Chapter Seventy-One

~ Legolas ~
Just a few doors away from the room where her father was housed, I reached out, grabbed Estel's arm, and pulled her around, to me. She let out a startled squeak of surprise, but she went along with it obligingly, resting in my embrace as trustingly as the look in her eyes as she gazed up at me, curious about my actions – but not alarmed.

"Estel," I murmured. "~I have to speak. Now. Before . . . I have to speak.~"

"~What bothers you?~" she asked, tilting her head.

I hesitated. I loved her, but I knew how much her father meant to her, and I did not want her hurt. So I would have to word this very, very carefully.

"~Estel . . . if . . . if the worst situation is true . . . about your father . . . I . . .~" I sighed. "~I will not be able to empathize, meleth, but please, please do not hold back your emotions. I know how much he means to you. Don't try to be brave for me. Just . . . please, Estel.~"

Her eyes, luminous in the bright sun, searched mine briefly. "~Are you sure?~" she asked uneasily. "~I do not want to burden you with troubles that are not your own, Legolas.~"

I stroked her hair gently, careful to maintain eye contact as I spoke. It was not as important to those of the First Kindred while in casual conversation, but I knew that among Men, prolonged eye contact generally was considered a sign of complete, honest truth. I had lived among Men long enough to know that, at least, and I did not want to, at such a tumultuous time, confuse Estel – or remind her just how she was caught in between Men like Éomer and Elves like me.

"~So long as our hearts beat as one, and you are in agreement with me,~" I told her softly, "~your troubles will be my troubles. Always. You are no burden, Estel, and even if you were . . . well, you would be a burden I would be pleased to carry.~"

She lowered her eyes shyly, something that made me laugh. Even after all this time, she could not help react as her human instincts compelled her too.

Not that I was complaining, of course.

"But . . ."

I pressed my fingers to her lips. "~None of that, Estel,~" I chided. "~What is done is done. . . Unless, of course, you change your mind.~"

Her eyes, wide with shock, flitted to mine. "~No!~"

"~As I thought, then.~" I shifted to pull her closer to me. "~Do I have your word then?~"

"~About what?~"

"~That no matter what will be revealed beyond these doors about your father and his condition, you will not hide it from me. Promise me, Estel.~"

"~Why?~" she pressed.

I hesitated, tempted to look away as I had seen her do before in such sensitive topics of conversation. Elves were, after all, careful about when and how they displayed emotions – especially strong ones – and I did not wish to become an unrestrained monster to Estel.

"~I . . . To see you hurt, Estel, is the worst thing I can imagine. . . I cannot imagine a worse pain in the entire universe, no matter how long I live. And to know that you . . . are . . . holding back . . . to try and protect me . . . that you are concealing your grief and suffering all the more because you feel that it is a burden to reveal them to me. . . That would be a pain I could never forget.~"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. I had said more – a lot more – than I had intended to.

It was all true, yes, but . . . Elves were not in the habit of revealing so much to another, even those we cherished as soulmates and lovers.

"Legolas?"

Estel's voice was soft when her fingers brushed my cheek.

I opened my eyes and glanced down at her, to see her blue-grey eyes swimming with small tears and powerful emotions – and was afraid, for a second, that I had overwhelmed her.

But then she buried her face in my neck, wrapping her arms around me, and whispered, "~I am sorry. . . I had no idea that it caused you to be . . . like . . . this. . .

In an even softer voice, she said, "~I promise, Legolas.~"

I tightened my own grip around her, grateful in ways I could never ever for the life of me describe for how much she trusted me. I was sure that she had never consented such a thing to anyone else, save perhaps her family. But for me . . . someone she had only known for such a short while compared to a life . . . It was a big gift for her to give, and I was fully aware of that enormity of it – and therefore, all the more grateful.

"~Thank you, little one,~" I murmured.

The mood shifted almost instantly.

Estel lifted her head from my neck to stare accusingly at me. "~Little one?~" she repeated in derision. "~I'm not little!~"

I chuckled. "~To me you are, meleth,~" I reminded her.

She sniffed indignantly and started to pull away. "~Can I see my father now?~"

I sighed and kissed the top of her head. If I could have my way, I would have stopped her – let her remember her father as he had been, happy and healthy and alive. But I couldn't do that to her. Estel had to make her own choices.

"~Yes.~"

And with dread in my heart, I let her go.

~ Elessar ~
The doors opened, and I jumped without thinking. I was so used to just . . . flinching, really, when anyone came close to me or at the littlest sound – because even the smallest Orc with a small knife could have put me in a world of pain within three seconds, tops. It had become habit, quite sadly, but, my Kiria told me, understandable.

Even now, she smiled at me reassuringly.

But then I saw who stood frozen in the door, and my own jaw dropped.

Estel, my loving, carefree, beautiful daughter, stood in the doorway, her blue-grey eyes wide with shock, her mouth agape, her entire body completely still in the way only Elves could stand.

She called, "~Father!~" at about the same time I managed to gasp her name.

And then she was racing towards me, and throwing her arms around me, and sobbing the word "Father" over and over and over again.

I was just as stunned, if not more.

For it was not a little girl I held, but a grown woman, full into the flower of her youth, beauty, and grace.

