at the gray-bearded figure sitting in the other. "I would ask you to not smoke in my home."

Gandalf chuckled heartily at the elf's wrinkled nose but set down the pipe. "What will you do, I wonder, when that child of yours picks up the habit?"

"Valar willing – he will not."

"Oh, he will. I have no doubt of that." Another chuckle filled the room. "Is he in bed then?"

The elf smiled. "Estel is a good sleeper. I do my best to run him to exhaustion during the day so that my nights will be peaceful. When he was a baby, it was more difficult but now I find he drops off quickly."

"If I did not know better, I would say you were slipping some of Elrond's sleeping herbs into his milk."

Legolas made a face and maintained it for a moment before laughing in a low voice. He leaned back so his blond hair strewed out behind him on the chair. "Tell me, Mithrandir, my very old friend, how did you find me?"

Gandalf shrugged and tapped his now unlit pipe on the arm of the chair. "Oh. Here and there, I have asked after you. Elrond has kept a closer watch on you then you will ever know."

"I have known that eyes watch us." Legolas leaned his face close to the fire and studied the flickering flames. "They will not interfere unless absolutely necessary and they will do everything to protect the boy from harm. But if they try and touch him…"

A spark flew from the fireplace and both paused to watch it.

When Gandalf spoke, his voice seemed deeper than normal and the corners of his mouth had turned downwards. "Four years ago, word came to me that Arathorn's son had been stillborn and I was grieved within my heart. Then – within days of that tragic event – some news came to my wondering ears that Legolas, king of the late Greenwood, had left Rivendell, the only home he had known for hundreds of years, for parts unknown. Now, I find you here – four years later – with a four-year-old boy that you call Hope. A boy who happens to have the exact same eyes as his late father."

Gandalf turned to look at the stony elf – the firelight reflecting off the cool features of the elf's face made them look as if they were made of marble and not skin. "And I have never believed in coincidences."

Legolas turned in his chair, his eyes were blue ice chips in the marble mask. "And what would you do?" he asked, his steely words barely rising above the crackle-hiss of the licking flames. "What would you do, Mithrandir, if you knew that Isildur's heir lay sleeping in the next room? Think on your words carefully – for I will not hesitate to abandon another friend that wishes to harm the child. I would flee from you and find a new home for myself and the boy."

"I would offer to keep a closer eye on you. And I would warn you – Saruman has not fallen for Elrond's tale of the stillborn child. He hunts Middle-earth like some beastly predator, seeking to snatch your charge from your very arms. This is a grave task you have undertaken, Legolas. Keep him close to you or he will fall in to the darkness and it will be to your doom and the doom of all Middle-earth. But…" Gandalf smiled. "Hope still remains. You are strong, Legolas, stronger than most. If anyone can accomplish this task, it will be you."

The marble faded away to be replaced by pale skin, vulnerable in its softness; and the ice melted from the blue eyes. "They wanted to kill him," he informed the wizard painfully. "Elrond wanted to secure the future by destroying our hope. He said," and the elf's voice choked, "he said it would be painless. What kind of people – elves – would do that to a small child – a babe barely a few hours out of the comfort and warmth of his mother's womb?"

"He was doing what he thought was best…"

"You have seen Estel, Mithrandir!" Legolas turned his face away and shielded his eyes with one hand. "Can you detect any hint of guile in him? Any hint of the wickedness they who are called wise accuse him of. He is a boy. Not a king. Not a pawn. A little boy."

"The potential for darkness lies in all of us."

Legolas had dropped his hand and his eyes – blank like a glassy sea – drifted to stare at the wall. "I heard his first word. I taught him to walk. I spoon-fed him and I changed his diapers. I sat up with him when he had nightmares. No one," and his voice was as brittle as the dried stalk of a rose, "no one will tell me that he is wicked. And no one will ever take him away from me."

At the end of the impassioned speech, Gandalf gazed mildly at the elf. "You have become quite attached to him, I see. Have you formed a bond with him?"

Laughter seemed to not fit the elf's hard face but the sound came from Legolas's mouth anyway. "I have raised him as my own. Of course I have become attached to him. But have I formed a bond with him? No. The last mortal I attempted that with was Arathorn." He laughed again. "And the outcome of that venture is well remembered by all."

"That was not your fault."

