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 Seventeen: My Own Shall Come to Me

Serene I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind or tide nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
- John Burroughs,Waiting

Time passed. Legolas recovered from the massive stab wound he had suffered that dark night. The strength began to return to his limbs and color flushed his cheeks once more. His eyes would sparkle merrily at Estel's stories of the world beyond the medical tent – much to the boy's delight – and his brows would knit together as Gandalf told him the news of the darkness creeping across Middle-earth.

However, as soon as Legolas was well on his way to health, Gandalf departed from the camp of the rangers. He bid farewell to the elf and boy on a bitter day near Solstice, warning them both to guard themselves against the growing evil. Moments after he had left, the first snows of winter began to flake down upon the wide plains.

Within the month of Gandalf's departure, the rangers with Legolas and Estel had made it to the small village that the Dunedain called their own. With the help of Halbarad, Legolas constructed a cottage on the outskirts of the town for Estel and himself – a place of peace and safety for both of them.

So the seasons came and went. The snows of winter gave way to the sprite green of spring. The warm winds of summer were vanquished by the golden leaves and falling acorns. In the village, the scent of darkness was a mere breath on the wind. Often, Legolas could almost forget that there had ever been any fear in their lives – any suffering or misgivings on a day-to-day basis.

And as the seasons slipped by, Estel grew older. His hair grew darker and longer, reaching almost to the small of his back before Legolas cut it to a more respectable length, and the nobility of his brow became more evident. His limbs lengthened and grew in strength while his eyes sharpened. His laugh was warm and his wit was sharp. The women of the village commented that he was the most polite young man they had ever met and thrust their daughters at him for his approval – much to his embarrassment. He was trained by the rangers and Legolas in warfare and tracking – and he became one of the best among them. Legolas did his best to impart the little healing knowledge he had gained from his years in Rivendell.

"Lord Elrond would have taught you better," he would always say to the boy with a wistful look, busying himself with grinding of herbs. His hands would tremble a little and he would gnaw at his lower lip. "But we will have to make do."

Sometimes, Gandalf would drop by the ranger's village, bringing books of history, science, and lore. Much to Estel's dismay, Legolas would force the growing, active boy to read these volumes.

"Why must I read this?" Estel would grouse, staring at the tiny handwritten text. "I will be a ranger – a ranger does not need to know," he would glance at the cover of the book, "Diplomatic Customs of the Haradhim."

Legolas would look up from his own reading and smile, motioning for the boy to keep reading. "Perhaps, you will travel to their deserts one day. Those customs could save or lose your life."

When reading the histories, Estel would often comment on the ineptness of the Stewards – and the failures of Isildur. "His descendant is prophesied to take the throne of Gondor – I cannot how see that could bode well for Middle-earth. To have such a weak man as the High King could lead to failure. Especially with the current darkness." He would be silent for a moment. "It truly is best that the line died out." And he never fully understood the sadness that crossed Legolas's face at those words.

The bond between elf and man grew as well. Since that day in the tent where Estel had mended the torn link, the bond had flourished and strengthened with ever passing day, growing even stronger than their first bond had ever been. Truly, the only time the world did not seem at peaceful rest was in the early winter. When the anniversary of the Nazgúl's attack approach, Legolas would find himself incapacitated with shakes and fevers. Hallucinations would come, leaving Legolas trembling with horror and dread. The skin around the barely visible scar on his torso would flare with red, frigid pain rocketing through his nerves. During those times, Estel would hold warm cloths to Legolas' stomach and cool cloths to his forehead. He would use the athelas to soothe the elf's spirit and his pain. But, a few days after the anniversary had slipped by, those things passed and life resumed a quiet, gentle pace.

But, despite the façade of peace and contentment, Legolas was dreadfully aware of each of the passing years. Sometimes – when his thoughts and emotions grew dark – his hands would be seized by tremors and his heart would hurt deep within him. The day, he knew, was coming closer. Soon, Estel would be called to fulfill his destiny. And on that day, Estel would die and Aragorn would be born. Legolas knew that he should reveal the truth to the boy – but the words would never come.

Often, he would sit with the young man in the evenings before the fire. He would watch the tanned brow crinkle in concentration over some healing technique and Legolas would open his mouth to spill the truth. But he always closed his mouth at the very last instant. Yes, Legolas would admit readily it was fear that held his tongue.

