My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.
This story should be considered part of "The Nameless One" series because in it Legolas is referred to as Elrond's foster son. It is set after Legolas's reunion with Thranduil, so Legolas goes by his proper name rather than by Anomen. Legolas has come back to visit Rivendell at a point at which Estel is a late adolescent.
I would like to thank the following reviewers of Chapter 1 of Bravely unto Breeland: invisigoth, leralonde, CAH, BeeGee, Pghj2005, Elfinabottle, and Ne'ith5. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature did not hear back from me.)
This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as The Silmarillion.
Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for Parallel Quest, but shorter pieces like this are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.
Chapter 2: Walkabout
Mithrandir twisted in his saddle and looked back at Estel and Legolas, who had their heads together as much as they could without coming out of their saddles, so to speak (Legolas having opted to ride bareback). "Now, I wonder what those two scamps are up to," he muttered to himself. "They had better not pull any pranks on my watch. If they do, they shall find that Erestor's penalties are trivial compared to the ones that I shall exact."
It was not the case, however, that Mithrandir's young companions were planning mischief. Legolas was merely holding forth on the beauty of the maidens in Lothlórien. Since his acknowledgement as Thranduil's son, the young Elf had had several opportunities to visit the realm of Galadriel and Celeborn, and the maidens of the Golden Valley had been very hospitable to the young prince.
"You must go there someday, Estel," Legolas enthused. "You will be very well received, I am sure. You know that our foster-sister lives there, don't you?"
Estel had heard Elladan and Elrohir mention something to that effect, but he hadn't paid attention then, and he didn't pay attention now. He wanted to hear about his friends Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin.
"Ada said Lord Celeborn reported in his last letter that there had been a skirmish on the southern border of Lothlórien and that Haldir and his brothers fought in it. Did Ada show you the letter?" Estel asked eagerly. "Did it describe the deeds of our friends—their courage, their skill?"
"Ada showed me the letter," Legolas answered, "but it did not describe the individual actions of any of the participants in the battle."
"Then Lord Celeborn wrote no more than that the skirmish had taken place?"
"Oh, he wrote a little more than that—the time of the battle, the lay of the land, the weather conditions, the number of warriors on each side, the weaponry and tactics of the enemy."
"But no description of the deeds of the warriors?" Estel said in a disappointed voice.
"I think Celeborn gave a very thorough accounting of that which it is needful to know about one battle in order to plan for the next one. As for the exploits of individual warriors, they may be celebrated in song and poetry, but there is little call for them to be included in the dispassionate account of a battle sent from one lord to another."
"Then I am glad that I shall have to neither read nor write such dull missives," Estel declared.
"Oh, but you shall!" Legolas exclaimed.
Here Mithrandir reined up his horse and cleared his throat. Legolas's face colored, and the young Elf waited for the scolding that he knew he deserved. Always before, when he spoke too freely about Estel's prospects, he had been chided. Today, however, Mithrandir spoke no word of reproof. "Legolas is right," the wizard called. "Estel, you shall both read and write such missives."
Mithrandir's young companions looked surprised, and the wizard was tempted to give way to a most unwizardly grin. Instead, he assumed an expression of sage solemnity. "Estel," he intoned, "I believe it is time that you knew more of your parentage. When we return from our journey, you must ask Elrond to tell you your genealogy."
"Cannot you tell me, Mithrandir?"
"Elrond is your kinsman. He knows it best."
"He is a distant relative, yes, but I am sure you know my parentage as well as he. You make it your business to know that sort of thing."
"Estel, Elrond is your distant relative in terms of years, but you must understand that you are descended from his brother Elros."
Again Estel looked surprised. "So our relationship is quite close!"
"Yes. Many centuries have passed, and on the human side, many generations, but in Elrond's eyes you are but one remove from his twin brother."
"And is it my kinship with Elrond that dictates that someday I must needs read and write tiresome missives?"
"When that time comes, I do not think you will find them tiresome," Mithrandir said wryly. "Howsomever, it is your human descent that will lay that burden upon your shoulders."
"Then tell me of my human ancestors," Estel demanded.
Mithrandir shook his head. "Nay, you must ask Elrond. I have told you too much already, for it is your foster-father who should tell you the tale."
Mithrandir flicked his reins and rode on, and Legolas and Estel again fell in behind him. Legolas tried to resume their light-hearted bantering, but Estel would have none of it. Legolas could tell that his friend and foster-brother was pondering Mithrandir's words. On occasion Estel had asked his mother and his foster-father to tell him of his parentage, but always they had put him off. Now, however, Mithrandir's words had made him keen to know the truth.