"Perhaps not but still I am reluctant to form a bond with him. I do not want to lose him. He is like my…" his voice faltered and Legolas turned his face to the flames, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"Why do you not say it?" Gandalf leaned against the arm of the chair, his pipe dangling from his fingers. "The thoughts are clearly written on your face? Can you not speak the words?"

"He is like my son. As Arathorn was to me; so is Estel – only tenfold of that." Legolas sighed heavily. "And I am afraid of what I will do to keep him safe." His blue eyes were like bruises when they looked up at Gandalf. "I killed two men when he was just a tiny one – he was so young that he could not even walk yet. On the street they came upon us. I knew they were bounty hunters and I killed both of them and dumped their bodies in the river. I could not stand the thought of Estel being harmed."

"As would any father."

Legolas continued, not even acknowledging the tall wizard's words. "I feel as if Aragorn and I are simply conduits for the purposes of the Valar. Has our fate been predestined for thousands of years? Are we just playthings, Mithrandir? Can we do nothing to change the course Ilúvatar have set for us?"

"When we will it, we can be the masters of our fate. No future may hold us steadfast. A stout heart and a noble spirit can change the course of this world just as the Valar can. Never doubt that, Legolas."

Legolas shifted in his chair and breathed deeply through his nose for a long time before he spoke again. "Let us talk of other things. My own demons will be faced at the proper time."

"How did you name him Estel? Gilraen did not name him – poor woman was heartbroken over the demise of her husband and son."

"Arathorn chose to call his son Aragorn before he – he was lost. I will honor his wishes. Estel's name will be Aragorn when he learns of his past and his future – when he takes his place in the destiny of Middle-earth. As of now, I name him for the hope I feel in my heart whenever I look upon his face. It is a good name and I have no doubt that he will be worthy of it."

"I have no doubt that you will prove to be correct."

Legolas seemed to shudder before turning to Gandalf, his eyes awash with his thanks. "Long has it been since anyone put their trust in me – or in him. A very long time, indeed."

Gandalf smiled warmly and placed a weathered hand on Legolas's muscled shoulder. "None could be so worthy of my trust as you, young Thranduillion. You do your father and your country proud."

"I can only hope," Legolas's grin was wan but his eyes seemed a bit less shadowed. "Now, Mithrandir, you may have my bed for tonight. This chair is quite comfortable for me and this night, I think sleep will be long in coming to me."

"I will see you in the morning, Legolas." Gandalf stood and made his way to Legolas's room. "Rest well, I foresee much action in your future."

Pale blue sky stretched from the tree line to the mountain top and the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon as a huge, whit orb. A slight breeze swept puffy clouds across the sky and a thin layer of dew covered the grass.

Gandalf stepped from Legolas's house, bearing his pointed hat and gnarled staff. "Be well, young one," he said in the deep voice of his, his eyes probing deep into Legolas's. "And keep your own young one safe."

"I will."

Indecision seemed to war across Gandalf's face for a moment and then he leaned close. His beard brushed Legolas's arm and his voice was scarcely more than a breath on the wind as if he feared that even the trees listened to his words. "I hesitated to speak of it last night but rumor has come to my ears of the shadow darkening in the east…they say that the One Ring has been uncovered."

Legolas's mouth tightened into a solemn line. "If it has already fallen into enemy hands – then I fear all is lost already."

"No. I do not believe the dark ones possess it. We would have learned of it by now." Gandalf swept his grey cloak around him and his eyes turned in the direction of the Misty Mountains. "I go now to find the veracity of these rumors. Beware of the Nine. If the ring has been found, they will not be long in coming. Already, there are those who say that their black horses have pounded from Mordor. Your only hope is keeping Estel's presence a secret."

The elf straightened and nodded. "I will pay for his safety with my blood."

"Let us hope it will not come to that." The wizard offered a warm smile. "May the Valar keep you well, Thranduillion."

"And may the Valar guard you, Mithrandir. Be safe." Legolas bowed slightly and pressed his hand to his heart. "I am sure Estel will be disappointed that you did not wait for his awakening so that he could bid you his farewells also. He was quite impressed with your magic."

Gandalf snorted. "Well, tell young Estel that I will probably be back for a visit. Though the ways of a wizard go to and fro with no predictable pattern, I will try to peek in whenever my circumstances allow. Wish him well, Legolas."