So Estel remained in a blissful state of ignorance for the totality of his transition from boy to man. No worries of kingship or the curse on his blood plagued his life in the slightest. He was content to travel with the rangers, doing his own small part to fight the darkness with every orc and goblin he killed. His eighteenth birthday soon came and, much to Legolas's dismay, he was introduced to pipe weed.

The tranquility could not last. Legolas knew this like he knew the sun would rise the next morning. Saruman knew this. Gandalf knew this. The elves knew this. The darkness was biding its time, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

For this reason, in the twentieth year of Estel's life, Legolas received a missive from Elrond, asking for the elf to attend a council in Rivendell.

There were dark tidings, the letter said. Rohan and Gondor were asking to ally with the elves against the overflow of orcs pouring from Mordor and Orthanc – rumors of the One Ring were growing by the day. Elrond said they needed to discuss Estel one more time – something needed to be done, the black words reinstated, things needed to be decided before the darkness became even more powerful than it already was. Legolas would come to the council – Elrond would not take no for an answer.

While the words filled Legolas with dread, he could not deny the Halfelven lord's request. So as the cool spring months slowly turned to oppressive heat of summer, Legolas began to pack his bags for the trip.

Early morning breezes were wafting through the cracks in the planks when Estel awoke. Thin trails of dusty sunlight fell across the faded coverlet and a puddle of cold wax lay on the nightstand where his candle had melted down during the night.

The young man furrowed his brow, wiping slightly greasy hair from his eyes. He yawned widely, scratched the top of his head and stared at his partially ajar door. There was the sound of rustling fabric and soft footsteps against the wooden floor.

Estel stood and walked rather lethargically to the door. "Legolas?" he stepped into the common room. "What are you doing?"

Wide blue eyes darted away in guilt but then Legolas's mouth twitched just a little as his gaze turned back to the young man standing in the doorway. "Your hair," he said, gesturing to his own perfectly groomed locks as he lowered himself to sit at the table. Then he sobered and gestured with one hand. "Sit down, Estel."

Estel grunted mildly and sat down at the table across from the elf, one hand combing thickly through the tangled knot that reside atop his head. "What are you doing?" he repeated with a little more awareness as the brightness of the morning sun began to clear his sleep fog brain. "I heard nothing about you going on an expedition without me." He pointed to a knapsack sitting next to the door.

"It was sudden," Legolas shrugged and looked down at the knife he was polishing, light from a melting candle reflecting off the clean metal. "I will not be gone long – only a few weeks. It is a simple trip to the mountains…"

"You are lying." Estel leaned his chest against the smooth edge of the table. "Why are you lying?" The elf had never lied to him before – kept secrets from him, yes. But never had he lied to Estel in all the years of his life – so why was the elf so reluctant to spill the truth now?

Legolas dropped his gaze. "I am going to the mountains," he began again.

"No you are not - you are going to Rivendell. I know – I saw the name on the missive that came for you several days back." Estel's voice was mildly accusing and he wet his lips with his tongue. "You are going to Rivendell," he repeated.

Legolas paused, his eyes flickering downward to the knife and turning the worn hilt in his palm in a slightly nervous gesture. "Yes. Lord Elrond has asked me to participate in a council at Rivendell. I will not be gone long."

"A council. About me?"

There was another hesitation. "About the darkness in Middle-earth. Estel," Legolas leaned forward. "Do not worry. They will not harm me."

"Last time, I remember. They drugged you – and tried to kill me, I believe; though you have neither confirmed nor denied that notion." Estel leaned his chin on his joined hands and stared fixedly at Legolas. "Please – do not go. It can only bode ill will. We have been fine without them for many years now. Why should we once again involve ourselves with them?"

"Estel – this darkness will involve all of Middle-earth. We will not be safe here with the rangers. A day is coming when all of the races of Middle-earth will need to bind together and combat this growing evil." Legolas looked away and sadness seemed to touch the curves and grooves of his face. "They have made mistakes in the past but I must learn to accept the fact that I need their help. And I do need their help – more than you can know."

A dreadful cold had lodged itself in Estel's heard. "You have never told me why they were so certain I was going to turn to darkness. You never told me why many of the elves looked at me with fear in their eyes."

"They believe the future is solid and unchangeable. They believe that they see that future." Legolas turned his face away, gaze drifting to the world outside the window, so all Estel could see was the skin one smooth, cold cheek.

The young man bit his tongue. What was Legolas hiding? He stretched mental fingers across the bond and was jolted backwards when he felt the wall Legolas had built between them. "What? Legolas…" Estel reached out one hand and then aborted the motion a moment later, dropping his hand back to the table. "Why must you try and block me? Is there something else?"

