Chapter 1
A Very Happy Birthday
Estel woke on the morning of his nineteenth birthday, in the soft, feathered bed of his chamber, to soft clopping of horse hooves on the stones outside his windows. Exhilarated, he did not hesitate to throw off the warm covers, then shivered, for the air was still chilly, blowing in through the open balcony on the first day of March, in the year 2951 of the Third Age. Jumping into his tunic and leggings, he struggled for a moment longer with his boots, but was soon dashing out his bedroom door, leaving his bed unmade.
His mother would scold him later, but he did not care, for Naneth must understand his alacrity in getting out of bed this morning. Racing down the hall, he took the stairs two at a time on his long, gangly, and still somewhat unstable adolescent, legs. Normally, he would have surveyed the blooming of Imladris on the first day of spring, as he could never get enough of the beauty in this realm of elves, but this year, the spring could wait. Valar, his birthday could even wait this year, for two days ago, Ada had gotten a message, and this morning, Estel had clearly heard horse hooves on the path.
He surged out the doors of the courtyard and ran down the road, squirrels scampering away from his wayward feet and the stinging winds tear at his lungs. The trees that lined the way rushed past in a blur, and he paid no heed to the promising blue sky and shining sun.
In front of him, where the path widened to meet the stables, three riders were dismounting, all dark-hared, and riding bareback on chestnut stallions. They were all dressed in travelers' garb, with gray cloaks, brown tunics, and dirty boots. Two of them had quivers of arrows and bows, and the other carried a long sword on his back and a dagger in his ankle sheath. Before the rider to the far left even landed on his feet, Estel surged forward and wrapped him in a bone-breaking embrace, sword and all.
"Cuiladan!" he cried, and his brother gave a muffled cry of surprise, and choked back a hello. Estel's brows furrowed, for even through the thick layers his brother was wearing to prevent against the cold, he could feel the angle of bones sticking out, as if he had not had a decent meal in days. His short brown hair was windblown and strewn, showing that he had been riding hard all morning and had not stopped the night before.
"He could greet you better if you allowed him to breathe," Elrohir suggested, with a small smile, giving his horse a pat on its glistening flank so it trotted towards the stables obediently.
"And we happen to be your brothers too!" Elladan teased, his blue eyes glinting in the morning sun. "Do we not also get a greeting?"
Sheepishly, Estel let go of Cuiladan, who tested his breathing and checked if any ribs were broken. He turned to Elladan and Elrohir, who looked the same, as usual, with their long hair free of all restraints and piercing blue eyes, much to the like of their father's. They were both tall, with pale skin that contrasted sharply with their dark hair, and if Estel had not known him for all of his life, he would not have been able to tell them apart. Indeed, he still had trouble until he was ten if the twins did not speak, but that was when he discovered that Elladan had a slightly dark spot below his lip, where an Orc had injured him once.
However, this changed with the light, and it was still easier to tell them apart by listening to the two speak, for Elrohir had a tendency to talk in sarcasm while Elladan had a lighter humor, which was usually easier to understand. Actually, Estel had always thought that Elrohir disliked him because of the way he spoke to him, but realized, as he got older, that it was how the elf spoke to everyone, and soon adjusted to this.
The younger boy embraced the twins in turn and greeted them warmly with, "Mae govannen, gwedyr nin." (Well met, my brothers.) He then turned so he faced all three of his traveling family members.
"And who is this unbroken young colt?" Cuiladan finally asked, after whispering a few words to his stallion, which also cantered towards the stables. He cuffed his younger brother lightly over the head and laughed.
"He's no longer a colt, though he may act like one," Elrohir measured himself against Estel. The top of the boy's head came to the tip of his ear. "Elbereth, you must have drunk Ent draught since we last saw you."
"You have grown," Elladan commented. "I believe he's taller than you, now, Cuiladan." Estel gave a small smile, and his brother stepped up to him. Indeed, he was now taller, though only by a fingerbreadth.
"He'll outgrow us all," Cuiladan said, giving his brother one of prize-winning smiles that made all the women fawn. He had always been Estel's role model, someone he still measured himself to. At twenty-one, Cuiladan had lost his adolescence, but not his boyish good looks, enhanced by serious gray eyes and a scanty stubble, and his natural skills with people made him popular wherever he went. His hollow cheeks and peaky look from being underfed on their travels only made him more handsome.
Though he was only of average height, Estel still felt he had to look up to his older brother, who seemed to succeed at everything he did. Indeed, he had only been nineteen when he went on his first journey with Elladan and Elrohir to pursue an Orc band that had taken hold of the passage between Lothlórien and Mirkwood.