How long have I been a prisoner? I wondered. How long has it been since I last saw you, held you, called your name? Am I a stranger to my own family now, now that I but barely know you? And you, child, do you know me, one who you have not seen since you were a child but a few years into girlhood? How long has it been, my beloved child, how long has it been?

Finally, she raised her tear-stained face to meet my eyes.

In instinct, I lifted my hand and brushed away the last remaining tears. "~This is no time for tears,~" I told her. "~Not now, my eleniel.~"

Estel smiled brilliantly, the sun glittering against her tear-washed cheeks. "~You didn't forget,~" she whispered. "~You didn't forget my nickname.~"

"~How could I ever forget you, child?~"

She smiled again, the tears returning, and buried her face in my chest.

I lifted my head to smile in tentative relief at Kiria. Estel had not forgotten me; somehow, she had remembered me, kept me close, and called me "Father" still. It was as she had said – some bonds were too strong to be broken, even by time.

But Kiria wasn't looking at me; her gaze was fixed on something else near the door.

I followed her gaze and jumped.

There was another person there – an Elf. That would explain how I didn't sense him. Estel could stand as still as an Elf, as she was a Peredhel, but only a true Elf could represent the full meaning of that. Only a true Elf could stand and move as still, as gracefully, as silently.

He was tall, as all Elves were, and dressed in comfortable, beautiful Elven clothes. Golden hair surrounded blue eyes, something that surprised me – it was rare for Elves to have such light hair, for even the daughters and grandchildren of Galadriel had not the fine, silken, gold hair that she had borne. But perhaps this one was related to the Lady? It would explain, I thought, the small silver circlet that rested on his brow, an extremely subtle sign of royalty.

Only Lady Galadriel wasn't technically royalty.

"~Where are Tinúviel and Eldarion?~" Kiria was saying to the Elf.

The Elf shrugged; a clean, graceful human movement. "~They heard the message; perhaps they have been delayed by the ceremony. . . Not all of us can run out so quickly, Lady Kiria."

His eyes, I noted uneasily, weren't fixed on Kiria, but on Estel.

The Elf turned sharply. "~Here they come now.~"

Sure enough, moments later my son, daughter, and another Elf – silver-haired and blue-eyed, but garbed just as beautifully as the first Elf – entered the room . . . and stopped dead in their tracks.

I reached towards them as Estel slipped away.

"~Calanon; Antiel,~" I called to them.

Eldarion's face lit up with joy; Tinúviel's eyes flooded with tears.

So. They too remembered the nicknames I had gifted all of the children with. Estel was my eleniel, my star; Eldarion my calanon, my light; and Tinúviel my antiel, my gift. And together, they made the greatest treasures I had ever beheld.

The two Elves stood together, I saw, and exchanged one or two words; but throughout all, their eyes constantly stayed upon my daughter.

It made me uneasy.

Elves were not known for being voluptuous, but I knew the consequences of a match between mortals and immortals – and it did not usually fare well. While I was sure that if my daughters returned the feelings the Elves would be forthright, respectful, and everything a son-in-law and husband can be and that if my daughters were unaware the Elves would be silent and wait for them and not even think of making a single inappropriate move, my certainties crumbled like dust in the wind when I saw the two Elves.

I did not trust anyone with my children, not after what had happened to us.

Even worse was when I noticed that Estel had slipped to the golden-haired Elf's side, and he, in turn, turned to her. He did not touch her, or speak to her, or even linger on her for more than a moment, but something passed between them.

And it was far more intimate than anything that passes between friends.

I looked round to my family. "~How did this happen? How are we all together? How . . .~"

I choked on my words, unable to speak for a moment, remembering the mind-numbing, anguishing grief and rage I had felt when I had thought I had seen my beloved Kiria die.

"~How?~" was all I could say.

My children, my Kiria, and the two Elves all exchanged glances – not exactly displeased, but more like silently saying, Now how do we tell him?

"~What is it?~" I demanded.

Estel cleared her throat. "~It's a rather . . . well . . . long story, Father. We will tell you, and now, if you'd like, but . . . well . . . I warn you, it is not something to be taken lightly, or easily.~"

I tightened my grip on Kiria's hand, marveling once again that she was still as beautiful as my hazy mind remembered. "~I have now been freed from Sauron, am still alive, and find that everyone I died for is also still alive. I think I had best hear the story, eleniel. And now, please.~"

Eldarion sighed and uncrossed his arms. "~Very well. I'll speak to the kitchens and get us supper then.~"

Without thinking, I switched to the common tongue.

The Elves had demonstrated knowledge of Elvish; hopefully they could not understand the tongue of Men as well, for I knew that in the old ages, some Elves had not been able to, and if these were the last remaining Elves in Middle-earth. . .

"The Elves – should they stay here?" I said rapidly. "Is this not something you do not wish to be bandied about as common knowledge?"

To my surprise, Eldarion laughed, and the Elves exchanged almost furtive glances.

Clearly, there was something I had not been told.

"Lord Elessar of the Dúnedain," the golden-haired Elf said. "You need not try to conceal things from us. We know, Lord Elessar, and we have known. And we will not reveal any of your secrets . . . for as much our benefit as yours."

And to my horror, he glanced at Estel as he spoke.

"~Tell me the truth. Now.~"