Estel lounged on an upper balcony, eating some sweet dried apple slices. Not far away, water fell like twisted lace from an escarpment down into the frothing pool that flowed away beneath the main bridge. As Glorfindel had predicted, the storm of the night before had softened into a light rain. The sun peeked here and there between the clouds, casting little rays of brightness into the courtyard and causing wet leaves to sparkle and the rain to shine as it descended.

The balcony was one of Estel’s favorite watching places. He could see birds and animals that only lived in the tops of trees, as well as most of the comings and goings from the house. So he was perfectly situated to see the two horses and riders making their way down the Northwestern path.

Estel studied the horses with great interest. One horse was a bay with a light, pretty step and a long neck. It tossed its head occasionally, as if in pride at its appearance. Its rider was dressed in muted green and silver gray. The other rider, dressed mostly in deep greens and brown, sat atop a dappled white horse. The second horse was less beautiful in form, but more surefooted, and although he could see it was the less valuable horse Estel liked the color better.

To the riders themselves Estel paid little attention except to think that if he hurried he would be the first to tell his father about the visitors (for though Erestor would go out to greet the strangers and bring them inside, the councilor was notoriously long-winded when issuing a formal welcome.)

In the Hall of Healing, an Elf slowly opened his eyes and moved his head a little to look round. He saw he was lying in a fastidiously clean room in which nearly every wooden surface had been decorated with carvings. To his right, muted light filtered through curtained windows. Near to his left was an archway leading to a passage, but into the passage   itself he could not see. There was no one else in the room.

He frowned, trying to piece together thoughts that fell like wind-scattered leaves through his mind. He remembered… Greenwood… Secrets… Leaving… Storms… He remembered being cold, which was odd because he was not usually affected by cold.

He eased himself up in bed, becoming mindful that his ankle was a little sore and that every time he moved his head too quickly he became nauseated. The last thing he remembered was waiting out the storm in a cave in Imladris, so he was surely now in the house of Lord Elrond. Indeed, the place was as airy and pleasant as he had always heard.

Being found in Imladris now might be a good or bad thing. Still, a comfortable, warm bed made an agreeable change from camping on wet ground or hard rock.

The Elf caught a glimpse of a mop of dark hair on the head of a small person before it disappeared behind the wall of the archway again. Perhaps he was not so alone as he had thought. The Elf smiled, glad he was still able to do so after all he had been though.

“Well met, Little One!” he called to the curious child. “Are you standing there because you wish to come say ‘hello’? You may, if you would like.”

This time, the dark hair was joined by a pair of dark eyes peeking into the room. “I am not supposed to bother you,” whispered the child loudly, still from around the corner.

“You do not bother me, Elfling,” the Elf assured.

The child stepped into the open and the Elf was surprised to see that although the child was dressed like an Elfling and spoke like one, it was clearly a child of Men.

“I am not allowed to enter the Hall of Healing without permission – I was only looking for my Papa,” the boy said, still without coming into the room. “But when I find him, I will ask him to let me visit you. He will surely allow it, since even I can see you are feeling better.” The child frowned. “I do not think you are supposed to be unattended. When I find Papa I will tell him about that, also. I think he meant for one of the healers he is training to be here with you when you awoke.”

The Elf was puzzled. “Am I not in Imladris, in the House of Elrond? I thought it was Lord Elrond himself who trained the new healers.”

The child nodded happily, as if the Elf had done something quite clever. “Yes, he is my Papa – well, my second Papa – Anyway, when I find him, he will-“

“He will probably ask why you are awakening the patients after you have been told not to disturb them,” said someone dryly. The speaker was out of the line of the injured Elf’s vision.

In the hallway, Estel turned to face Lord Elrond, who had his arms crossed and was looking down with mild censure.

“But, Papa,” Estel explained, “He was awake already. And he said I wasn’t bothering him.”

”But why were you here at all, Estel?” Elrond asked, lightly brushing the hair out of the child’s eyes. “You know this person has been injured and needs his rest. Did not Calen-Glad tell you so?”