"Yes, Mithrandir." The elf stepped back and nodded. "Farewell."

With a wave at the young king, Gandalf took up his staff and began to walk across the plains towards the mountains.

Legolas watched him for quite a while before returning to his little house and beginning his day.

And though it was not visible to mortal or immortal eyes, the shadows of evil were beginning to grow darker and the breeze carried a foul tint that spoke of death and pain. Inevitability was drawing near.

Legolas had known when he saw the splintered door that Estel was gone. A candle rolled across the floor, a pale white sausage in the light of the dimming sun. He had cut his hand on broken glass when he had knelt to take Cobi in his arms, knowing that Estel would not have been quietly taken from his beloved bear.

But he had called for the child anyway, slick blood between his fingers and the bear against his chest. The world had been flat when he finally stood – he had felt detached from the floor and, yet, so bound by invisible constraints. He had laid Cobi on Estel's mussed bed and had awoken from the shocked lethargy.

Only a few months, his mind cried out, only a year since Mithrandir warned you to be vigilant – and you have already lost the child.

Once, he had seen a fire in one of the shacks on the outskirts of Archet. A child had been screaming inside – flames burdening the tiny roof and the door spouting fire. Legolas had run, intending to help or to comfort, but the mother had raced inside, gingham arms outstretched. The men had shaken their heads even as they had gathered buckets of water to pour on the flames. It was a lost cause – no one would come out alive – too much fire and smoke. The child had screamed again, a small noise almost consumed by the rumble of fire and the shatter as a section of roof had crumpled. And, then, when all hope had been burned, the mother had arisen from the flames of the doorway, child in her arms. There were flames in her hair, clinging to the back of her dress and seeping through her face – but the child had been covered in only soot and tiny hints of shiny red skin.

Legolas had grabbed the child from her as she burned and then had smothered her flames in the grass while buckets of tepid water had been poured over both of them. The child had wailed painfully as his burns had rubbed against the chest of the man holding him. Legolas had remembered the mother's charred skin for nights after – her black and crumbling face twisting constantly to find her son while her body had trembled in shock. Blood vessels had burst with the intense heat, seeping blood across the grass. She had died at the height of the moon and he had wondered how she had lived to carry her son from the burning inferno.

They had told him later, when the men in attendance were inebriated out of their minds, that accounts of such unreasonable actions were not uncommon. If humans are confronted with a sudden, great danger, a surge of energy allows the body to function – even when function is otherwise impossible.

Legolas remembered the charred face as he had gathered his weapons from the house and had fled into the night, chasing the men who held his destiny. The footprints had been simple to find in the white moonlight and fading pink sky. When he had looked to the stars as he ran through the deep trees, he had seen his own face – nose and mouth smoldering, skin crumbling like fried paper, and charred eyes roving ceaselessly as he searched for Estel, desperate for one last look at the boy he had burned for.

Burning, he thought as he traced the footprints into a deep grotto, across a slice of blue stream, and through a messy of clinging vines, would not be so bad if Estel was safe. I do not think it would hurt then.

The stars flickered red, the promise of fire.

He felt cold – the frigidness of a mind, frozen beyond feeling. The dark trees slid seamlessly into the forests of Greenwood – and he was running from the orcs, his father's dead body carried behind. The world had been flat then – colorless and bleached with sorrow. If Estel died…

But he would not allow himself to contemplate as he ran after Estel. The Eldar were fleet of foot and keen of eye – he would find Estel and he would save him. The Ilúvatar had destined Estel to grow into a fine man – he would be the prophesied savior of Middle-earth. Legolas had been given the dreams since Greenwood had been swept into darkness before his eyes.

He had dreamed!

He had walked the paths of the future - clear roads stretching against starry skies and rolling thunderheads. He had bent himself to the will of the Valar – to Ilúvatar. They would not forsake him now – not when the brink of the future was near at hand.

The insistence fell silent against the red stars. Dreams are fleeting.

He wanted to wail, lament in the manner of Eldar. His destiny had been the shining string through the dark caves, guiding him to the epoch of his life. If it was gone now… if the shining string had broken along the way…

Dirt shifted beneath his feet, the glaring signs of four men on horseback slowly appearing in the dark soil. He bent, back tight – the deeper print here, the broken leaf there, the freshness of sap on a broken limb. They were not far.

