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 Jame K.

Chapter Ten: And If Forever…

Fare thee well! and if for ever,

Still for ever, fare thee well.
- Lord Byron

King Thengel of Rohan stood just beyond the door of the Golden Hall. His nut-brown hand was resting on the golden scabbard of his sword and his blue eyes were gazing out over the rolling, yellowish plains.

It had been a little over three years since he had left the service of Steward Turgon and returned to his homeland – desperate to convince his father to fight – to do something – against Saruman's approaching hordes.

And it had been a little less than a year since he had taken the throne of Rohan as his own. Thankfully, the takeover had not been as bloody as all were expecting. In the two years that Thengel had resided in the land, he had gathered followers to himself – which was not hard to do as Saruman destroyed village after village.

Then, just two months before the coup had been set in motion. Fengel had taken ill and died in his sleep just a few days later. The doctors said that consumption had taken hold of the king's aging body and had sent him to his grave – they said it was tragic and shook their heads sadly. But Thengel had seen the dark shadowy eyes of one of the male consorts – angry, hurting eyes – and the livid bruises across the beautiful, slender body as the young man had stood in the darkness of the newly dead king's room. And, Thengel had seen the vial of poison the trembling hands had shoved in a drawer.

But it had been done – one way or the other, Fengel was dead. And, for better or for worse, Thengel was ruler of a staggering, perishing Rohan.

Edoras – he dropped his eyes to look down at the infested streets of the capital – had become little more than a refugee camp as those living on the open plains fled to the heart of the kingdom for protection against Saruman's hordes. Once tidy streets were lined with tents and screaming children. Huge cauldrons of stew had been set up at the base of the Golden Hall in an attempt to feed the up-rooted masses.

A flash of unreasonable shame shot through the new king. This was the first sight the delegation from Gondor would see of the new Rohan – would they think he was a bad king? Would they scorn the poverty and desperateness they saw written on the faces of the refugees?

With a shaky breath, he looked back to the plains – and the plumes of dust rising from the dry ground as the party of horses moved closer towards Edoras. The delegation from Gondor.

He knew Turgon would not be there and that greatly saddened his heart. In the eighteen years he had spent living among the Gondorians, the Steward had become a father-figure, as well as becoming a true friend. Turgon would have come – Thengel reassured himself – but the situation was bleak in Gondor. The country could not be left leaderless at such a time as this.

Tilting his head back, he took a long breath before spinning and striding back into the Golden Hall. The delegation would arrive in a few moments – there was no use in pacing the balcony as he waited for them.

Thengel forced himself into a semblance of calm as he sat rigidly on the wooden throne. His guards – the few that were not helping with the refugees – stood in the wings, waiting for his command. At his right hand, he had set a creamy piece of paper bearing the scarlet Rohirrim seal – the treaty that would join Rohan and Gondor in an alliance against Saruman – the treaty that would hopefully save the lives of countless men, women, and children.

Trumpets blew and the wooden doors swung inwards with a rasping groan – and Echtelion, son of Turgon, swept in. His soft green eyes settled on the King of Rohan and a smile lit up his young face. He bent his head and his light brown hair caught the dull light. "My lord. I come bearing new from my father – and the power to carry out his will. Let Gondor and Rohan be joined in alliance."

Gandalf's staff rapped noisily against the stone steps of Rivendell's outer courtyard as he made his way into the flowing buildings. Trees swayed in the warm summer breezes and the bright sunlight washed out the pastel colored pillars.

"Mithrandir." Elrond swept from the archway with the bearing of a great king. One hand touched his breast in elvish greeting. "Welcome to Rivendell. Long have the days been since you have graced us with your presence. Times are darker now."

"But your welcome is as warm as always, my lord Elrond." Gandalf tipped his head and then turned to look over the gardens and waterfalls stretching through the valley. "It is fading," he noted and dismay tinged his tone. "The brilliance that has been preserved by elves for the generations – but now it slips away…"

"Our power is weakening and Saruman grows in strength – we will soon pass over the sea and the world will be left to men." Elrond turned and motioned for the wizard to fall into step beside him. "I never foresaw the darkness growing this fast. I fear that Middle-earth will not survive for long in the hands of men. Together, Saruman and Sauron raze Rohan to the ground. The Nazgúl ride from Mordor and terrorize the countryside daily…"

"You know the danger that lies ahead for this land but you sought to kill the last Heir of Isuldir?" Gandalf watched the expression of the dark-haired elf closely with his large gray eyes. One eyebrow rose slightly when Elrond attempted to make no response after several long moments. "Come now, my friend, it is not often one finds that a great elf-lord has been struck speechless."