“I only came to find you, to tell you there are riders coming to our house. I thought you would maybe have come to the Hall to see to your patient, and here you are! And Calen-Glad is not in here, Papa; the stranger was alone.”

“What?” exclaimed Elrond, striding into the Hall of Healing. “I greet you, Friend, in the name of the House of Elrond,” Elrond said to the new Elf distractedly, at the same time gazing around the room. “Where in Arda has that wretched Calen-Glad gone?” he muttered to himself. “Honestly, if Galadriel herself had not sent him to me – the least he could have done was tell Ilothuir to come in.”

“Perhaps they are with one another,” suggested Estel. “I think they must be great friends, for I often see them together on the bridge at night.”

At this, the injured Elf hid a smile behind his hand, and Elrond looked at Estel keenly.

“I see,” said Elrond, contemplating this news.

“Truly,” the stranger hastened to say, “I seem to be very well, all things considered. I thank you for your kindness, Lord Elrond.”

”You are quite welcome. But, Friend, you have the advantage of me, for you know my name but I still do not know yours.”

Elrond and the stranger gazed at one another, and silence filled the room. Things might have become quickly uncomfortable if Estel had not remembered his manners.

“Oh! I have forgotten to tell you my name also.” Estel made a bow. “I am Estel, of the House of Elrond. I and my household are at your service.”

“Hope?” the stranger echoed, referring to the meaning of Estel’s name. “A very apt name, for these times. I thank you, young Estel. And,” the Elf added with some mirth, “I am at your service also – though I am not in any condition to do much. My ankle does not feel as if I could walk on it, and my head is a little sore, to say the least.”

Elrond’s face softened. “Yes, you twisted your ankle when you fell, and you also hit your head and had a nasty bump. Perhaps questions can wait a while.”

There was a cushioned chair near the stranger’s bed, and Elrond sank into it. He was, of course, not about to give up finding out who the patient was, but he would put it off until a later time. “I will make you some tea,” he said to the stranger. “It should help ease any pain. And after you have rested,” he continued in a tone that allowed for no arguments, “we will speak again about this matter of names.”

The eyes of the two locked again. After some moments, the stranger gave a short nod.

Elrond rose, and from the archway Estel pleaded, “So, may I come in, Papa? Please? For your patient seems much better, and I could keep him company and fetch herbs for the tea. Will you be using willow bark? Or didn’t you use nettle once for a swollen ankle?”

“There seems little sense in keeping you away now,” said Elrond, one corner of his mouth tilting up in amusement. “Though when I gave you the rule about waiting for permission before coming entering, I had in mind that you would avoid placing any strain on the health of those resting. I did not mean you should call out from the doorway to whomever was abed.”

Estel entered and went to stand beside Elrond. He looked up at his foster father and then quickly down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I have not done so before, and I will not again.” He bit his lip.

Elrond ruffled the boy’s hair. “Of that, I have no doubt. Now, come and help me here, and then we will find Nestwen or Ilothuir – or someone else responsible – and have one of them stay with our new friend while we go down and see these visitors you spoke of.”

“They had the biggest horses, Papa!” Estel resumed his exuberance and reached as high as he could towards the height of an imaginary horse. “One was brown and black, and he was very tall and proud looking. The other was not so tall, nor so pretty, but I think it was the kind of horse you might trust to bear you over a rough path. It was white with black spots on its rump. Its step was very-“ Estel could not think of the word he wanted, so instead demonstrated the careful, sure pace of the horse.

The stranger watched the performance with some amusement. “And the other horse? How did it walk?”

“Oh, it was very fine, indeed!” Estel exclaimed, prancing around the room and lifting his knees high. “It went just like this.”

Elrond gave his patient a glance as if to say, “See what you have started now?” But to Estel he only said, “Yes, that does look like a fine horse. Are you able to reach the willow bark by yourself?”

Estel immediately stopped prancing, remembering that he was supposed to be “helping,” and went to the big cupboard. He fetched the willow bark for Elrond and watched with interest as it was ground in a pestle. Estel loved to watch his father working, rapid and certain, with the medicines and herbs they often gathered together.