Legolas imagined the dark, slow moving blood of humans. If Estel was dead, then he would kill until the ground glittered red in the white moonlight. It would not bring back destiny, his epoch – it would avenge the grieving heart of a father. And, his face darkened as he leapt across a gully, that was more than a destiny. His love for Estel would drive him faster and harder than the knowledge of his destiny ever would. He would save Estel or avenge Estel as a father – not as the servant of the Valar and this destiny.

White flashed against the green of pine needles and Legolas slowed – he could smell men and… Estel. He felt impassioned – hot blood pulsing in his ears and the feeling of burns blazoned across his face.

Knives flashed before his eyes and he wondered how they appeared in his hands. He stepped and sprang into the thick tree above, yellow moon bouncing in the corner of his vision. Estel was there – just out of the range of vision, hidden behind a tree, ducked beneath the tall grass. He was there – the air filled his lungs – he lived.

He leapt again. His feet tightened on a slender branch, eyes peering ahead even as the branch dipped and bent beneath his weight. His Estel was there.

There was a clearing – he stepped to another tree, crouching behind a spray of thin, green leaves – with tall grasses. Moonlight turned to the ground silver, darkened the four men standing near the middle and the four horses tethered beside.

Estel was a curled splash of black against the swaying grasses, gray eyes like rain drops against a stormy sky. Trails of white skin wound down his face, dipping against the corners of his mouth. He was curled, knees against his chest with bound hands tucked against them as if he prayed.

Legolas wavered at the edge, feeling much like a phantasmal mist. They could not see him – he lingered on the edge of their conscious. He imagined he was Death, sickle in hand and black cape draped across his back. He would sweep from his perch and save the child. He was now just a slip of fog in the trees – and then he would be a white harbinger of death.

His fingers whitened – gray in the moonlight – and poised for flight. He surged from the branch, hair fluttering and knives glittering.

The nearest man turned when he touched the ground. The whites of his eyes were huge in the moonlight – and then red blood sprayed across his jaw as his throat seemed to simply burst under the pressure of the smooth blade.

Blood dashed across the face of the second man, blinding him momentarily as he fumbled for his sword. Legolas's foot caught him across the face and his cheekbone and nose crumpled inward. When he fell, white fluid seeped from his ears.

The third man drew his sword, eyes wide and unblinking in the darkness. His companion darted across the clearing, gripping Estel's hair and drawing the child close. His small knife glimmered dully as it was pressed to the child's chest.

Panic pulsed in a moment, then vanished under cool determination. Legolas drove forward, sweeping the third man's feet from beneath him with the swing of his left leg and then catching his shoulder with the right like a moment later as the man began to fall. The shoulder gave with a loud pop and both knives flashed as the ribs were laid bare to the cool night air.

The fourth man was drawing away, head turning nervously. He was speaking, spasmodically tightening his grip of Estel's hair; but Legolas did not hear.

Estel was crying, mouth moving with great sobs and bound hands pin-wheeling against the night sky. He reached for Legolas, sobbing his name. There was blood at the corner of his mouth and a livid bruise beneath his eye.

Legolas braced, smiling kindly at the child. It would be well, he tried to say in the night air. It will all be well – I swear to you – I will never be gone from your side. I will never be too far that I cannot come to save you.

His fingers shifted across the handle of the elven knife and the man's eyes widened as he stared spastically at the elf's hands. Then the man threw himself backward, sword cutting downward toward Estel's beating heart.

One knife left Legolas's hand, catching the meaty bicep of the man. He wailed out – so loud against elven ears – and his aim was thrown. The blade sank deep into Estel's upper shoulder even as Legolas' second blade was driven directly through the man's eye. Blood sprayed, catching Estel's hair and the side of his face.

The man wavered, ingrained muscle reflexes keeping him standing even when the brain ceased to function. Then he fell backward, hands loosening on the child. Estel fell with him and crashed to his chest before rolling to the ground.

Legolas slipped to his side, hands wrapping about the boy's heaving shoulders, catching him before he could tumble to the ground with the dead man. Horror pulsed in the back of his mind at the sight of the knife in his child's shoulder – wickedness stuck deep into innocence. "I am here," he said, voice sounding so choked. "I am here now." He brushed at the blood, uncaring of that the redness seeped into his sleeves as he cleaned the five-year-old's face. "You are safe now."

