Chapter 5

Reflections And Discovery

Estel opened his eyes blearily to a humid and bright sunset. Someone was leaning over him, gently shaking his shoulders, trying to wake him. Stubbornly, he tried to push his rescuer away, as a pounding migraine had already taken over his head. He was sure that if he moved anymore, he was going to again his empty his already vacant stomach.

"Estel, it's me!" a familiar voice said gently, trying to stop his fighting. It was Cuiladan. Slowly, Estel tried to raise his head.

The setting sun burned at his squinting eyes, and he raised a shaking hand to block it. A shadow suddenly leaned over him, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the blessed dark. As he tried to sit up, waves of nausea and light-headedness washed through him, and he collapsed, again, into the arms of his brother. Bringing another hand to his head, he felt the thick, muslin cloth, like a turban, wrapped around his head. One side was hard and crusted.

"Where…where am I?" were the first, unthinking words out of his mouth.

"Do not talk," Cuiladan's soothing voice came like buttermilk in a soft churn. "Drink this first." The wooden head of a water skin was shoved between his teeth, and he tipped his head back. A wonderfully warm, tingling feeling ran across his tongue, slightly stinging with sweet carbonation, and burned his throat with soft flames as he swallowed.

His eyelids flew open, and his head suddenly cleared, as he sat up, once again alert. A scan around him, showed that he was still at the foot of the Misty Mountains, and it was Elrohir who had stood in the way of the sun.

"Ah, the miracles of miruvor," the elf smiled, and Estel knew at once that everything was fine. Though usually nothing could get in the way of Elrohir's sarcasm, it was the first thing to go when disaster occurred.

"Thank you. How long was I unconscious?" the boy asked, struggling to his feet, and found that he was still not yet steady.

"Judging by your position," Cuiladan raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Only a stripe of a candle. I know killing your first Orc is exciting, gwador, but really. You need not take off an article of clothing for every step you take. One would have thought you were after a woman."

The boy looked to the ground, and blushed when he saw that his brother was correct. He had torn off his cloak when it had strangled him, and not far off, were his quiver of arrows and a bow. No one had bothered to clean up after him, and he decided that they must not have thought him seriously injured.

"Now hold still," Elrohir commented, producing a clean bandage from one of the horse's packages. Elladan was leading the horse and stopped it so his brother could obtain what he needed from her back. Estel was glad to see that it was his mare and that she had come to no harm during the fray. He had to give her more credit than just being a dumb burden of beast next time. "That cut on the back of your head looks like it's been through Dol Guldur and back."

Elladan scowled and his dark head turned towards his brother's direction. "Speak not of Dol Guldur with such frivolity, gwador," he warned his twin.

The other turned as well and spoke in softly, "The only reason people shudder at that name is because they dare not speak of it with frivolity. You and I have both been there, Elladan. It is dreadful, yes, but the only thing to fear is fear itself."

Estel stared, awed at this conversation. Though he could barely grasp it, he knew marginally where Dol Guldur was and of the evil that lived there. However, his brothers seemed to be at a point where they did not agree (a rare occasion with the twins), and even Cuiladan seemed uncomfortable as the two stared at each other.

"Being wary still saves your skin," Elladan shot back.

"But being overly cautious never gets you anywhere," Elrohir told him, completely forgetting about the bandage that he was going to tie around Estel's head, and turned away. "It is time that we face what is at hand and look fear in the eye."

The other left his horse and walked around to face his brother again. "And that is why we are here. That is where we are going." Estel and Cuiladan exchanged a look, and from the older one's exasperated face, the boy could tell that he had seen this argument before.

Cuiladan cleared his throat, and snatched the bandage out of Elrohir's hand, and the twins stirred, as if coming out of a reverie. "Come, Estel," he said pointedly, wounding the bandage around his head almost viciously. "You are not injured. We will clean up this field of battle."