"I looked into his future and I saw only death and suffering. Galadriel saw the same." Elrond's face was carefully impassive, his voice without any inflection. Directing his gaze straight ahead, the elf lord avoided Gandalf's probing. "I see you have been talking to Legolas, my friend."

"We spoke nigh on eight years ago, when that boy of his was only three. I imagine the lad is almost twelve by now." Gandalf cast a side-glance at the elf.

Elrond made no reply, his pale mouth narrowing into a thin line.

"Legolas would have been away from his people twelve years. Do you not think that is long enough?" Gandalf pulled them both to a halt on a wooden bridge and they stood watching a gushing stream flow beneath them. "Call him back, Elrond. Take him to Lothlorien and look into the boy's future once more. When I saw them, I sensed no excess of darkness in the boy's mind or in his future. Perhaps Legolas has indeed changed fate."

A bird flittered over the trees and Elrond followed the erratic movement with his shadowed eyes. "Yes… perhaps," he murmured distantly as if his mind had fled into a happier memory. "Perhaps if he can talk to Galadriel… perhaps he will come to his senses…"

Gandalf pursed his lips slightly. "You do not mean to tell me you still believe the boy should be done away with?"

Sadness flickered over Elrond's face but was then lost in the steeliness of resolve. "His blood – Isildur's blood – bears a deep curse that is centuries old. Legolas, with all of his good intentions and dreams, cannot break it. I truly do not believe that any man or elf could." His sigh was deep and heavy with too many years of experience. "Legolas should have let us do away with him after his birth. Now he is attached to the child. It will be much harder for him now."

Wind swept through Gandalf's wild mane and the wizard shook his head. "In your fear, Elrond, you have forgotten the hope. Give Legolas and the boy this once chance, my old friend. Look into their future with impartiality and see if you do not see the glimmer of light. For Legolas."

Elrond's gaze turned inwards and one hand traced the patterns carved into the wooden bridge. "Yes," he said after a time. "Perhaps I will give the future one more chance." A bitter smile twisted across his face. "For Legolas – I do not think he would ever forgive me if I did not."

Gandalf harrumphed his agreement. "You will send for him then? And you will go to Lothlorien?"

Water gurgled over the gray rocks and wind rustled through the trees in the following silence as both man and wizard waited for destiny to be decided. And then, Elrond's voice – low and steady – spoke into the quiet. "I will."

Elladan's first impression of Archet was the lack of life in the dull yellow rolling hills surrounding the town. The air was dry and thick and hot wind kicked up clouds of dust every few minutes.

Of course – being an elf – Elladan did not feel the festering heat. But he did take note that all green things had been burnt alive by the power of the deep yellow sun. And his horse huffed and sweated as they made their way along the windy paths.

A drought, his mind provided absently. Such things did not afflict Rivendell – the 'magical' power of the elves made sure of that – but Elladan supposed that such an even was fairly common among the mortal world. Part of him was amazed that so soon after the wetness of spring, a spell of such dryness could seize the land.

Archet rose up as a great brown parasite in a world of sickly green and even sicklier yellow. Its huge walls did little to impress Elladan and the elf quickly skirted around the fort, heading towards the location Gandalf had described for him as where he would find Legolas. It had been years since he had entered into a human town and he was not about to start now.

As the elf drew closer to what he supposed would be Legolas's home, he found that the landscape regained some of its healthy green. And when he found himself in the tiny clearing that held the house, the area was positively lush with an abundance of life. Tall grasses were fairly humming with vitality swayed as they in a breeze that somehow did not feel so hot and heavy. Bright flowers dotted the field and released their merry scents into the slightly warm air.

Elladan smiled.

Nature, it seemed, loved Legolas no matter where the elf went.

The wooden house sat snugly in the far end of the field, just outside the rich tree line. Smoke curled from the chimney and a dark-haired boy stood outside, tending to what appeared to be a small garden.

