Chapter Twenty-Six

~ Estel ~
I stared at Éowyn, giving her my full attention for the first time in the whole conversation. I had only been listening and answering her with distracted, half-hearted sentences, too worried about my brother, Aragorn, and Legolas to pay close attention. I had not seen where Éowyn had been going with her line of questioning, although now I realized I should have. My lack of foresight had led to Éowyn believing that Aragorn was my father.

I barely controlled myself from bursting out into laughter. Aragorn – my father? He acts like it sometimes, and from a certain point of view, he could be considered such. . . I could not suppress a smile now.

I cleared my throat. "No, Lady Éowyn. Lord Aragorn is not my father. He has been a father figure, most certainly; but in the biological sense, we are only very distant kin."

"Ah." Éowyn looked relieved all of a sudden as she regained her composure. Then confusion marred her expression once more as the implication of my last phrase sunk in. "Only distant kin?"

"All of the Rangers are interrelated," I explained, smacking myself internally for confusing her more. I didn't think it was time for a history lesson concerning the true descent of the Dúnedain – it would only confuse her more – so I merely elaborated, "We are all descendants of Númenor. In any case, my parents died when I was very young, and Lord Aragorn took both my brother and I under his wing to train us the in the ways of the Rangers."

Éowyn blinked in surprise. "Both of you? Why train the both of you to fight, yet not allow you to enter the fight?"

I shrugged, understanding her surprise but not quite sharing it. "It's the minds of men; I don't try to understand them. But I am grateful they trained me; not many would have the patience to try to train a girl."

Éowyn laughed. "I can attest to that. My brother is constantly reminding me that I must conduct myself as noblewomen are expected to behave, now that my cousin is . . . well, dead."

"At least you have the courage to say that," I murmured. Even after all these years, I still cannot bring myself to say that my parents are dead. I can think, can communicate such to others, but say it? Never.

Éowyn blinked in surprise and glanced at me curiously. "What do you mean by that, Lady Estel?" she asked. But her tone, instead of the politeness and stiffness it had held when she had initiated this conversation, was now filled with genuine concern and curiosity.

The title made me smile at myself. Lady Estel? I am no lady. If anything, I should be addressing Éowyn as 'My Lady', especially since I know what she will become when she meets the steward's son.

"Lady Éowyn," I said firmly, ignoring her question for the moment. "I think it is time for us to drop our titles and pretenses and address each other normally. After what we have gone and are going through . . . together . . . I believe that it is time to acknowledge that we are no longer just acquaintances, but friends."

A smile lit up Éowyn's expression, a true smile, one that made her beauty intensified by a thousand times. If not for her shining blue eyes and blonde hair, with that smile, for just a moment, I could have believed that beside me stood not Éowyn of Rohan, but Lúthien Tinúviel of Doriath, fairest of all the Children of Ilúvatar.

"Yes," Éowyn said softly. "Yes . . . Estel."

~ Eldarion ~
"Hey, lad! A little help here would be appreciated!"

Recognizing Gimli's rough voice, I stopped and spun around. I burst out laughing as the forms of Gimli and two Isenguard wolves appeared to me. Gimli frowned furiously at me from where he was buried under two enormous and stinking carcasses, clearly not appreciating my laughter.

Still chuckling, I leaned down and heaved. The creatures on top of Gimli didn't even budge or flinch. Of course they haven't flinched; they are dead, I scolded myself. I threw myself against the top wolf, and finally it rolled off. With that one gone, it was short work between Gimli and me to shove the other creature off.

"Thanks, lad," Gimli growled before rushing off to deal with some of the injured wolves that were still growling. I smiled at his retreating back as he sunk his axe deeply into a felled Warg, whose wounded cries abruptly cut off.

Then I shook myself and sheathed my sword. My time would be better spent now helping the wounded than daydreaming.

Just as I had handed off yet another person to the medics who were getting the wounded on horses, I heard a shout of "Aragorn!"

My head jerked up. I frowned. Legolas's head was swinging back and forth as he looked for Aragorn, so I guessed that it was he who had called out. Gimli and Théoden also started looking around after hearing Legolas's shout.