Cuiladan led the boy away with questions spinning in his mind, though he was not sorry to see the back of the arguing twins. They usually understood each other so well that it was a phenomenon to see them fight, but when it actually happened, Estel felt ill at ease.

Following his brother across the vast, cold fields before the Misty Mountains, the boy finally opened his mouth. "What was that--?"

However, Cuiladan did not let him finish before he answered. "You must understand why you are coming with us and our destination," he said. He paused, not facing his brother, and picked up Estel's cloak from the ground. The boy thought he saw his hands shaking, and looked around for the other elves. They were nowhere to be seen.

"We are going to Dol Guldur, are we not?" Estel asked. "I thought you had unfinished business there."

Cuiladan came up again and handed Estel's cloak back to him. He put it on, and immediately felt warmth running down his back. "You are just echoing what you have heard from ada," his brother said. "In truth, there is more to it than that. There is a new evil growing in southern Mirkwood, and we think we know what its purpose is."

Estel furrowed his brows and followed his brother farther down the hill, towards his lost quiver of arrows. "And what's that?" he inquired, feeling slightly more important, now that his brother felt him old enough to be truthful with him.

"You remember the histories of Melkor and how he fell from the Valar?" Cuiladan asked, and Estel nodded furtively. Of course he knew it. Everyone who ever studied history knew this as a fact. "Then you also must know that he was destroyed." The boy nodded again. "But when he was, some of his evil servants still lingered, and they began to try and find more power for themselves."

"You mean Sauron?" Estel asked. "He was destroyed by Isildur at the ending of the Second Age. His ring is lost."

His brother stopped in his footsteps and turned to his brother, his handsome features set in hard lines. Though Estel was taller, he felt that his brother looked much older and wiser than himself. Perhaps the recent scrimmage had added that many years onto him. "The ring was lost, but not unmade," Cuiladan said slowly. "That means that Sauron was thrown from power, but not destroyed." The boy waited for more, but none came, and his brother turned and began to march down the hill again.

It was not until that Estel had repacked his bow and arrows that he began again.

"Sauron has been collecting his former power and trying to find the Ring again. But he knows that he cannot have his old stronghold in Mordor," Cuiladan said. "In a way, he dares not go back. He is afraid of the shadows of his old master. So instead, he has decided to build another under the eaves of Mirkwood, in Dol Guldur."

Estel raised an eyebrow. He had not known this, though he had some vague idea that there was something not quite right with southern tips of the Great Forest. No one in Rivendell had been able to say Dol Guldur without first looking heavenward or shuddering afterward. "And ada wishes for us to go and destroy this power?" he asked, his mind whirring. "A small band like us, made up of eight people?"

Cuiladan gave him a small and dry smile. "Not to destroy him," he answered. "Directly… that is. That would take another war and hundreds of thousands of lives. No. Possibly, it would take another alliance of elves and men, and Middle-Earth cannot afford that."

Estel bit his bottom lip and struggled to keep up with his brothers as the four guards came into view. They were standing next to their respective horses, and from a distance, it seemed that Lindir was bearing a new white bandage along his right upper arm. "Then, we must destroy him indirectly?" the boy asked, hardly comprehending the words coming out of his own mouth.

"Exactly," his brother answered. "It takes time, and I believe that we will be making more than just one journey to Mirkwood in the next few years."

"And what do you plan to do?" the boy asked eagerly, but his brother did not answer.

When questioned again, he only said, "Think Estel. What are we to do when we only have six elves and two men, and the Shadow has a force of thousands of Orcs?"

The boy could not imagine what it was, but as he approached and saw that not only was a bandage on Lindir's arm, but encased in a sling as well he felt much better about fainting after killing his first Orc. As that information dawned on him again, he almost smiled. He had matched Cuiladan. His brother had killed his first Orc at nineteen, and so had he! Though, of course, Cuiladan probably faced that death with contempt and an unmoving heart. There was no way that he would have fainted and stripped as if there was no tomorrow.