A breath caught in Elladan's throat and a pain seized upon his insides. So this was the boy that Legolas had given up everything for.

He was not a bad looking boy, Elladan admitted to himself. Dark brown hair was carefully braided back from a nut-brown face – though a few strands had escaped to stick in sweaty clumps to a slightly sloping forehead. Smooth, relatively hairless skin stretched over long, sleek muscles that rippled slightly as the boy worked a hoe through reddish-brown dirt. Clear, gray eyes – actually, they seemed more silver when the sunlight glinted off of them – were well set above high cheek bones and a firm mouth lay in a straight line of concentration.

When the boy heard the steady clop of hooves, he dropped the hoe to the ground. One grubby hand brushed ineffectually at his sweaty hair and the other hand reached for the cotton shirt he had draped over a stump. Shrugging it on, he took several steps towards Elladan and stood there, shading his eyes with one lean hand.

"Mae govenann," Elladan greeted smoothly he had drawn his horse up next to the boy. He hesitated, glancing towards the wooden house and then back at the boy. "Is Legolas here?"

A dirt smudge lay over the boy's cheek and continued down onto his neck. He licked his lips and planted his hands on deceptively small hips. "And what business would you have with him?" he asked in a clear voice that – even at his young age – rang with authority.

"I am an old friend – I have things I need to discuss." Elladan swung off of his horse and stood before the boy. He was only slightly surprised when he realized that the child was much shorter than he had first appeared.

He does not look evil, Elladan thought as he studied the flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. He seemed to be just like another boy. Perhaps Mithrandir had been right about…

"You are an elf." The boy's silver eyes flashed dangerously. "Several years ago – one of your kind came and talked to him. He was upset for days. How do I know you will not do the same?"

Elladan's brow furrowed his confusion. Another elf had come here…? Oh, Elrohir and Gilraen's death. "I swear to you my intentions are good." He took a step in the direction of the door and pretended not to notice the way the boy countered his movements. "Is he here?"

"Estel?"

Both heads turned towards the query.

Legolas stood at the corner of the house, a bow in one hand. Blond hair was done in the warrior style he had worn for over a millennium. Bright blue eyes shone in his pale face and one dark eyebrow was cocked upwards. His clothes were slightly mannish, Elladan noted with a grimace. But, otherwise, Legolas was unchanged from the last time they had met over a decade before.

"My friend," Elladan started but he did not finish. His tongue seemed to have frozen within his mouth and his hands fell to his sides. He felt pinned beneath Legolas's gaze and all the unspoken questions those blue eyes held. For days – since Mithrandir had come to the elves with his plans – he had dreamed about seeing his old friend again – and now he found himself stricken with absolute silence.

Legolas had set down the bow and was moving rapidly across the ground – his eyes fixed on the dark haired half-elf. He brushed past Estel with a whispered word that made the boy return to the house and came to stand inches from Elladan. "Why have you come here?" he asked softly, eyes searching out the familiar features. "Has Elrond decided to take Estel away from me after all of this time?"

"No…I…" Elladan choked slightly. "Legolas…"

The blond elf's marble façade softened. "I am sorry I did not say goodbye," he murmured in elvish.

"That has been forgiven long ago." Elladan woodenly smiled as his shoulders shifted towards Legolas – though his hands stayed by his sides. "I am sorry for not coming sooner."

"You are forgiven." A resolution came into the blue eyes and Legolas's right foot slid forwards. "I have missed you, my friend." And then his arms came around Elladan's tense body and his head rested on the taller elf's shoulder.

A low sigh slid past Elladan's lips and he brought his arms up to embrace Legolas. "And I missed you. Father said no one was to come after you or I would have come much sooner." He squeezed the lean frame a little tighter before releasing Legolas and stepping backwards a few paces.

Legolas cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of the house. "Then why have you come now? Your presence gladdens my heart but I am not so naïve as to think this a casual meeting between friends."

"My father asks you and the boy to pay a visit to Lothlorien so that the Lady and him may look into his future and see what might linger there."

"And if I refuse?"

"Legolas…"

"The last time I saw Elrond, he was explaining the necessity of killing Estel. What reassurances do I have that he will not attempt to do so again?" Legolas shook his head resolutely and gazed solidly at his friend. "I will take no chances."