'I am called Estel', the young Man thought to himself, 'but I know I was called something before that'.
Estel had been two when Orcs slew his father, and he could barely remember his arrival in Rivendell, where his mother had taken him to be fostered by Elrond. Legolas, however, always assured him that his debut had been a memorable one.
"Within days of your arrival," the Elf told him, "you tried to ride Glorfindel's great horse and you wandered off and were swept away by the Bruinen. I had to rescue you both times."
Estel had always laughed at Legolas's droll accounts of his early days in Rivendell, but now he pushed these tales aside and concentrated on remembering who he was. 'Ara—my name began with Ara', he said to himself after struggling with his memory for a time.
Estel continued to cudgel his brains, but he could not get past those two syllables. At last he despaired of the effort and began to idly recite the names of the chieftains of the Dúnedain, a list Erestor had insisted he commit to memory, along with the genealogies of the Kings and High-Kings of Arnor and the Kings of Arthedain. Estel had spent many a tiresome hour laboring over these lists. Lately, however, he had taken to reciting the genealogies whenever his spirits were roiled, the assonance at the beginning of each name somehow soothing his spirits. 'Aranarth', he murmured now. 'Arahael, Aranuir, Aravir, Aragorn I'. He paused to brush his hair out of his eyes. 'Araglas', the young Man continued. 'Arahad I, Aragost, Aravorn, Arahad II, Arassuil, Arathorn I, Argonui, Arador, Arathorn II. And here ends the line of the Chieftains of the Dúnedain. Now, that is odd. There two Arahads and two Arathorns, but there is no Aragorn the Second. Why is Aragorn called "the First" when there is no Aragorn the Second?'
For a moment he puzzled over this new question, but then he suddenly reined up his horse. He had a vision of a grubby urchin grandly proclaiming to a rabble of grinning Dunlendings that he was Aragorn son of Arathorn.
"Why do you stop, Estel?" called Legolas, who had continued on ahead.
The young Man flicked his reins and urged his horse alongside that of his friend.
"Legolas, do you remember the day that I was swept away by the Bruinen?"
Legolas smiled fondly. "Of course I remember! I had to pry you out of the hands of a band of Dunlending hunters. You strolled right into the midst of their camp, and they carried you off. No doubt they meant to adopt you, for there was a dearth of children in their land."
"I remember that," Estel said excitedly. "Weren't you bald at the time?"
Legolas grimaced. "Oh, do not remind me of that!" He fingered a braid, rolling his eyes as he remembered how Elrond had had to shave his head because the twins had poured a vat of tar upon him.
"And I stank, for I had tried to grab hold of a polecat," Estel went on.
"Say rather that you stank more than usual," Legolas teased.
Estel ignored the time-worn gibe.
"I remember the Dunlendings," he continued. "I remember that you were bald. I remember that I stank. Would you not say that other things I remember from that day are likely to be the truth?"
"I suppose that would be the case," Legolas agreed.
Estel lowered his voice. "Then I know who I am."
"Do not speak of it," Legolas said quickly. "It would mean much to your foster-father if he were the one to tell you."
"You have known my name all these years," Estel observed. "And you kept it from me," he added, wondering whether he ought to feel resentment at the subterfuge.
"I was pledged to keep you secret and keep you safe. That meant not uttering your name in the presence of anyone who might repeat it—and a little boy, lacking discretion, was just the sort of person who would repeat it!"
And he had repeated it, Estel thought ruefully. Luckily, the name must have meant nothing to the Dunlendings. The young Man looked at his friend and smiled.
"Legolas, thank you for keeping me secret and keeping me safe—even from myself!"
"You must continue secret," Legolas warned. "Elrond will tell you the tale because you will soon be of age and it is your right to know the truth. But the reason for hiding your existence remains unaltered. There are some who would see you dead—if they knew that you lived!"
Estel nodded soberly. Erestor had insisted that the human verse himself in the history of Arnor and Gondor. Thus, when the words 'Aragorn son of Arathorn' sprang into his head, he had understood their significance at once.
'I am Isildur's Heir', he said to himself. 'Now I see how it is. The hours that Erestor forced me to pore over maps and chronicles of distant lands. The practice in the Westron tongue. The study of genealogies. Yes, now I understand."
