Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

In the Arena

Chapter Thirteen

See Disclaimer on Chapter One

A/N: I made a tremendous error in the previous chapter. (Yes, it does happen!) When I wrote that Quenthar had made his trip to dose Estel with poison, I actually meant to put potion. Now, why my fingers actually typed poison and why I never caught the mistake in numerous re-reads of the chapter, I’ll never know. The potion was a sleeping draught to keep the child quiet until after Quenthar could fight and kill Elrond and make his escape. After that it would be unnecessary, for he would leave Estel to die alone in the darkness while the elves grieved for Elrond.

"The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat." Theodore Roosevelt

Legolas nodded to one of Helcar’s guards as he crossed through the beautiful garden. He paused to glance up at Lord Elrond’s balcony, knowing that it was from there that the renegade elf had taken the human child. ‘Of course,’ he realized, ‘why did I not think of this before!’ Walking over to the ancient elm, which stood majestically over the marble bench where the scrap of bandage from Estel had been found, the Elven prince placed his hands respectfully against the bark. It was the same tree from which the three elves had perched outside Elrond’s window searching for sight of Estel when banished from the house, and the tree had shared their laughter and their cares. Taking a deep breath, Legolas asked the ancient life for permission to experience its life force. Receiving permission, Legolas allowed himself to relax into the flow of life which emanated from the tree. The ancient had withdrawn into himself when he had felt the unusual touch of evil. Many lives of man the tree had lived in Imladris, and never had it felt such evil at its base. Unsettled, the tree had pulled within.

Becoming one with the tree sobered and awed the prince, as it always did when he had the rare opportunity to have this experience. Quickly gathering himself before he became too caught up in the moment and wasted time that Estel did not have, Legolas searched the tree’s memory for images of the child. What he felt and saw were visions of joy and laughter, of unruly dark curls and infectious laughter. He quickly pushed past these memories, seeking the ones that might aid him now. Finally he came to what he sought. The elf was dressed darkly and Legolas could not make out a face. He could see them jump from the window. The elf and child had landed hard, and the boy rolled against the marble bench, tearing off the bandage in the process. The tree had reacted in distress at the damage to the child’s lip and Legolas shared its compassion. The dark elf had jerked up the child and run off through the garden, in the direction of the archery fields.

Now certain that he was on the right track, Legolas thanked the elm and quickly withdrew. It took him a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings. He gently laid his forehead against the tree and closed his eyes, deeply moved by all that he had seen and experienced. ‘Hannon le,’ he breathed before turning to trot off through the garden leaving some very confused looking guards behind.

“Silvans,” sighed one to the other, “they’re a strange lot.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan scowled down at the human at his feet. “I asked you a question.”

Helcar kicked the man’s boot. “Answer Lord Elladan or I’ll...”

“Enough! He will answer me!”

The two elves and the human turned to see who had just thundered the warning. Two of them smiled and one’s eyes grew wide as the angriest Elf they’d ever seen approached.

“Glorfindel,” breathed Elladan, relieved that he would now be able to get on to his rendezvous. He knew that it was an elf that had Estel and he also knew that his best hope of finding him might be waiting even now at the archery range.

Helcar just smiled down at scar-man. “That is the Balrog Slayer, human.”

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas was hurrying across the archery field when he felt a touch of evil entering his senses. He stopped, scanning the forests around him. The touch was feathery light and nebulous, but definitely there. He opened his mind to the trees trying to focus on what they might be attempting to tell him. He could feel the trees at the end of the field calling to him in their distress, and it was the familiar call he’d felt before. But now he was also sensing distress and darkness in the trees to his left, where he had not felt any before.

A frown marred the fair being’s face as he puzzled through this new development and to discern what the trees were attempting to tell him. It was as thought they were all agitated and he was having trouble making sense of all the messages he was receiving.

“What is it, my friends,” he called out while turning in a circle. “Where is the child?” He closed his eyes and attempted to still his thoughts as he let the messages wash over him. Undeniably the strongest calling came from the far end the field. “Hannon le,” he cried, “Lead me to the boy.” He stared walking in the direction of the pond.

“Prince Legolas,” called a deep voice behind him.

The surprised prince turned quickly. He was chagrined to realize that he’d let his guard down while so focused on the trees. He was glad that Falathar was not here to share in his embarrassment, for he would never have let his friend live down the failing. “Quenthar, did Elladan send you after me?”