For two years, Estel had heard his brother's stories, for before Cuiladan had joined the twins, he rarely saw Elladan and Elrohir, and he longed to be part of one. He had asked Elrond again and again, but his ada had always dismissed him as too young, or unskilled enough, though Estel had been training with the weapon's master since he was eight. He thought that he was as skilled as he was ever going to get with a blade, but Elrond had always been firm.
"What news?" he asked eagerly as they made their way into the Last Homely House East of the Sea.
Elrohir raised an eyebrow as the four brothers walked down the hall. "Surely, you cannot expect us to spoil it all for you now, Estel. It would be too wearying to repeat it again for the inquiries at supper!" They were making their way to the brothers' chambers, which were next to each other on the second floor of Rivendell. Estel's heart rejoiced, thinking that he again had his brothers to talk to when he experienced one of his sleepless nights.
"And besides," Elladan followed up, "you know that a traveler's stories must be repaid by meals…"
"And board!" Elrohir finished, and the twins grinned at each other.
"I can never understand how you do that," Cuiladan said, sharing a look with Estel, who completely agreed with him. Elladan and Elrohir seemed to share something that neither of them could comprehend, and even though Estel could sometimes guess what Cuiladan was thinking, he could never finish his sentences like the twins seemed to do all the time.
"Please, Elrohir," the youngest begged, "there must be something that won't take too long to tell." However, as he talked, Estel only had eyes for his brothers, and did not look in front of him, so he nearly walked into his father. Elrond hastily stepped aside, allowing room for his youngest son, who seemed to always be running into things the past few years, for such was the fate of mortals at the stage between youth and manhood.
Estel muttered an apology, and tried to get out of the way, but only succeeded in tripping over his own feet. He caught himself in time, and gave the others a lopsided grin, though his cheeks were burning with embarrassment.
Elrond pardoned him, and stepped towards his other three sons, who looked weather-beaten, but healthy. "Welcome back," he greeted them in the Silvan Tongue. "I am happy to see all of you in one piece and well."
"In one piece, but not well, ada," Elladan grinned. "For we are hungry for things other than traveler biscuits and stale water." A rumbling sound from Cuiladan's stomach only assented that claim. Elrond gave his oldest child a look, for he was not used to being interrupted, but only laughed.
"I see, then, that reports can wait until after breakfast," the lord said. "But meet me after you have eaten in my chambers, and we shall talk." Estel's heart sank, for he had wanted to speak with his brothers and be the first to get their account. Now, he had to wrestle what he could out of them while they ate.
"And Estel," Elrond turned to his youngest son. "Come an hour after you have eaten, for I must speak with you as well." The boy's mouth dropped open and the sinking feeling disappeared.
Estel could barely contain himself through breakfast and hardly swallowed a bite. He was so excited that he did not even look twice at his birthday presents, though Elladan had given him an elvish dagger and Elrohir a book on the war tactics of the dwarves. Cuiladan said that he had something special for him, but they would have to finish eating and speaking with their father before he would tell him what it was.
The youngest was left, bouncing off the walls, and the hour that he had to kill seemed to last forever. He paced his room, his mother's room, the library, and the Hall of Fire, listening to the silence that resounded through those pillars when the meals were done.
Finally, checking the sun, he estimated that the hour was up, and dashed (for that was the only way he got around these days) up to his father's chambers. Without knocking, he burst in, only to find himself in the midst of silence.
His father, Elrohir, and Elladan leaped up at his entrance, but Cuiladan only looked up and then looked away again. The other three sat back down when they realized that it was him, but by then, Estel had sensed the tension, which could have been cut by a knife. He looked between the four and saw Cuiladan give their ada a glare of resentment and frustration. He had never seen his brother give anyone a look like that, much less their father.
The faces of the twins were unreadable, as they only stared straight ahead, not looking at anything. Finally, as the silence deepened, Elrond opened his mouth, "Estel, you are on time—" Cuiladan got up to leave "—No, stay, Cuiladan. You all must hear this." The man sat, the wooden chair creaking and glowered at their father, nearly snarling with anger. Elrond suppressed what was in his heart and ignored this, but continued. "You know that you have not finished what you've started," he told the twins and Cuiladan sternly.
Estel only looked back and forth between the others, a confused look in his eyes, for he could not understand what his father was speaking of and why his brother was so angry. "Estel, you are nineteen now, and of age," Elrond suddenly said, and the boy whipped his head around so fast, his neck clicked. His father looked him in the eye, and though he usually had to look away before long, the boy stared in anxiety. "And Cuiladan was your age when he killed his first Orc. I have decided that you shall go them this time."