As he considered the significance of his discovery, Estel felt both excitement and apprehension—excitement because the scope of his world was suddenly much enlarged beyond the boundaries of Rivendell, apprehension because he knew that much more would be expected of him than he had always assumed. Growing up in Elrond's household, Estel had always understood that he was meant to be a scout and a warrior, but he had believed that his foster-father intended that he should take his place in one of the companies that patrolled the border of Imladris. Now he realized that Elrond had been envisioning a future for him that would take him well beyond Rivendell.
Legolas watched Estel ponder his future, and he was glad that Estel now knew who he was—but he also felt a bit melancholy. 'I suppose', he said to himself, 'that Estel will be less interested in jaunting about with his foster-brothers. He will be too keen on ascending to greater heights'.
'Do you fear the loss of Estel's love?' came a voice. Legolas startled. He had not realized that Galadriel was listening in. Of course, it was true that nobody ever expected the Lady's inquisition.
'I do not fear the loss of his love, my Lady', Legolas replied. 'I fear the loss of his company'.
'It is true that Estel will spend many years in solitary journeys', Galadriel replied, 'but he will always welcome your friendship'.
'And not all his journeys will be solitary', Gandalf interjected. 'The day will come when you shall travel far in company with Estel, I deem'.
'Not if my father has anything to say about the matter', Legolas replied gloomily. 'I am lucky he allowed me to travel to Rivendell'.
'Once it was a struggle to persuade him to allow you to travel to Lothlórien', Galadriel reminded him. 'Now he allows you to make the journey readily enough'.
Before Legolas could reply, Estel unwittingly interrupted the conversation. "Legolas," he said softly, "a deer has crossed this path only a little while ago. We carry jerked venison, but we ought to hold that in reserve. Let us go aside from the path and try to bring down that deer."
The two begged Mithrandir's leave, which he readily granted, for like his young friends he preferred fresh venison whenever possible.
The three travelers dismounted. Leaving Mithrandir to make camp, Estel and Legolas entered the forest. Stooping, Estel read the signs whilst Legolas kept his bow at the ready. Suddenly Estel crouched down. "There," he whispered, "past those brambles. See where it drinks from the rill?"
Legolas inched forward and slowly drew back his bowstring. Then he lowered his bow and crouched beside his friend.
"Why do you not take the shot, Legolas?" Estel whispered. "It is a buck and fair game in this season."
"We are not alone in the forest," Legolas whispered back. There was a sudden 'thwock' and the sound of an arrow whirring through the air. The stag leaped, staggered, and fell. It was a good shot. The deer thrashed a few minutes and then lay still. Three Men emerged from the forest, the foremost holding a bow. They laughed and spoke loudly.
"They are not from hereabouts," whispered Estel. "That is a southern tongue."
"You are certain?"
"Erestor has drummed every mannish dialect into my head," Estel replied.
The two young scouts remained crouched, observing as the foreigners skinned and butchered the deer. To the friends' surprise, more Men emerged from the forest. Soon eleven Men stood watching as the three original Men completed the butchering of the deer.
"Do you suppose they are traders?" Estel asked.
Legolas shook his head. "If they were traders, the most of them would have made camp by the road while a few went in to the forest to hunt."
"True," agreed Estel, "and they are well armed for traders. Each carries either a bow or a sword."
"We had better keep watch, then."
"Yes," said Estel, "but one of us must return to Mithrandir and tell him of these Men."
"You go, Estel."
"No," Estel said decisively. "I will take the first watch."
Legolas hesitated. He had been in skirmishes; Estel had not. Still, the young Man was not going to engage the Men in battle. He was simply going to remain hidden and track the strangers' movements.
"Very well," the Elf agreed. "I will return to Mithrandir. But you must promise not to approach these Men."
"I am not a child, Legolas," Estel bristled. "Why would I do anything so foolish?"
What could Legolas say in reply to Estel's challenge? That Estel was young and that the young oft behave rashly? His friend could throw that claim in Legolas's teeth, for the Elf, too, was young in the eyes of his people. Indeed, it could be said that the two friends were of an age, both passing from adolescence to young manhood.
"Very well," Legolas repeated. He wished that he could reach out and enter into Mithrandir's mind to alert him to his dilemma, but it seemed he could communicate with Mithrandir in that fashion only when the wizard initiated the conversation. The young Elf knew that when he had fully matured he would have the same mental powers as those possessed by Elrond and Galadriel, but for now he could not control the gift of telepathy.
