Ah! I'm so sorry! I didn't post Chapter 15 and posted this instead by mistake! Okay, I have fixed that now, so if anyone was scratching their head when they read this chapter, well, that was totally my fault. Sorry!

Chapter Sixteen

~ Legolas ~
Estel and I had not spoken together since our argument in Caras Galadhon. I was surprised by her sudden anger at my urging, although, now that I had reflected back on it, Estel probably had been severely annoyed by the attempts to protect her – essentially caging her.

I sighed. Eldarion was more like Elrond, and even possibly like Elros himself. Physically he was a mirror image of him – dark brown hair, grey eyes, a good build, and a powerful aura. He was strong physically and mentally, had good morals, and loved his family dearly, understanding with astonishing clarity and acceptance that that since they were of the race of Men they only had so many years together. In almost every respect he was a true son of Númenor who embodied the best traits bestowed upon Men.

Estel was in some respects like Eldarion, but in others totally not. In physical terms, she carried the wavy dark brown hair, but it was tempered with locks of blonde sometimes when the light hit it just right. Her eyes were a mix of Aragorn's grey and Arwen's blue. She had the impassive outward countenance of Elves and the fiery inner passion of Men. She loved nature and the Elvish architecture that reflected that love, but also was interested in the geometrical, towering buildings of Men. She had inherited the immortal beauty of the Elves that was made all the brighter by the shortness of its existence. A flame that burned brightly for a day with all its heart and soul was far more beautiful than the fire that raged and endured even unto the ending of the world.

And Estel had also inherited the free spirit that shone through both.

I raised my eyes from the fire. Estel had bidden Eldarion good night and was fixing her bedroll. With silent steps I approached, seeking to make amends.

"~What is it, Your Highness?~" she asked suddenly, startling me. Most mortals were not able to discern the footsteps of immortals. Estel turned to face me. Her grey-blue eyes were stormy and the air between us was tense.

"~I . . . I apologize for my urging you to stay,~" I said finally. "~I underestimated your devotion to your forefather. However, know that I was only acting in thinking of your well being.~"

Estel's eyes softened at my words, and slowly the wariness faded from her posture. "~I know,~" she replied. "~And I apologize for taking it out on you. Eldarion asked me the same question before you did; that's why I wasn't at the tent.~"

"~And how did he try to persuade you?~"

"~By ordering me as a warden of Caras Galadhon to remain in the city,~" Estel answered, plainly annoyed. "~He has no such authority over me.~"

"~Um . . . He is your older brother, Estel.~"

Estel threw up her hands in exasperation and stalked off. I gazed after her with no small amount of confusion. "~Mortals are so confusing,~" I muttered to myself.

Eldarion appeared by my side, laughing. "~Well, well, well. The great Prince of Mirkwood is defeated by a mere mortal!~" he teased, shoving me.

I glared at him, but his laughter only intensified. "~Be – careful,~" he advised between laughs as he struggled for breath. "~Estel may look more like me, but she inherited Tinúviel's temper.~"

My anger faded into confusion. "~Who is Tinúviel?~" I asked.

"~I have two sisters,~" Eldarion explained. A pained look crossed his face when he said so, but he continued before I could enquire why. "~Estel is the youngest of the three of us. Tinúviel was the second child born. I look like Elros, and Tinúviel looked like – ~"

"~ – Lúthien Tinúviel,~" I finished.

Eldarion nodded. "~Yes. But all the more reason to be careful. You should have seen what Tinúviel did to Círdan!~"

"~What?~"

"~Oh, sorry. There was a Believer called Círdan, after Lord Círdan of the Grey Havens,~" Eldarion hastily elaborated. "~Believers always tried to marry other Believers; it made thing so much easier. Tinúviel was betrothed to Círdan when she turned twelve, as was the standard practice. But they were more agreeable as friends than as fiancées. I remember once when Círdan and I were having an archery competition, Tinúviel came in and asked to participate. Círdan refused to let her, citing that he feared she would lose and that her feelings would be hurt.~"

"~I am guessing that she participated all the same and that she did not lose,~" I remarked dryly, "~if she's anything like Estel.~"

Eldarion laughed. "~Indeed,~" he agreed. "~She beat both of us, actually. But after a while Mother calmed her down and as the years went by Tinúviel became more lady-like as Mother wished. However, I doubt Estel will follow that same path.~"

I glanced over when Estel had disappeared. "~I doubt that too,~" I said softly.

~ Aragorn ~
I noticed Boromir detach himself from our camp. I followed quietly, and saw what was bothering him – a log floating down the river. Celeborn had warned me of this.

"Gollum. He has tracked us since Moria," I said softly. "I had hoped we would lose him on the river. But he is too clever a waterman."

Voices attracted my attention as I turned away. Eldarion met my eyes worriedly, but did not rise from where he and his sister spoke softly in the Elven tongue by the fire. Estel had a blanket wrapped around her, and her fingers slowly caressed the bow Lady Galadriel had given her.

"Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know it. From there we can regroup . . . strike out for Mordor from a place of strength," Boromir insisted.

