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 Twenty-Two: But Destiny

We are but as the instrument of Heaven.
Our work is not design, but destiny.
- Lord Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton

Any awe that Estel might have felt as he glimpsed the natural splendor of Rivendell for the first time was buried beneath the fear and stirrings of anger coursing through his body.

He felt ominous – as if he alone was a juggernaut of destiny, rolling to inevitably crush himself and all that he held dear.

Glorfindel touched his arms and he jerked a little, just restraining himself from grabbing the Ring about his neck. "Legolas is yonder," the elven lord whispered, "just in the balconies above the spray of jasmine."

Estel looked with blind eyes, already feeling the gentle touch of Legolas against his mind. He did not block the loving push – but neither did he reciprocate. "I see. I will go speak to him." His eyes drifted and caught. "Who is…"

"That is the Lady Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of the Eldar." Glorfindel dismounted lying one hand on his trembling leg. "She has spoken of you fondly since your meeting in Lothlorien many seasons ago."

"Arwen," Estel murmured, caught in a dreamscape of many years past. "Arwen – yes. Under the golden boughs of Lorien, she sang and I came to her. I thought she would have forgotten me. She is as beautiful as I can remember."

"Long is the memory of the elves." Glorfindel tugged at the heavy body of Bilbo. "Let me take him."

Estel stared dispassionately at the blond elf before releasing the small body with numb fingers. The Ring throbbed against him and he wondered if it would burn through his tunic. "We will give him a pyre and set a memorial for him in the gardens. He has given me the keys to fate and more beside."

Glorfindel looked worried at the cryptic words, bowed mouth curving downwards, but Estel brushed him aside and dismounted. He stumbled on the steps – and he could not even tell if it was true clumsiness or a pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable meeting with the father of his heart.

He walked the long stairs and stopped at the jasmines just as Legolas came around the corner, face alight.

"Estel," he said gladly. "I have looked for your return in the East for many a day. I am glad to see you well."

"Well?" Estel had not meant to scoff but the word erupted from his throat anyway, tainting the air about him. "I am not well."

The fair face clouded and one slender hand alighted on his shoulder, concerned eyes canvassing his dirty, disarrayed appearance. "Are you in need of a healer?" he asked. "I will take you…"

"My wounds are not physical. They are infinitely mental in nature – emotional. I suppose that is what happens when you discover that your trusted one since youth has lied to you." The bitter words did not sound like they came from his own throat and Estel had the dreadful urge to find a mirror and see if he still possessed the same features – for that ghastly rage surely was not his.

"Lied?" Legolas looked confused and then a great sadness seemed to come over him as understanding brightened his eyes. "Oh," he said and bowed his head suddenly as if ashamed.

Two factions warred deeply with Estel's psyche – the urge to beg Legolas to make everything well – and the desire to scream his rage.

"Why?" he said at last, voice just below a shout – not caring of the elves that turned to listen. "Why did you not tell me I was the child of accursed blood? Why did you not tell me I was destined to fall? Why did you not tell me I was the heir of Isildur?"

Legolas placated. "Estel…"

"No." He withdrew, placing both hands against his chest – against the Ring. "No – I will not listen." His limbs shook and he felt as if he would fall. "I cannot listen to you. I am so lost… that is why they wished to kill me in Lorien – that is why you took me as a child when no one else would have me. Would not it have been better to let me die then – if falling into wickedness would be my fate?"

"You are not evil."

Estel looked at Legolas and saw the desperate belief and love in his eyes – the denial and years of passion the elf had poured into his defense. A revelation came, zinging deep into his soul. Legolas was… disillusioned. Legolas honestly believed in the goodness of his heart. Legolas believed Estel would not fall into darkness.

But, Legolas did not know. Estel had glimpsed the fear and anger within himself. Legolas denied the truth – but Estel would not. An overwhelming love suddenly filled him for the elf – an overwhelming gratitude at the unconditional love, support, and faith the elf had shown him – despite the betrayal the years of deceit. He sighed, deflating.