Estel was surprised when Legolas's mouth drew into a tight line, lips turning white and thin with an indiscernible emotion. "I am still the teacher, Estel, and my secrets are my own. I am going to Rivendell and while you may disagree with my decision, you will not command me and question me at every turn."

Worry stayed in Estel's eyes but he withdrew from the elf, tucking his hands beneath his elbows and shoulders hunching towards his breastbone. "I am sorry. I just do not want to see you get hurt," he defended, bitterness creeping into his tone. He stood abruptly, thighs hitting the table and strode from the room.

The covers were strewn at the foot of his bed and he pulled them over his head in an effort to block the sunlight. Emotions seethed and swirled inside his mind and his hands clenched tightly around the rough softness of the blankets.

He could hear Legolas' soft footsteps across the floor and the sound of drawers closing. In his mind, he drew a picture of Legolas gathering supplies and weapons, preparing to leave Estel for those elves.

Hinges creaked loudly and Estel opened his eyes, pulling back the blankets from his face. Soft light fell through the window and touched the elf's blond hair, illuminating the knit brow and worried eyes.

"Estel." Legolas's voice was very soft and gentle. "I am sorry." He crouched down next to the bed, hand resting on the mattress, and smiled, though there was a strange emotion in his eyes that Estel could not place. "I must leave soon – and I do not want to do so when you are angry with me."

He sighed faintly. "I am not angry." Making an effort to smile at the elf, Estel sat up straight against the pillows to look Legolas in the eye.

The dark irises were clouded with that indefinable emotion and Estel wondered absently what Legolas saw this time as he studied Estel's face. Often – especially as Estel grew older – Legolas's eyes would grow distant and it seemed that he would see something, someone else besides Estel. Perhaps Legolas was seeing the man Estel hoped he would become one day soon. Perhaps Legolas was seeing a part of his own cloudy past – a past that he never spoke about, not even to Estel.

Legolas was smiling widely (a little too widely, Estel thought), his face lighting up at the soft words. "Good – good." He paused, cheeks thinning slightly as the concern crept back into his face. "All will be well, young one. I do not mean to hurt you with my secrets – but some things are meant to be kept hidden for protection. For your protection. Do you understand?" And his eyes pleaded for Estel to say yes – to say that he did understand the reasons behind the half-truths.

"I understand." Estel nodded, leaning close to the elf and feeling the cool skin of Legolas's long fingers beneath his own hot ones. He knew the elf wanted to protect him – he knew Legolas only had his best interests in mind – Legolas would never intentionally hurt him – and he took a small amount of comfort from that knowledge. "Do not worry about me. I will be fine," he encouraged. "I am a man now."

Gray tones crept into Legolas's eyes and the sides of the elf's mouth drooped, hands tucking behind his back. "Yes – yes, you are." Legolas's cheeks strained in an uncomfortable smile that Estel did not question.

A tendril of annoyance clambered through Estel's mind as the elf stroked at his dark hair as if Estel was still a child of seven but he fiercely quelled it with a smile. "I will see you when you get home."

As the bright spring sun was hidden behind a bank of clouds, Estel stood outside, watching Legolas ride off in the direction of the mountains. A sad smile crept across the young man's face as he remembered how he reestablished the bond after Legolas had been attacked by the Nazgúl – how he had seen the elf's mind, open and unguarded for a few moments. Yes, Estel knew that the elf viewed him as a child to love and protect – just as he loved Legolas as a father.

And Estel wondered if Legolas was ashamed that he had been one of the many elves dedicated to watching over the line of the kings until they faded completely from the lands of Middle-earth. Estel wondered if Legolas believed the slow decay of the line to be his sole fault.

A spurt of wind came from the west, rattling the door knobs and hissing against the walls. The tea in Estel's cup rippled slightly as the air skipped over and Estel turned his face towards the window, looking over the cloudless plains.

"The snow in the mountains should have melted by now," he murmured to himself, observing the smudges of dark peaks against the bright sky. The thought completed in his head, Legolas should have no trouble crossing the passes – the orcs are scarce this time of year. There should be no problems.

His gaze turned to the pale yellow liquid in his cup, breathing the slightly citrus tang. A line furrowed its way between his eyes and his mouth twisted ever so slightly. He did not want to be here – left alone in a camp full of friends – while Legolas rode into what Estel had come to think of as the den of enemies.

Another gust of wind buffeted the walls and Estel turned his head, scowling at the outside. He pursed his lips, wondering at the oddity of wind in spring, and lifted his cup to taste his still steamy tea.