"Mithrandir will be there," Elladan countered – a measure of desperateness seeping into his voice. "And I will be there as well. Father misses you – we all do. Please, Legolas. Give us – give him – a chance."

Legolas's gaze turned away from Elladan and his shoulders hunched inwards. "His name is Estel," he said just under his breath, his words faltering ever so slightly. "Did I tell you? He is thirteen years old and loves to ride his horse."

"Estel," Elladan repeated, making an effort to smile warmly. "You named him Hope."

"It is fitting." The luminous eyes turned to scour Elladan's face. "He will stay in the light. He will bring hope."

"Do not waste your battles on me, Legolas. You are my friend and I will not see you harmed in anyway. If losing the boy means you will be hurt – I will fight to keep him by your side."

"But you do not believe that he is the hope."

Elladan was suddenly aware of the quiet that had come over the field. The breeze had ceased to blow and the grasses held themselves in an eerie stillness. "There… there is a curse upon his blood, my friend. I do not know if anyone is strong enough to free him from that. But if it can be done," he continued with resolution, "I have no doubt that you will be the one to see it done."

"Your faith in me warms my spirit," Legolas turned to look at the house again and Elladan could only imagine what his eyes truly saw. "Estel and I will go to Lothlorien," he said at last – his words sounding almost as a funeral dirge. "I suppose you will accompany us?"

"If you wish it to be so, I will travel with you." Elladan declined to mention that his father had declared on no uncertain terms that he was to ride with Legolas and the child – Estel, he corrected himself – to Lothlorien.

Legolas nodded. "I do," he said in a way that made Elladan think that the wood-elf had realized Lord Elrond's orders.

"We will leave in the morning," Legolas continued. "Will you stay with us tonight? Estel has never met another elf besides me and I think he would be pleased to hear some of your tales. I am afraid mine have been told too many times." He laughed a little and stopped when Elladan did not join in.

"You have not told him, have you? Of his heritage? Of his destiny?"

Shadows filled Legolas's blue eyes and he wrenched himself away from Elladan. "No – I," his voice caught and he made a visible effort to draw himself straighter – a wall that would protect Estel from anything and anyone. "He should not be burdened by that now. I will tell him when the time is right."

Elladan studied him for a moment more before turning to walk toward the house. "I will tell him stories – though I doubt they will be as good as yours – and then we will leave in the morning." He chuckled. "He did not seem very happy when we first met. He said another elf had been here before me."

"Yes, Elrohir came and told me of Gilraen's death." Legolas's smile had a self-depreciating flavor to it. "I am afraid I was quite disconsolate for several days without ever really explaining to Estel why."

Elladan turned and saw the sorrow that still lingered in the blue depths of Legolas's eyes. "She died with a smile and whispering her husband's name. I believe she found her peace after death. And, I also know that she would bear you no fault for taking Estel as your own." Elladan stopped to gather his thoughts as he watched the cloud of sorrow that swept over his friend's face. "She trusted you and cared for you as a dear friend – she would know that you would do right by her son."

Legolas nodded even as the door open and Estel stood on the top step watching them with his wide, gray eyes. His face had been cleaned and still seemed to be slightly damp from the washing even as water droplets sparkled in his hair.

At the archer's motion, the boy came quickly down the steps and stood by Legolas's side – his eyes carefully gauging Elladan's face while his hands fidgeted deep within his pockets.

"This is an old friend of mine - Elladan," Legolas said, one hand resting comfortably on Estel's shoulder. "Tomorrow we will be journeying with him to Lothlorien."

Estel turned to him with a question written clearly in his eyes. "The home of the elf-queen? We are going to meet your people?" There was an undertone of excitement in his voice that Elladan could not help but smile at.

"Yes – though they are not exactly my people." Legolas smiled at the boy and his gaze was gentle. "Will you go and tend to our horses as well as Elladan's? He will be staying with us the night."

The boy nodded and turned to go. He hesitated and glanced back at Elladan. "It was good to meet you, sir," he said softly – then he turned and took the half-elf's horse to the stables. His gait was spry and he murmured in a gentle tone to the horse as he went, patting its nose and introducing himself to the unfamiliar beast.

Elladan watched him go and then turned to Legolas. "He seems like a good boy," he murmured.

Legolas's warm eyes were fixed on the boy's retreating back. "Yes, he is," and his voice was tight with worry. "I cannot lose him, Elladan. He has become a son to me. I will not let Elrond harm him in any way."