Legolas, he knew, would be devastated when the Ring made an end of the work in his mind. The Ring could not be destroyed and Estel could not hold onto to the light forever. They say that the Ring warped all – they said that friend turned into enemy. He imagined himself killing Legolas, imagined the elf's dead body lying at his feet – imagined a world where he despised the one who loved him. His eyes squeezed shut and he trembled all over, fingers whitening against each other. He would not see that come to pass. It was better...

"Legolas," he murmured with some difficulty. "The orcs came upon our party in the plains. The trinket the Halfling carried was too precious to fall into their hands, Mithrandir told me – so I was entrusted with Bilbo and the… the Ring, and told to fly to Rivendell." He swallowed.

"On the plains, we were taken by the wizard Saruman and Bilbo was slain. He told me of my destiny – my heritage – and allowed me to keep," trembling fingers worked the buttons on his tunic. "He let me keep the Ring. He said I would come to him soon enough so it made no difference." The Ring was freed from its cloth prison and Estel pulled it over its head, allowing the tiny piece of gold to dangle in the sunlight, glinting against the sun.

Legolas said nothing, but his eyes widened and his lips thinned drastically as the Ring swayed before his eyes, a deadly pendulum destined to bring destruction.

Dimly, Estel was aware of Glorfindel coming up behind him – but he did nothing and Legolas waved the older elf into stillness.

"So you see?" Estel's voice broke a little. "I know I will fall – I have felt the tug upon my mind. It whispers! It grows! And I… I cannot bear it." He keened low in his throat. "I cannot resist it and the pull grows stronger." His trembling grew and he could no longer lock his knees so he dropped to the floor. "This is the only way, you see? Middle-earth cannot fall into ruin and the only way I can save…" He clenched the Ring in one hand and watched through slitted eyes as Legolas delicately approached. He wished he had more time but…

Fear – fear of destiny, of Legolas's death, of himself – drove him to snatch the tiny knife from his boot and place it at his neck. He held it there, trembling and crying. Legolas's widened eyes haunted him, but he pressed more firmly still. A trickle of blood welled but he felt no pain – only the slight dampness as it rolled down his neck, soaking his collar. This was the only way…

"This is the only way," he said again as he closed his eyes, pretending to see the sweet, warm waters of the after-life, the white moon and never-ending stars – blessed serenity. "The only way – I will end the line and save the earth…" He drew a deep breath – his last, he thought sardonically – and prepared to shove the sharp, clean steel into his neck, reaching out through the bond to touch the bright mind of his teacher. Legolas would allow that, he decided; allow Estel to take in this last comfort as he moved from this life to the next. One last time to feel how much he was loved and then…

But warm hands were there first, pulling at the knife. He wrestled with all of his strength, crying out for the cool peace of death – but Legolas had always been stronger. The knife was taken from him and he could vaguely hear the sharp clatter as it was thrown across the floor, spinning to rest against the wall.

Then Legolas had wrapped him in strong arms, pulling him into the warmth he had known as a child, and he felt some of the terror dissipating. "No, Estel," the elf told him, "there is another way. You must believe me. You are the strongest of the strong and there is another way. Please – if you have no faith in yourself, have faith in this – I will save you."

He opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of Legolas – warm, oceanic serenity. "You will save me?" he asked. "Even from myself?"

"From yourself." Legolas confirmed, tightening his hold and rocking slightly.

Estel pressed his face against the elf's neck. "Why did you lie about – who I am?" he asked pitifully, feeling tears sting against the back of his throat. The anger was gone – all he felt was the angst of a child. "I never knew – but I always wondered. My blood is cursed, Legolas."

"No – there is no curse," the elf said, a fey light gleaming in his light. "I did not tell you because the burden was too great in your youth – I should have told you before – but I wished to keep you free until the last."

"Free." Estel's gaze grew shadowy as the jasmines cast darkness upon his face. "I feel that I will never be free again."