“I’m going to be a healer when I grow up, too,” Estel said, standing on tiptoe to see Elrond’s movements better.

Elrond stopped for a moment, and his face held an unreadable expression. Then he began to work again. “It cannot do any harm for you to learn the art,” he replied neutrally.

When water was brought to a boil, Elrond finished making the infusion and gave it to to the injured Elf. Estel sat near the bed ready to take the empty cup.

“My Lord?” Estel saw that Erestor had come at last. “There are two messengers from King Thranduil who say they wish to speak with you immediately on a matter of some importance.”

Estel watched in puzzlement as the patient frowned and sank farther down under the covers.

“It’s not supposed to taste nasty,” Estel said, peering into the cup. “I saw Papa add the honey.”

“Yes,” Lord Elrond was saying to Erestor, “Estel had told me we had visitors.” At  this, Estel shot Erestor a superior smile. “Did they say what they had come for?”

Erestor shook his head. “They did not, but they did say they could not wait. They are in the Receiving Chamber now.”

“Hm…” said Elrond. He turned to his foster son. “Would you like to come with me, Estel?”

Estel was surprised. “But you always say I am not old enough go with you to the Receiving Chamber while you are working.”

Elrond smiled. “I think today I have changed my mind. I would like you to see some of the things I do besides healing, and perhaps you may learn to enjoy those, as well.”

“But what if the matter is private?” objected the stranger from his bed, looking alarmed.

Elrond raised his eyebrows. “Then Estel could easily go elsewhere, could he not? Why do you ask, my friend? Is there some reason you might think this business of King Thranduil’s should be private?”

The Elf scowled. “I could not say what private messages Thranduil might send you.”

“We will soon find out then, will we not? Come, Estel. Erestor, would you be so kind as to find a healer to come in and tend to this young Elf? Nestwen or one of the others – but not Calen-Glad, please. I wish to speak to him before he is allowed here again.”

----

Glorfindel sat on Elrond’s right hand and Estel sat on Elrond’s left in the Receiving Chamber. The chairs were tall, of carved wood and uncomfortable, especially because Estel’s feet did not touch the floor yet. Nevertheless, he tried to keep still and solemn, since he wanted to be invited to sit with Papa more often.

The doorman, Tavor, opened the doors and announced, “Lindir and Nordheth of Mirkwood are here to see Lord Elrond.”

Estel was about to wave to Tavor when he caught his Elrond’s eye. He hastily put down his hand.

The two Elves whom Estel had seen earlier in the day entered the room and knelt before Elrond, bowing their heads. Estel was surprised at this, for he knew there was usually not so much formality in Imladris; perhaps things were done differently in Mirkwood.

Apparently, Elrond did not like the formality either, because he asked them to rise again nearly as soon as their knees hit the floor.

Estel openly stared at the two Mirkwood Elves as they rose. They had not changed clothes before entering the presence of Lord Elrond. The one in green-gray was a slender male with a long face, dressed a little more formally than the other. The Elf in the darker colors was female, and she had the shortest hair Estel had ever seen on an Elf: it was cut just above her shoulders. Both looked exhausted, as if they had been riding hard and had stopped but little.

“You have a message for me?” Elrond asked them.

“My Esteemed Lord,” said the Elf in gray. “Thank you for granting us audience on such short notice. I am Lindir, of Mirkwood, advisor to King Thranduil. My companion is Nordheth, whom you know has long been the courier between Imladris and Mirkwood.”

Estel could not remember ever seeing Nordheth before. But then, he could not remember King Thranduil ever sending a message before. All he knew of Mirkwood was a little spot on one of Papa’s maps.

Lindir continued, “The King would send his most humble apologies regarding his son’s unseemly imposition upon your well-known hospitality. The king asks pardon for his son’s behavior and that you will send him home with us as soon as possible.”

“But how could the king know his son was here?” wondered Elrond aloud. “For it is true that we recently found a wounded stranger in our midst, but that was only yesterday. Could he have been in the valley so long without our knowing?”