Dawn cracked over the countryside surrounding Archet. Red, gold, orange, and white streaked across the eastern sky and peppered across the dull blue of the fading night. Soft breezes swept from the south, bringing with it the smell of daisies as it cooled off the muggy landscape.

Legolas took a deep breath of the cool air and smiled at the resulting tingle in the back of his throat. A song rose within his heart and it was all he could do to keep the melody safely locked behind his lips. Mornings like this were common in these sweltering summer days but, to Legolas, they never lost their novelty.

The whitish-yellow of the rising sun highlighted the pastel colored landscape and gray rock formations – highlighted the sagging face of Estel as the boy half-heartedly fought to keep his gray eyes open.

Dark hair was falling from its usual braids and was hanging in mussed strands over the slack forehead and wide, yawning mouth. Rumpled clothes were twisted haphazardly over wearied limbs that were splayed in all manner of odd directions over the back of the horse. Every few moments, Estel's body would jerk slightly and his loose hands would tighten over the reigns before he would fall into tired limpness once again. Poor boy – he really was not used to rising before dawn had even brushed the sky.

Mirth tugged at the archer's lips and he urged his horse closer to the boy's. "Estel, you are missing the sunrise," he informed cheerfully.

Eyelashes, the color of unburnt coal, fluttered and gray eyes stared at him blearily before Estel leaned with over his horse's neck with a tragic groan. "I do not care. You told me I was missing the stars as we left the house."

"Well, you were." Legolas wondered for a moment if Estel was going to topple from his horse as the human fairly draped himself over the long neck of his horse. When the boy managed to maintain his balance, the elf continued with a grin. "It is quite beautiful. You will be sorry that you did not at least glance at it."

There was a flash of white teeth as Estel bit his lip then the boy dragged his head upwards with overly dramatized groan. His cheeks and forehead wrinkled inwards as he peered at the collage of colors painting the horizon. "Lovely," he mumbled as his head drooped once more.

Legolas eyed the boy and his horse for a long breath. After assuring himself that the horse would not let Estel fall and would keep following the other two horses, Legolas urged his own mount forwards.

Elladan rode only a few yards ahead. His dappled stallion plodded along, pausing occasionally to scrape at a particularly green parcel of grass. The dark elf's hands were resting on his thighs as he trusted his horse to know the way over the hills and Legolas bit back a grin at the sight.

Running a pale hand through his blond hair, Legolas could feel the beginning waves of heat rising to caress his skin and he absently checked the water bag hanging next to his leg. Estel will need to drink lots of water, he reminded himself, and he will need to put on that disgusting salve that humans rub over themselves to keep the sun from burning their delicate skin.

The upwards path they had been following leveled out at the crest of the hill and Legolas twisted on the horse to look back over the valley that had been his home for these thirteen years.

Archet's brown walls glistened in the growing warmth and the white-blue river cut a swath nearby. Legolas's keen elf eyes could make out Bartmelou's inn and the schoolyard. Lifting his gaze farther, he could see the tattered brown of his own home and the dusty trail that led into the town. The townspeople would be rising now. Bartmelou would be finding the hasty note Legolas had left on his doorstep and Idella would be starting the breakfast for the early customers.

Legolas's eyes went gray for a short moment. Presentiment started as an itch in the back of his mind and he wearily scrubbed at his face. Never before the first time he had glimpsed Estel with his mind's eye did Legolas have such strong premonitions. And, now, since the birth of this child – the striking visions were growing more varied, more graphic – the feelings were becoming more concentrated. Legolas knew now to never ignore any strong sense of foreboding.

Estel's horse lumbered past him with a snort. The boy's eyes were lightly closed and his mouth hung open as he wandered in the realms of sleep. The sight caused a swell of tenderness to rise within Legolas's breath and fill his eyes. Yes, this mortal child had changed his life in so many ways. And Legolas would not trade the boy for anything in all of Middle-earth.

With a sigh, Legolas turned his horse and fell into pace beside his young charge. He stared blindly into the now-fading sunrise as he tried to shake the foreboding that had come over him and shadowed all of his thoughts. It was no good. Legolas knew that wherever path their destiny would take, Estel would never return to the country town of Archet.

to be continued.