They were both silent then as Legolas gently rocked the young man, petting his hair. Estel felt warm and safe as for the first time in days, the whispers of the Ring faded from his mind as Legolas's peace washed through his mind.

But one more thing needed to be said.

"Legolas," he whispered, feeling like a child sharing secrets before bedtime. He looked down and saw bloody cuts on Legolas's hands from where he had wrested the knife away from his neck – bright blood welling and dropping to the floor, smearing across Estel's tunic and arms. So bright.

"Yes, Estel."

"If I fall, I would like you to slay me." Estel drew a deep breath and continued even as Legolas stiffened against him, clutching him tighter. "I would rather I go to my rest by your loving hand then the blade of an anonymous foe – and I would rather be in forever sleep then destroying the earth that I now love. Please; this is the only boon I ask of you. You will be much more merciful then the ravages of evil." Estel closed his eyes, exhausted, falling forward to rest near Legolas's heart.

And right before he drifted into an exhausted sleep for the first time in three days, he heard Legolas's gentle acquiesce.

Estel lay sleeping in the next room and Legolas stood just outside the door, face drenched in the yellow sunlight, as Elrond paced before him. White, stiff bandages were wound about his hands, protecting the wounds he had gained in saving the young man's life. Legolas did not even feel the sting.

"He has the Ring – do you know what this means? All that we have feared is coming to pass." Elrond's dark gaze glowered in Legolas's direction before he spun to face the opposite wall. His stiffened back hurt Legolas more than his words.

"He wishes to destroy the Ring – not keep it for himself. My bond with him shows no guile, only deep confusion and fear." Legolas breathed through his nose, feeling the cool air slip down his throat. "The conclusions you jump to are premature, my lord."

"And you are too hopeful, my lord," Elrond said harshly, cheeks tightening. "Your faith in the boy will kill you."

Legolas paused, swallowing. "Let us at least give him a chance. We cannot very well kill him now. Lady Galadriel will be here within two weeks and the leaders of Middle-earth are already gathered. We will discuss the Ring and decide what to do. Estel will heed our instructions."

"The Ring will have to be cast into Mordor – you know this. It is a long journey that is not easily made, especially in these dark times. I fear Estel will fall under the sway of the Ring. It is better if we…"

"Do not say it." Legolas's face thundered and his blue eyes flashed. "Do not think it. Estel is strong."

Elrond came up to Legolas's face, their chests brushing. "And you said Arathorn was strong as well. Estel has already met with Saruman – whose to know if the wizard has not already affected his mind and turned him to the evil way? Mithrandir is gone – most likely dead – and our allies decrease by the day. If Estel were to join forces with Saruman with the one Ring, Middle-earth as we know it would cease to exist."

"Estel would never…"

"All people have some weakness. It is just a matter of exposing it."

Legolas turned introspective, mind quieting as he stared out the window. Bright light glittered against green hills and the rich brown of trees. Birds swooped across the sky and Legolas imagined he could see the Sea in all of its blue glory stretching into the horizon. Valinor tugged at his mind, an alluring siren that washed through his mind until he shook himself free.

"Estel will not be turned by the petty promises of Saruman. Mithrandir was indeed a grave and painful loss – but we will overcome as we have always done." He closed his eyes, seeing red as the brightness of the sun faded behind his eyelids. "We are a dying race, my lord, and this is a dying land. Let us at least give our successors a chance at a better life when we are gone."

Elrond moved softly, sinking into a brocaded chair.

"We go to a new world, my lord," Legolas continued in a whisper, "a world that we have only dreamed of on these murky shores. The mortal race does not have the promise of white shores – this world, as decaying as it is, is all they have. It is a world where they must cultivate with their own hands – and live with the consequences of their successes and follies."

"It is our world no longer," the older elf acknowledged. He sighed deeply and Legolas felt the weariness in the other elf's soul.

"Let us help them one last time, my lord," Legolas murmured. "I can feel Estel's mind as if it were my own – there is no darkness. Please –believe me. Let us give them a beautiful world."