I turned back to him, trying to hide my surprise. After all this time, he still wished for the Ring to go to Gondor? He had not spoken a word of this to me this whole time.

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," I countered somberly.

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves. Have you so little faith in your own people?" Boromir demanded.

Eldarion picked up on the conversation. His eyes flashed dangerously, and he made to rise. I gave a quick jerk of my head, warning him not to get involved. Eldarion's internal struggle displayed openly on his face, but he eventually sat back down, conceding to me.

"Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that!" Boromir grabbed me, forcibly turning me around. I let him, choosing not to fight.

"You are afraid!" he accused harshly. "All your life, you have hidden in the shadows, scared of who you are, of what you are!"

Boromir's harsh words finally struck a chord within me. I whirled back to him. "I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city!" I said angrily, fighting to keep my voice low.

Our raised voices had apparently attracted Estel's attention, for she suddenly appeared next to us. "Peace!" she commanded. But her tone had a ring of fury in it – fury that was directed at Boromir.

"Is it not enough to let this go for one night?" she demanded. Behind her I saw Eldarion gazing with murder in his eyes at Boromir. Legolas didn't look much happier, but his struggle was less visible than Eldarion's. "We have already discussed where the Ring will go, Boromir. You yourself agreed that you will abide by the will of the Council!"

Boromir gave me a dark glare. "Who says that Aragorn is following the will of the Council?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes blazing and his tone menacing.

Estel wasn't fazed in the least bit by Boromir's anger and bearing. "The Ring is going to Mordor to be destroyed." Every single word was weighted with authority, and I found myself strongly reminded of Lord Elrond when I had been trapped in his healing ward. "You can obey this decision and help, or you can leave and journey to Minas Tirith. No one will stop you."

With that, Estel whirled around and marched away, her shoulders stiff with disapproval. Boromir eyed her with an emotion that made me uneasy. Was it fear? Longing?

"I . . . will stay and help," he said finally in a subdued voice.

~ Estel ~
Legolas was turned away from me, his fair face composed in slumber. That is, if you called a strange, dream-filled, open-eyed trance slumber. But to Legolas it was sleep, and was the only sleep he knew.

I sighed. I knew that he had meant no harm, and that immortals often were cleverer in their speech than mortals. More often than not they had hidden meanings, for their long life and maturity made things all the harder to detect what they truly meant sometimes. My anger, which had been pounded into existence by Eldarion and inflamed by Boromir's cruel words to Aragorn, had taken over me and I had lashed out at the person who next spoke – Legolas.

I wanted to apologize to the Elven Prince. He had shown nothing but kindness towards Eldarion and me, even after being . . . deceived by us.

"Estel?"

I looked up, startled, to see Legolas watching me a questioning expression. He had rolled over and was propped up on one elbow. I saw only concern in his eyes, and immediately felt all the more ashamed for my childish behavior towards him.

Legolas seemed to comprehend my shame. He reached out to touch my cheek lightly. "~You had a lot on your mind,~" he said gently. Then a teasing light grew in his blue eyes. "~And Tinúviel's temper and pride – which you inherited – probably made you more reactive than normal.~"

All of my nervousness faded away. "I have not inherited her temper and pride," I snapped defensively, reverting to the tongue that I was most familiar with. However, it only served to further prove Legolas's point.

Legolas laughed softly. "~You just proved that you did, Estel,~" he said, laughter still ringing in his tone.

"~Picky Elf,~" I muttered under my breath, throwing myself back down on my blankets.

Legolas's laughter faded. "~I wasn't done yet,~" he chided. I prepared to retort, but he overrode me. "~You also inherited her free spirit. You were right. You are not meant to be caged, even if it is for your own protection. Beauty such as yours withers behind bars, no matter how lavishly they are decorated or how loving they are erected.~"

I propped myself up, startled. Beauty such as yours? What? Legolas offered a small smile. "~You can't deny it; the blood of the Eldar glows in you even when masked by the blood of Men.~"

"~In Tinúviel it shone even brighter,~" I argued softly. Tears welled up slowly in my eyes at the mention of Tinúviel. As Arwen Undómiel had been considered among the Elves the last Elf born in the likenesses of the Elven Princesses of old and the last Elf born in the embodiment of Lúthien Tinúviel, my sister had been considered among the Believers as our Evenstar – the last of the descendants of Elessar and Undómiel who would be born in the likeness of Lúthien Tinúviel. Hers was a grave and personal loss, for me and all of my kin who survived.

"~Maybe.~" Legolas shrugged. "~But the eyes of Men will be taken with your beauty first, for whilst your sister is not with you, you alone shine with that blood.~"

I eyed him with sudden suspicion. "~Flattery does not become you, Thranduilion,~" I said warningly.

He smiled again. "~So, you finally figured it out?~" he teased. "~Am I forgiven now? Or must I beg for the forgiveness of the last Believer?~"

I groaned and tossed a pillow at his smiling face and teasing voice. "~Go to sleep, Legolas.~"

I heard the smile in his voice as he replied, "~Sweet dreams, Estel.~" And I smiled that night as my vision faded and I slept.