"Le-las," the child cried, bound hands pressing against Legolas's cheeks. "They – they…" His voice trailed off in a sob and his eyes dropped to stare in ghastly horror at the knife in his shoulder.

"Estel – Estel," Legolas grabbed his knife from the dead body and cut the bonds from Estel. "I must take the knife out." He gently took the trembling face in his hands. "I must remove the knife, my child. You must be brave."

Estel nodded, sobs pulsing in his throat.

Legolas took the child against him, reveling in the feel of the tiny body that was once more safe in his arms. His hand fumbled at his back, digging into the depth of his quiver. "Estel," he murmured. "You must hold this."

The huge gray eyes glittered. "Cobi!" He snatched bear with his unwounded arm, pressing it to the side of his face.

With a breath, Legolas wrapped his arm about Estel's chest, pressing the child securely against him. "The pain will only be for a moment, Estel," he whispered, kissing the damp forehead. "Only for a moment."

He braced himself, left hand gripping the knife protruding from his child's body. He breathed – and pulled – and cried inside when Estel wailed loudly into the stuffed bear. The knife was flung from his hand into the bloody grass and landed with a muffled thud. Legolas trembled only a little as he removed his own shirt and wrapped it about the wound, binding it close to the small body.

Silvery blood soaked the cloth and Legolas was afraid – terrified that the child was dying in his arms in a cold field.

The tiny face was so pale and bruised, eyes shining wetly with tears. Small arms and legs trembled with shock and he whimpered quietly. "Le-las," he murmured, snuggling against the warm chest. "Cold."

Legolas sniffed and wrapped the child in his cloak, brushing at the bloody hair. "Hush, child," he said as he stood, voice dropping into the soothing cadence he told bedtime stories in. He held the child against his chest, supporting his back and legs wit his arms. "Soon, we will be home and I will wrap you in blankets and sleep with you before the fire. Do not be afraid."

The child moaned in pain as Legolas began to run through the trees. His white arms wrapped about the bear's neck, clinging tightly, even as his eyes slipped closed and his breath lightened.

Legolas imagined the child was shrinking in his arms, growing more insubstantial and cold even as he held the boy close to his chest. "Estel," he said as he breached the gully and raced onward, making a desperate attempt to smoothen his gait for the wounded child. "You must keep your eyes open."

Slivers of gray appeared beneath charcoal eyelashes and the tiny body began to shake. "Almost home?" he sighed, glazed eyes drifting over Legolas's head. One tiny hand loosened from the bear and attached itself to Legolas's undershirt.

"Almost home," Legolas agreed readily. You promised! he screamed to the Valar, desperate for the life of the child. I must fulfill my destiny… he is my son now and I will not surrender him on your whims.

Light pink lips loosened and Estel's face fell to the side, rubbing against Legolas's chest. He breathed deeply and sighed. "Love Le-las," he said softly. "Bad men – knew you would come. Not afraid."

"You are brave."

"Like you."

"Like me." Legolas swallowed and calculated how much longer until they would arrive at the small house where he could treat Estel – where he could and would save Estel's life.

The small body tensed like a bowstring and the face lifted. Gray eyes peered into Legolas and Estel puckered his lips. "I hungry," he murmured, "they no feed me and I hungry."

Legolas looked down and smiled confidently. "Then, after you are warm and clean, I will feed you."

"Promise?" The fist tightened about Legolas' shirt.

"I promise." Legolas's eyes went to the stars, peering at the red flashes of light – tiny fires in the sky, promising the reality of tomorrow. Destiny would come.

Preview of the next chapter:

"Come on, Estel," Legolas cajoled, kneeling in front of the six year old. "I am sure you will enjoy yourself." His hands reached up and tugged on the green linen shirt the boy was wearing. "Can you just smile once before I leave?"

Author's Note: real life is a constant struggle right now – I recently got married and my husband is in the army and preparing to leave for Iraq. Writing is my outlet, but I can't always find time to post. I'm considering moving my stories to my livejournal and only posting here when I'm done. What does everyone think about that?

Thanks to all my reviewers for their continued support, especially LegolassQ(once again, don't worry, this story will be happier than my other), Viggomaniac (thanks for catching that little error…embarrassed) and Mariette (I feel so spoiled with your comments!)