Unable to communicate with Mithrandir, Legolas nodded at his friend and quietly slipped away to backtrack toward their camp. A short while later, he broke from cover and found the wizard enjoying a cup of tea, a beverage that the Istar had come to appreciate (along with pipeweed) whilst visiting a land inhabited by little people with feet so furry that they did not need to wear shoes. Today, however, Legolas did not dwell upon the quaint peoples and customs that Mithrandir had encountered on his journeys. "Mithrandir," he said urgently, "in the forest are hidden fourteen Men—strangers from the south!"
The wizard dropped his cup and sprang to his feet. "Where is Estel?" he cried.
"Safe," replied Legolas. "Estel is safe."
"Where is he?" the wizard repeated, eyebrows bristling in their most formidable fashion.
"He is keeping watch," Legolas replied, "to mark their movements."
"And why, pray tell, was it necessary for him to keep watch?" the wizard growled. "Surely it would have been easy enough to return and pick up the trail of a band of fourteen Men—folk who are not lightfooted like Elves and who trample vegetation like wild boars."
Suddenly Legolas understood that in judgment he was indeed as young as Estel. It was never wise to split one's forces unless absolutely necessary—and it had not been absolutely necessary. The two of them, together, should have returned to report to Mithrandir. The young Elf blushed and dropped his eyes.
"Well, well," said Mithrandir, suddenly altering his manner when he saw how his young friend had taken his scolding to heart. "I am sure that Estel will come to no harm. Now then, Legolas, I am pledged to meet Radagast the Brown at an inn in Bree, and so I shall. Meanwhile, it seems that you and Estel shall be off having an adventure. Good-bye!"
The wizard bent down to retrieve his cup and kettle and tossed them into his saddlebag. "Be a good fellow and see that the fire is quite out," he called over his shoulder as he mounted his horse. And then, as Legolas watched astonished, the Istar galloped off, within minutes rounding a bend in the road and vanishing from sight.
The young Elf stood bewildered for several minutes after the wizard's disappearance. 'What will Elrond say', he wondered, 'when he learns that Mithrandir has left us to our own devices? For Elrond only allowed us to leave Rivendell because he thought we would be in Mithrandir's hands'.
Suddenly Legolas suspected that in this matter Mithrandir and Elrond might be at cross purposes. 'Elrond is desirous that both Estel and I gain more experience', the young Elf thought to himself, 'but our foster-father would never have permitted us to leave Imladris unescorted lest we get into a truly serious scrape, as Elrohir and Elladan have lately done. Mithrandir, however, would have us prove ourselves—truly prove ourselves, without Mithrandir or Glorfindel or any other minder on hand to protect us from the consequences of our own missteps. He has lessoned me one last time that I needs must be careful, and persuaded that I have heeded his words, he departs so that we may manage this matter on our own'.
Legolas remembered Mithrandir describing to Elrond how the folk of one nation would send each youngster alone into the wild to make the passage from adolescence to adulthood. 'Mithrandir said they called it a walkabout', Legolas said to himself. "Very well. This shall be our walkabout. It is true we are not entirely alone, for we may rely one upon the other. Still, our mentors are nowhere to be found'.
As he spoke, Legolas began to feel exhilarated. In Mirkwood the young prince was everywhere accompanied by a retinue. Even in Lothlórien and Imladris , he was well guarded. He was never far from the voice or reach of another.
Grinning, Legolas smothered the fire. Next he went to the horses and spoke softly to them, telling them to graze where they would but to come at his call. with the horses at liberty, Legolas sorted through the saddlebags, taking a few necessary items and hiding everything else beneath a log. Then he retraced his steps to the spot where he had parted from Estel.
Estel was no longer there. The Men had departed, and Estel was trailing them. Legolas began to follow his friend's path, which was easy to descry, for every few yards the young Man had broken a branch at waist height. Of course, even if Estel had not left these signs, the trail would have been easy to pick out, for the Men were trampling the vegetation as if they were a herd of oliphaunts. Still, the broken branches served to signal to Legolas that his friend was well.
On and on the trail went. At last Legolas saw that the trees were thinning. He was approaching a glade. Cautiously, he crept up to the edge of this open space. There he froze. Ahead, in the middle of the glade, lay a body. Face down, arms askew, its hair matted with blood, the corpse had already attracted a swarm of flies, and as Legolas stared, horrified, the first vulture spiraled down to perch upon the body.