When there was a loud rap at the door, Estel jerked slightly and the tea dribbled over the rim of the cup to fall down his chin and onto his chest, the liquid burning slightly as it soaked his skin. The heat jolted Estel and he set the tea cup down with a thump, spilling more tea onto the table. "Coming," he called, hands wiping at his chin and brushing ineffectually at his shirt, only succeeding in smearing the wet spot around the soft cotton material. "Coming."

Halbarad stood in the bright spring day, long hair caught in the breeze and hands stuffed into voluminous pockets. The harshness of the sunlight washed the color from his cheeks, making him appear flaccid and almost sickly, but his gaze was strong. He nodded to the young man, peering over his shoulder and into the house. "Estel – is Legolas here? There are urgent needs…"

Estel interrupted and his hand waved before Halbarad's face in a dismissive gesture. "Legolas has gone to Rivendell. Lord Elrond summoned him for a council." And Estel did not bother to keep the distaste from his voice.

"Rivendell?" Halbarad's eyes grew in size and his hands fell from his pockets. "I do not suppose he will be back soon…"

"No." Estel stepped aside and motioned for the older man to enter. "Our bond is stretched wholly over the distance or I would tell him in that manner." A niggling feeling of dread took hold of his chest but he took deep breaths and the feeling dissipated.

"That is unfortunate." Halbarad shrugged, "though I should not ask him to leave the council if Elrond summoned him." He sighed again, sitting at the table.

Estel sat as well, folding his hands beneath his chin. "What is the trouble?"

Halbarad placed his hands on his thighs, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "What do you know of the One Ring?"

"It was created by Sauron after the Vala created Middle-earth. He used to conquer Middle-earth until Isildur cut it from his hand. Isildur kept the ring. They say it is lost now though Legolas believes it will be found in the near future." Estel turned his gray eyes towards the mountains again. "Though 'in the near future' may mean many different things to an elf," Estel smiled fondly, his fingers tracing the grooves of the table, "he could be referring to next week or the next century."

Halbarad's lips quirked slightly, as if he was trying to force a smile to come when none could be found within him. "Gandalf sends word – he believes that he has found the location of the Ring."

Estel's mouth dropped slightly, his hands slapping the table as his muscles tightened his surprise. "What?"

"He is in the Shire. He says a hobbit has come into possession of the object." Halbarad shook his head, amazement flitting through his eyes as he rested his chin on his hands. "A hobbit – of all creatures." He shot a querulous glance at Estel. "You do know what a hobbit is, do you not?"

"I have never seen one – but Legolas has told me their tales." Estel took a sip of his tea and reigned in the surprise he felt at Halbarad's announcement. "Why does this concern Legolas?"

"Gandalf needs help in keeping the Ring and its bearer safe for the journey to Rivendell. He has asked us to send a contingent to meet him in the Misty Mountains – I had wanted him to lead the mission – he has friendlier relations than most with Gandalf. I believe that he knows him better than most of the inhabitants of Middle-earth combined. And, besides that, the men trust him implicitly." Halbarad shrugged. "There are other men besides Legolas who would be great leaders– but I had preferred him. But, perhaps Eru intended it not to be this time." He stood and gripped the back of the chair, preparing to leave.

Estel took a breath – and he knew what he had to do. "I could lead the mission." The words felt so right, as if he had been meant to say them since the beginning of time. And, remembering Legolas's teachings on the everlasting, all-knowing will of Ilúvatar, Estel probably hadbeen meant to go on this mission since the beginning of time.

"You?" Halbarad's eyebrows rose.

"Legolas has trained me all my life – and Gandalf knows and trusts me. The men like and respect me. Please – let me go." Estel leaned forward, tea left forgotten by his elbow. "I am a good leader – I can do this."

Halbarad stopped, sat back down in his chair, and chewed his lip. "I know you are Estel. But, Legolas…"

"Legolas trusts me. He knows I am a man now. I have been on hunting parties without him." He had to go on this trip – even if it meant begging. Estel felt as if his destiny was waiting in the Misty Mountains with Gandalf – he had to go.

The older ranger studied him, eyes sharpening slightly. His brow wrinkled and he cocked his head to one side. "You badly wish to go."

"Yes." Estel leaned forward eagerly, the sun shining through the window to touch his dark hair. "Please. If not as a leader, I would wish to go with you as just another ranger."

And, despite his misgivings, Halbarad agreed.

to be continued.