At this thought, Estel blushed again, and turned away when he saw that his brother was looking.

"Do not be ashamed of how you reacted to the battle," Cuiladan said with a smile, and Estel jumped. He had no idea how his brother could read his mind. At this, Cuiladan laughed and unsettled the boy even more. "You're thinking about how I can read your mind. Let me tell you, Estel: Elladan and Elrohir are not the only people in the world who can communicate their thoughts telepathically. We are linked through flesh and blood after all."

Before he could finish what he was saying, Ranien approached the two, his golden hair glistening in the sunset. "Everyone within a mile can tell that there has been a battle here. We had better start looking through the enemy's packs and seeing what it was they were after."

As Estel worked his brother's words over in his head, Cuiladan cocked his head and seemed to be thinking. "They are Moria Orcs," he replied. "I can tell from their stature and size. They always follow travelers and try to raid them as they pass through these parts, but you are right. There is no harm in looking. We will be right with you."

Ranien gave a curt nod and bowed in the strange way of wood elves, but Estel was sure that he saw a gleam of friendliness in his eyes. Even though he was inexperienced, the boy wished to come to better terms with the elf. If all wood elves were as reliable and kind as Ranien, then Mirkwood would hardly have been the place for an invasion of evil.

However, Estel had also discerned something from the sentences that his brother had said to him before. "Why do you say I should not be ashamed of my reactions to the battle?" he inquired.

Cuiladan turned to him with some surprise in his eyes. "Well, why should you be?"

Estel shrugged and folded his arms. "I suppose because I fainted and… well… Cuiladan… for a second before I killed it, I… I felt sorry for it. I don't know how to express this, but…I… I knew that it was an Orc and it is an abomination to the face of this earth, but… it took… it took much more than just a sword thrust for me to kill it."

The boy had expected a look of contempt and haughtiness from his brother, but never was he ready for a soft glimmer of respect and awe in Cuiladan's eyes. "You are wise to have felt that way," he told him. "I have learned that only fools do not feel empathy for their enemy. Let me guess. You had a thought that it was not the Orc's fault for being an Orc, and that you felt horrible for having to kill it because that was what it was, am I correct?"

Estel nodded wordlessly.

"Then that is what distinguishes you from an Orc, Estel," Cuiladan said. "To kill and be heartless about it, to have no feelings for your enemy… that is when you are no longer better than the lowest Orc. To still have a heart… to still feel, Estel, is what makes you human. And as for fainting… well…"

His brother gave a low laugh, but Estel heard no derision in it. As he prodded, Cuiladan bit his bottom lip (a gesture Estel realized that they both had in common) and muttered something inaudible.

"What?"

In a voice barely higher than a whisper, Cuiladan leaned in, his face tomato-red, and Estel heard, "At least you did not wet your pants as you did so."

Before he could react, Ranien's voice came from the other side of the small hill, "There is something here, and it is moving. Shall we kill it?" Estel had never seen Cuiladan move so fast, but in his heart, he could not help but laugh. He felt much better about himself as he followed his brother across the fields in the dying sunlight towards the guards.

Over the hill, Estel squinted down at the place where the guards were gathered. Between them, what seemed like an old gray sack was moving. As he watched, one of the guards used the point of a sword to throw aside one end of the squirming bundle of rags, and revealed, as it seemed to the boy, skin.

The boy walked closer, but still, the skin did not become clear, and it was then that he realized that it was because the body was so covered in dirt that everything was obscured. He watched, half with astonishment and half with disgust, as a figure with long, dark hair emerged from the bundle.

Mud layered upon mud, and where cloth ended and skin began was indeterminable. Hair color was indecisive, as it was covered by so much dust and debris that a good washing could have revealed gold, red, or black. A pair of wide, brown eyes stared back at the boy, and Estel found himself looking upon the ugliest and dirtiest woman he had ever seen in his life.

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