Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I make no money from writing about them.
The meeting goes on far too long, but I must get all the information I can about the movement of the orcs. At last I get away and ask for information about the boys.
All I can find out is that neither boy came in to eat at mid-day, so I have gathered bread, meat and water and warm coats for both of them. There is still a chance of snow, even in April. I go out about mid-afternoon, wondering why they have not returned. The sky is a dense grey, the clouds flying, a gale pushing in a storm from the mountains.
I stand for a moment by the door, hoping to hear them but the branches of the pines are crashing together and the great wind is soughing through the trees, drowning any trace of the boys.
I follow their footsteps across the lawns and down the path leading to the river but they have gone from there. I listen again. Still the roaring of the wind keep any trace of them from me. The waters of Bruinen are loud in my ears. Then I see something move in the meadow on the other side of the river.
They are there, running through the grass. My first thought is to tell Estel to be careful. He is quick to see me and waves but he stops too suddenly for Halbarad, who swerves but still hits him, tumbling him to the ground.
I cross the river quickly, over the stepping stones and run to Estel, who is still lying on the ground. When I reach them, they are both laughing and red-faced. Estel's hair is wild and in his eyes in a barely controlled fire.
"Papa! Papa! We're playing Rangers!"
"Estel," I say, barely keeping the anger from my voice. "Your arm is broken! You cannot take risks like that!"
"I'm sorry," Estel replies, getting to his feet. "I'm all right. I didn't fall on it."
"It was my fault," Halbarad joins the argument. "I ran into him."
"It is not your fault," I tell Halbarad. "It is this wild man here, who gives no thought to the heart of his old father," I say, reaching for him and tickling him until he squirms. He feels cold, and he winces away from my touch.
"Papa, I'm hungry. We forgot to eat."
"Well, that's a rare enough occasion," I say, bringing out the food from my satchel. "Do you want to eat it here?" I ask, while the boys dodge each other. They both seem well but when we have eaten I must get them both home. It is getting colder. I take Estel's coat and prepare to help him put it on. He cannot yet dress himself easily.
"Yes! Food!" he says, tripping over himself and falling into me. I catch him and set him back on his feet, as I did when he was learning to walk. I kneel down and look him in the eye. He laughs and his great joy in life comes to me as a gift.
I help him to take off his cloak. Halbarad is given the star to keep safely. Estel feels cold yet it is a struggle to get him into his warm, wool-lined coat. He is wriggling to get away again but then, with sudden seriousness Halbarad kneels.
"You must keep warm, my lord." He somewhat spoils the effect by grabbing the cloak I was trying to help Estel put on and throwing it over his head, but the moment is important and when Estel disentangles himself from the cloth, he looks steadily at Halbarad.
A long, tense moment passes. I consider if I might need to say something but Estel, puzzled, asks, "My lord? I thought I was just a captain."
Halbarad looks at me. I wonder again if he knows who Estel truly is. I had not considered the possibility that he might know Estel's true heritage but clearly, as kin, he does know. Can a twelve-year-old keep the secret? Does he even know he should?
"Come, Estel – let me help you with your coat," I say, and Estel obeys me by putting out his unhurt arm but he is still looking at Halbarad.
Silence , with Estel, always precedes the truly awkward questions.
"Will I be a real captain one day, Papa?"
I think of several wise things to say. Have some bread, Estel. Let's put your star back on your shoulder. Look, Estel, an eagle. Foolish old man, I am.
"You will be whatever your heart desires when you grow up," I say. "A captain, if you wish. But first, you must eat or you will disappear altogether. I think the twins might miss you if you did." His coat is round him now, so I put the cloak round his shoulders and pin his star back on him. Then both boys eat, sitting on the ground next to me, one on either side, and I tell them a story fit for a king and his faithful friend.
As they eat, it begins to snow. Estel puts out his hand and a flake lands there, holding its shape for a little while, then melting. He is leaning against me now, munching the last of his bread and, every now and then, asking me a question. Halbarad listens quietly. He is looking out over the landscape which is greying under the veil of snow.
I see him watching one place intently. I know he sees something and follow his gaze. Nothing to fear – a huge stag stands there, not yet catching our scent on the wind. He walks further into the field, cautious and slow-moving, lifting each leg and planting it again with delicacy. I quietly point him out to Estel.