"Aragorn?" Gimli echoed Legolas's cry, but even with the combined power of two shouts – to which any sensible Man would have responded to – there was no answer. I saw others take up the shout, calling for the Man who was Isildur's heir and the last hope for Middle-earth.

The same Man who my Chieftain.

Fear began to rise up within me when our calls still yielded nothing. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that should have prevented Aragorn from hearing and responding to us. Nothing, save –

Just then, the form of a coughing orc manifested in front of my eyes, shocking my out of my unpleasant thoughts. It had been dealt a death wound, I could tell, and would not live for much longer. But what angered me the most was the unmistakable insignia of Saruman upon it; this one, I knew, had been the commander that had orchestrated this attack.

At the sight, I felt rage as I had never known since my father's death rise up within me. Red haze clouded my vision. A buzzing that blocked everything else out sounded in my ears. Because of this – this creature – this monster – we may have lost Aragorn.

I reached for my sword. You will pay for what you have done.

A strong hand closed over mine, and pulled it away. Filled with anger, I spun around. The whole world seemed to spin to a halt when I saw not an enemy, but an ally.

Legolas's expression was neutral and impartial as I'd ever seen an immortal carry, but in his eyes raged a fire that shocked me out of my anger – it was somehow twice as scary as even Lord Celeborn had been.

In that moment, it was like I knew without a doubt that Legolas was one of the Firstborn – the rage in his eyes spoke of thousands of years of experience.

"~Stay your hand, Eldarion,~" he said softly.

Gimli approached us and hefted his axe over the orc. "Tell us what happened, and I will ease your passing," he growled.

"He's – dead," the orc said, coughing and laughing at the same time to produce a strange, choked, wheezing sound. "He took a little tumble off the cliff."

At once, I ripped my arm out of Legolas's now loosened grip and seized the orc. "How dare you say something like that?!" I spat, enraged. "You lie!"

The orc gave one last laugh before I felt the life leave him. Disgusted, I dropped him and stormed over to the cliff the orc had indicated. My eyes widened as I stared down it. The sheer drop of cliff made my heart sink.

No one could have survived that, a part of me whispered.

"Eldarion." Legolas appeared by my side. The fire in his eyes had vanished – to be replaced by sorrow. He held out his hand. I squinted at it before shock coursed through me once more.

The Evenstar. Oh, Valar, no!

Legolas's hand closed over it after he saw that I had recognized it, hiding it from my view. But the sight of it was burned into my memory – Aragorn's most treasured possession, now ripped from him as hope of his survival was being ripped from us.

"Get the wounded on horses." Théoden's voice startled me. I hadn't noticed the king coming up to us. "The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead."

My head shot up and I stared at the king of Rohan. Leave the dead? Aragorn is – no, was the last hope, the last heir, the very last of his line. Leave him for the scavengers to feast on?

Théoden put his hand gently on my shoulder, sensing my despair. His eyes were filled with sadness and sympathy, but it did not to assuage my feelings. "Come," he said softly. "I am sorry."

Then the king turned away, leaving Legolas and I standing at the edge of the cliff. I closed my eyes, barely preventing the tears from spilling out.

I failed you, Father.

After all of my training, after everything I had learned, I had failed the ultimate test. I had let everyone down. The ultimate duty of the Believers had been to keep the memory of the Kings – and by extension them themselves – alive. And now, the last king had died on my watch.

For a single moment, I stared down that drop that had been the death of my Chieftain and considered ending it all. It would be so easy – just one more step and I plunge into the void as he had. I had failed in everything and failed everyone I had sworn to protect – what was the point in continuing? I had even failed my own sister.

The thought of Estel made all of my plans sink into darkness. I had promised Estel to return. And she needed to know about the death of Aragorn – I couldn't let her find out any other way from anyone else. As the leader of the Believers, by our laws, responsibility for what do to now was Estel's right and burden.

I took a deep breath and stepped carefully away from the edge of the cliff. "How are we going to tell her?"

Legolas's eyes darkened immediately and his hand tightened over the Evenstar pendant. He didn't need me to tell him of whom I spoke.

"I don't know."