"A beautiful world…" Elrond moved one hand over the silky material of his robe. "A better world then what they have ever known. We will mourn for Mithrandir, Bilbo, and the fallen Dunedain for two weeks – then a council will be called and we will decide. Once our duty is done, then will we sail. Valinor calls – but let us stand one last time."

"One last time," Legolas agreed quietly, his own weariness stooping his shoulders deeply and thickening his voice. He reached across the bond, feeling the gentle peacefulness of Estel's sleeping mind, taking comfort and hope from the sereneness. "For Hope lives – and while Hope lives, there is a tomorrow and a tomorrow and a tomorrow."

They were in the gardens, grass brushing against bare feet and bright sunlight warming their bare heads.

Legolas stood at the pyre, feet braced against the wooden floor and hands tucked neatly against his stomach. He watched Estel with wide, keen eyes. In a moment of honesty that he admitted to none but himself – Legolas expected Estel to collapse. He had at his father's funeral and Elladan had been there… Legolas twisted his head and caught the gray eyes of the twin.

Their severe gazes met and Elladan nodded his head before Legolas turned back to the stiff, cold shoulders of his charge.

Estel did not notice the exchange and Legolas was slightly grateful for that. His eyes were fixed firmly on the pyre and the tiny figure that was draped against the gray stones, dry wood surrounding it. Legolas alone noticed the slight flinch when a breeze came and lifted the tiny curls of the hobbit into the air.

Legolas sidled closer, brow puckering and worried lines streaking through his eyes. "Are you well?" he murmured.

The young man nodded resolutely. He turned away and Legolas watched as his teeth drew blood from his lip when the first flames licked across the wood, catching on the fine robe the elves had made for Bilbo's funeral garments.

But when Legolas put a hand to his elbow, Estel roughly pulled away, drawing himself tall and straight like on of the mountain pines.

Legolas wondered if Estel thought himself to be alone in his pain. Did Estel believe he was the only one who mourned? There was no body to mourn – to burn – for the rangers or for Mithrandir. But they were dead and Legolas's memories of Mithrandir, of Halbarad, of all the other young men were going up in flames with Bilbo's tiny body.

The grief swept through him and Legolas swallowed, lowering his forehead. "Ai, Valar," he mouthed, tongue feeling heavy and dry. "Ai." He lifted his head and stared at the sky, throat clicking harshly as he swallowed.

Orange sparks rode the wind and vanished in the direction of the river. Layers that he had built around agony of the death of his father began to peel away and Legolas felt raw and exposed. If he strained his eyes at the sky – if he allowed the world around to blur – he could imagine that he was hundreds of years in the past and his father's body was burning. The smoke rising in the sky became the fires of Greenwood and Legolas felt very young.

His knees loosened and he swayed a little, the weight of the past crushing his lungs, ribs crumbling into the soft tissue.

A hand touched his elbow then and, when he turned, Elladan's face was bent near his own. "Legolas…" he murmured questioningly. Weakness made Legolas lean into the other elf's arms for a moment.

"Thank you – but I am fine." Legolas's mouth twisted harshly in a smile and he stepped away, standing under his own power. He locked his knees and twined his arms together, forearms pressed against his stomach. The blue of the sky and the green of the trees blurred together as he stared with opened eyes at the horizon. He only vaguely heard the closing words of the ceremony and the gentle lament of elven voices rise up, drowning the rushing of water and the slight whisper of the breeze.

They sang for Mithrandir, for the ashy remains of the halfling, for the rangers left for dead on the plain. Elves were starting to slip away into the woods, retreating to grieve privately. Legolas watched them go and followed, leaving Estel's side for the first time since he had arrived.

The dull colors of sunset began to glisten in the western sky, sweeping across the grass and muting the vibrant shades of nature. Shadows were stretching out from the white stone monument and the proud, straight nose darkened the mouth and chin.