“That could well be, Lord Elrond,” Nordheth put in. “For all the Mirkwood Elves are wood-wise.”

When Glorfindel subtly raised a brow at Elrond, Estel knew right away what he was thinking. Why had Papa thought the stranger might be King Thranduil’s son? He hadn’t said anything about that.

Elrond looked thoughtful. “Well, if our injured friend is indeed the son of Thranduil, he cannot be moved as yet. Nor will I dismiss him if he asks for sanctuary here, unless you can tell me of some reason why we should not.”

Lindir and Nordheth glanced at one another, trying to communicate without words. Finally Lindir turned back to Elrond. “We cannot speak of our reasons without the King’s consent, I am afraid.”

Estel could see his Papa begin to look frustrated.

Glorfindel leaned towards Elrond. “Perhaps, Lord Elrond, it would be wise to let the messengers speak with your patient. At least they can identify him for certain as the son of their king.”

Elrond nodded slowly. “There is some merit to what you say. But,” he warned the other Elves. “You will only speak to him for a moment, and you will not upset him.”

Another glance was exchanged between the two.

“We will do our best, my lord.”

____

Once again, Estel was forced to leap to keep up with the older Elves in a hurry. His mind raced almost as fast as his feet. Was the strange Elf indeed the king’s son? And if so, why was he gone from Mirkwood, and why would King Thranduil have to send messengers to bring him back?

As they reached the Hall of Healing, Elrond and Glorfindel went in first. On the other side of the room, Nestwen rose, bowed, and left. Estel stopped too quickly and his smooth leather-soled shoes nearly slid out from under him.

The injured Elf turned his head to face the party of Elves near the passageway.

“Why, Lindir, Nordheth,” said the patient calmly. “What a great surprise to see you here.” In fact, the Elf did not look surprised at all. Instead, he was wearing an expression of self-satisfaction.

Nordheth looked shocked, her mouth opening and closing without sound, and Lindir made much the same face Estel thought he might have made upon finding half a worm in his apple.

“But – but –“ Lindir sputtered to the Elf in bed, “Where is Laegyrn? Why are you here?”

The patient’s eyebrows rose. “Did you not notice me missing? Ah, well, I should expect such things by now, I suppose.”

“Wait a moment,” Elrond interrupted. “What is going on here? Is this King Thranduil’s son or not?”

”Oh, aye!” said Nordheth sharply. “It is Thranduil’s son, right enough. Only it happens this is not the son we are looking for. This is Legolas Greenleaf, the king’s younger son. It is Laegyrn Thranduilion, King Thranduil’s eldest, that we have been seeking!” She added with a withering look at Legolas, “As you well know. Where is he?”

Legolas looked smug. “I am sure I could not say, my lady. Did you look yet under the bed?”

Nordheth and Lindir both began to go red in the face, but before any angry words could begin, Elrond said in a loud voice, “I think that is enough. I would hate to tire, er, Legolas. And I did only promise you two a few moments. Meanwhile, Glorfindel and Erestor will be happy to show you to your rooms. Please, enjoy the hospitality of the House of Elrond.”

Glorfindel took that as a cue and began to usher the objecting Elves out of Legolas’ room.

Estel sat on the bed, although he was not supposed to. He watched as his papa and Legolas looked at each other.

“So,” said Elrond.

“So,” Legolas replied.

“You left a trail behind you that my seven-year-old son of Men could find,” Elrond said. He did not sound angry, but he did sound as if he were asking a question.

“Estel must have sharp eyes,” Legolas returned. He gave Estel a smile, which the boy returned.

“But not as sharp as an Elf of Mirkwood,” countered Elrond. “An Elf of Mirkwood would have noticed that he was leaving such marks on the ground.”

“Perhaps I did not,” Legolas said, looking at the ceiling.

“Perhaps.” Elrond was silent a few moments. “I meant what I said about you needing to rest, son of Thranduil. And when you awaken, remember that, as you have been told, I and my household are at your service.”