“No, Elladan did not send me.”

Legolas was slightly confused by the presence of the elf. “I am going to find Estel. The trees are leading me.”

“I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Prince Legolas,” snarled the elf.

The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on Legolas. “Quenthar?”

“That’s right, your highness,” jeered the elf.

Legolas gazed at the stable master in astonishment. Quenthar’s face was so twisted in rage that he was almost unrecognizable as the same elf that had always been so kind and attentive to the horses of Imladris and her guests. If the look on his face was indefinable, the sword in his hands was not. Its burnished surface mocked the prince and he had a sudden longing for his weapons, which were back in his room in the Last Homely House.

Resolve crossed the prince’s face and he repeated, “I am going to find Estel.”

Quenthar actually laughed. “Estel, if he’s not already dead, is going to die in that hole where I left him, and you are going to die right here.”

“You will not kill me,” said the prince softly.

“Oh? You are not even armed, in case you’ve failed to notice. So tell me, high and mighty prince, who will stop me?”

“I will,” promised a voice from behind him.

Quenthar spun to look upon the elf who had dared to cross him. He was so close to all his dreams now; he would not allow anyone to interfere. “Elladan…”

Elladan looked past Quenthar to Legolas. “Go, mellon nin, find my brother. I will deal with Quenthar.”

Quenthar sneered at the twin. “I should have known that your father would be too afraid to come. I must say that I’m surprised that he would send you of all elves. You have failed at everything else in your life, Elladan, what makes you think you will succeed now?”

Elladan forced himself not to listen to the doubts the words conjured up. That was the first lesson Glorfindel had ever taught him, not to let the enemy distract him or put doubts into his mind. “Why, Quenthar, that’s what I want to know. From what source has this evil come?”

“Why?’ screamed Quenthar. “Why could your father not protect Celebrían? Why could you not reach her sooner? Why did your failures force her sail?”

Elladan was dumbfounded by the Elf’s tirade. What in all Arda did his Nana have to do with all this…with Estel? “My father welcomed you to make your home with us…”

“Your father,” interrupted Quenthar, “is why Celebrían had to sail. He was unworthy of her then and he is unworthy of her now. I will make her happy. She will be my lover.”

“You will cease speaking of my mother with such familiarity,” warned the twin, who was quickly losing his temper under the vile ramblings of Quenthar. He fought his emotions back under control, acutely aware that Estel’s life still hung in the balance. He had to give Legolas the time he needed to find his baby brother. “Why Estel? What has he to do with any of this?”

“Estel is simply a means to end. I knew that Elrond was a coward, but I thought he would face me for his precious human.”

“My father is no coward,” thundered Elladan Elrondion, “and Estel is more than you will ever know or understand. Enough of this bandying of words. Stand down and tell me where I can find my brother, and you may yet live to sail.”

“No, it is you who will not sail, young fool, for I am more powerful than you realize. I will kill you here, now, and then I will go after your twin. When he lies dead at my feet, your father will be next. The half Elven should never have been allowed to breed. I will remedy that mistake tonight. Then, then I will go to your mother. She will have me, or she will join you in death.”

The enraged elf swung his sword with a force that would have cleaved the twin’s head from his shoulders had it struck true, but the blow was blocked by Elladan’s sword. The two elves were equally sized and their swords crossed and parried with like force and speed.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond was wrapping a bandage around the arm of an Elven warrior when Sariboril approached the bed with Elrohir in tow. “My Lord, Erestor is awakening. Your son will finish this for you.”

“Thank you, Sariboril,” nodded the elf Lord. “Ion nin, his wound is stitched already, just finish with the bandaging.

“Yes, Ada,” the twin replied.

Walking to the corner, where Erestor’s bed was located, Elrond scanned wounded as he made his way down the center aisle. Even in his haste to reach Erestor, Elrond still made the time to pause occasionally to speak to any patient that seemed to want his attention. Whether it was a spoken word, a pat to a foot in passing, or even just a reassuring smile, the Elf Lord made time for each of his warriors.

As he reached the corner, where an apprentice had been sitting with Erestor, Elrond was gratified to see his friend making an attempt to reach consciousness. This was the closest he had come to waking, and Elrond was pleased with his progress. Elrond nodded to the apprentice, signaling that he would stay with the seneschal for the time being. He placed his hand on Erestor’s forehead and was pleased to find it cool to the touch. “Very good,” he soothed, “come, Erestor, begin to awaken, mellon nin.”