"He's a big one!" he whispers.
I nod. The stag comes closer still but then something startles it and it turns and lopes back into the trees.
"Next year, maybe I can hunt a stag like him," Estel says, with hope in his face.
I nod. "Or the year after that," I say.
"Papa, you always say that," he scolds and then laughs at the old joke.
"Shall we go back to the house now?" I ask them. If they want to play out here they will be perfectly safe. It will be chilly and wet but they are not delicate children. The exercise is good for them.
So it somewhat surprises me when Estel says, "Yes – let's go in now." He leads the way, too, with Halbarad behind him. I follow them. Estel heads upstream to the bridge this time. He seems tired. His feet are dragging a little. The adventure has taken more out of him than I suspected, and the loss of sleep the night before must be adding to his weariness.
We go back to the warm of the house and the boys shed their wet cloaks, coats and boots inside the door. They both run to the fire blazing in the hearth, and throw themselves on the bearskin on the floor.
I give instructions to have clean clothes brought, and to make sure their outer clothes will be dried, then settle in a chair nearby.
"Finish the story, Papa," says Estel sleepily. "I forgot what happens in the end."
The storm rages against the window, and I think of my other two boys, out chasing orcs in the storm. I falter then try to pick up the story again. The light dims and when I finish, Halbarad is the only boy awake and listening.
We are used to walking carefully around Estel. He has the habit of falling asleep in the oddest places. Here, curled in front of the fire, he looks completely at peace. I beckon to Halbarad and the boy rises. We go to the other side of the room.
"What do you know of Estel?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
He looks steadily at me. "We know, my lord, that you keep the greatest of us with you, as his mother wished. As soon as I knew we were coming here, I wondered who he might be." He sounds older, much older than his twelve years. They come early to manhood, these people. How many of them have I known through the years? Each generation long-lived yet gone from me so quickly.
"Then you know that I keep the secret of his heritage from him?"
"Yes, my lord." He is trying to keep the puzzlement out of his voice, but I can hear in his tone long evenings of discussion of my decision.
"He will know soon enough. I hope mine is the right decision," I say, thinking for a moment of the long days of discussion which led to my final decision to keep Estel's true name from him.
"Do you wish me to leave?" He looks at me and his eyes are dark grey, stormy now. He does not want to leave. That is very clear in his face.
"No," I say, with all the purpose I can find. "He needs to play with someone nearer his age. And with his kin. I know I can trust you. But do not tease him with names he does not understand."
He looks down, admitting his embarrassment. "I will remember," he vows. "But he makes it difficult. He is already my lord."
I nod. I know what he means. The potential for power is in Estel. I do not yet know what use he will make of that power.
"Papa."
Estel is sitting up and calling to me.
"Yes?"
"I'm hot!"
"You are lying close enough to the fire to curl your hair, Estel! It is no wonder you are hot."
"Oh!" He gets up. He looks a sorry mess, hair clinging to his face and his clothes still damp. "Is it time to go to bed yet?" He walks over and stands near me. He is warm. I can feel the heat radiating from him. His eyes are a little bright, too. I reach out to put my hand on his forehead but he ducks.
"You must eat something first. And a tea, I think. Your body is fighting something. We will see what it is." I begin to be a little concerned. The boy is feverish, not just hot from the fire. "Come, let me see what is wrong. Come on, Estel."
But the boy is far away, looking somewhere else, deep inside himself or into the world around him, it is difficult to tell. He has had moments like this before, when it is given to him to see with more than just his eyes. It is nothing to be alarmed about, I tell myself. It does not injure him.
"Fire," he says. "Fire and – and monsters. And something that shines and shines! Papa – make it stop! Papa!"
I catch him as he falls. I pick him up and stand, holding him safely.
"Come, Halbarad. Let us take him to his room. You may tell him a story as he recovers." I keep the panic from my voice. I wish my sons were here. I begin to think of the right herbs to give him. He has had spells like this before but has never collapsed, only been frightened or, lately, interested in what he sees.
I take him to his room, settle him on his bed then call for help, for he is ill, and I have my own vision of the future. Fire, he saw. Something that shone.
Let him be well, I ask. Let him be well.