Legolas stopped at the pedestal, head just coming to the statue's knees. He glanced upward, canvassing the familiar features in one glance. "I have been gone long," he murmured and sank to sit cross-legged in the grass. "I did not mean to be…" He blinked in the watery sunlight, as if expecting a reply from the stone statue.

Thranduil's foreboding mouth did not change its expression and Legolas rested his head in his hands.

"I long for the Undying Lands. My soul is so weary of this eternal struggle – I feel the darkness so strongly. It is… suffocating. I feel as if I have not drawn a breath since Greenwood was vibrant. This burden the Valar have laid upon me is too… monumental – but I cannot give it up. Do you understand?" He looked up, gaze clear and lips pressed together. "Do you?

"There is an obsession within me. I need to see Estel through. It drives me and haunts me and burns me. I am so weary… But I know my peace will only come after I have fulfilled this task that the Valar have laid upon me." He sighed deeply, inhaling the woody scents and the evening breeze from the river. "I love him," he mumbled, voice turning introspective and gaze losing focus. "I intended to fulfill destiny and I gained a son and a friend… and now I see him slipping away…"

He fell silent and the back of his throat burned.

"Legolas?"

Silhouetted against the flaming sun, Estel stood there, head cocked just a little. Legolas swallowed and flushed a little as he realized how vulnerable he appeared, crouched before the statue of his dead father.

"Estel," he said roughly. He thought about standing but could not turn the thoughts into corporeal actions. The urge to say something was nearly overwhelming – and his lungs fluctuated in anticipation – but no sound came. "It is," he said at last but then could not think of an end to the sentence.

The young man stepped over to him, sinking into the grass, their shoulders brushing. "He is your father?"

"My father," Legolas nodded.

"I am finding now," Estel said, face turned away and draped in shadow, "that I hardly knew you at all. "I did not imagine you having a father – I never really thought... Did you know that I used to imagine that you were my father? The boys at school – they used to speak of their fathers. I would tell them of you and call you father when you were not there. You were the sun, Legolas – invincible. But the sun sets."

Legolas sat dumbly, unsure and disbelieving. He opened his mouth to reply and then dropped his face as a memory came. Sitting in the warmth of the small house of Archet… Mithrandir, healthy and whole, sitting before him… and destiny so faraway but so close all at once…

"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 Legolas's 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 we all know how that turned out."

"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."

The memory left and Legolas leaned into the shadows, leaned close to Estel, leaned so he could speak softly and still be heard. "Did you know that I called you my son? When Mithrandir came and you were still so small and your bear was your closest companion…"

Estel managed a brittle smile. "Cobi."

"Yes – Mithrandir came and asked me about you. I told him you were my son – my precious one. I told him I would let no one take you away from me." He thought about pressing his arm close about Estel's shoulders, drawing him to his chest as he would have when Estel was small – but hunched his shoulders inward at the last moment. "How can you express," he murmured, voice so raw, "a father's love for his son?"

Legolas looked down, staring at the green blades of grass, the white base of his father's memorial. He thought Estel was watching him – but he did not want to look up and risk Estel's cool gaze.

Then a warmth covered his side as Estel shifted to lean against him, head on his shoulder.

"Tell me about your father," the young man whispered.

"He was aloof. Much like Lord Elrond, I suppose. He loved jewels and sparkling, beautiful rocks. He had a temper and a brilliant mind. Many regarded him as cold and unyielding. But he loved me – I never doubted that through all the years he was alive. They tell me I did not recover for days after he was killed in the retreat from Greenwood. Elladan tells me I nearly followed him to the Halls."

"But you did not."

"No – I stayed."

Estel turned his head, skull pressed to the underside of Legolas's chin. His breath was puffing irregularly against Legolas's shoulder. "I wished I could have known him. There are so many people I have never met… my father, my mother…"

Legolas blinked, feeling the flash of epiphany seer across his brain. "Come," he said, voice rising in excitement. "There is something I must show you."

To be continued.