Sariboril walked over to join Elrond at Erestor’s bedside. “How is his fever?”

“It has brok…” Suddenly the Elf Lord jerked to a halt, a shocked look on his face as he strongly felt the evil that had penetrated Imladris. He closed his eyes, reaching out and seeking with all his ability and foresight.

Sariboril was stunned as she watched the color drain from Elrond’s face. “What is it?”

“My son…he’s in danger.”

Confused, Sariboril turned to look back at Elrohir, who was continuing to bandage the arm of the warrior.

Suddenly all of the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place for Elrond, the diversion, the absence of Elladan, the sword under Elrohir’s robe that he thought his father would not notice, and he shook his head at his own inattentiveness.

“Sariboril, I must leave the healing wing for a while. I need you to keep Elrohir and Curufin occupied. Will you do that for me, my friend?”

The wily old healer smiled and nodded her head. “Just leave it to me, my Lord.”

Elrond placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “Thank you. I’ll wait in your apothecary until you have diverted their attention.”

Sariboril narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “All right, just do not touch anything!”

Elrond had been shocked to his core by all that he had seen with his foresight and it took all of his ability to maintain a casual air as we walked to the apothecary.

“Elrohir, Curufin,” bellowed Sariboril, “get over here. I need you.”

Both of the young elves hurried to Erestor’s bedside, unwilling to risk Sariboril’s wrath, for her tongue lashings were famous and no one wished to be on the receiving end of one of her lectures. So shrill did her voice become that the twins had actually joked that she could cause damage to the hearing of any such unlucky recipient.

“Lord Erestor needs to be taken back to Lord Elrond’s room. All this activity is over stimulating. I will send a healer with you to remain with him. I need you two strong young elves to carry the litter.”

Elrohir hesitated but, seeing that his father was walking into the apothecary, relaxed and decided that he would only be gone for moments. There were still warriors in the room guarding the humans, so there was no apparent danger to his Ada.

Carefully sliding his arms under the seneschal’s neck and lower back, he motioned Curufin to take his feet. They gently moved the unconscious Elf to the litter and then picked it up and left the room headed for the third floor.

As soon as they were gone, Elrond nodded his thanks to Sariboril.

“Just don’t you go doing anything stupid and make me regret helping you,” she grumbled.

Elrond did not reply as he hurried from the room, intent upon exiting the house unseen through the kitchen.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas was moving faster and faster as he climbed the steep path leading up the hillside. The trees were almost twitching in their enthusiasm and willingness to help the Wood Elf. Legolas was becoming excited the closer he came to finding the human child. He wanted to free the child and get back to help Elladan, although he really did not think that Elladan would need his help against a stable master. Elladan was, after all, a trained and experienced warrior. Still, he would feel easier once the child was free and this was all behind them.

The Prince stopped and kneeled on the path, his hands carefully feeling the tracks. He was close; he was sure of it. Glancing up at the trees, he smiled his appreciation to them for their help. He rose and quickly followed the tracks to where they ended. Scanning the area he noticed the skillfully prepared brush covering what looked like a trap door. ‘Success,’ he breathed, ‘now, please Elbereth, let the child be alive.’

Legolas began pulling the bush and dirt away from the door using as much speed as he could. At last he had the door completely cleared and he gently pulled at door. The door was stiff and creaked ominously as it was pulled clear. A vile stench assailed the prince’s nose but he forced himself to ignore it as he peered into the small cramped space.

Curled unmoving in the corner was the child. Legolas feared that he was too late. Carefully he reached in to pull out the child and was relieved to feel the warmth of his skin. The child lived! Legolas quickly assessed the boy’s condition. He was obviously dehydrated, covered in scratches – several of which appeared infected – and had a raging fever. The prince pulled off the soiled pants the child wore, swearing to himself at the horror he was seeing. If Elladan did not finish off Quenthar, then by all the Valar, he would for the torment this innocent child had been put through. Legolas pulled off his outer tunic and wrapped the child in the soft material.

“Come on, little one, awaken,” he crooned softly to the child, as he smoothed back the dark curls stuck to Estel’s face.

Estel’s eyelashes batted slowly as he finally managed to open his eyes. Silver blue eyes looked fearfully at the Prince.

“Saes, tithen pen, you are safe now.”

Estel tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “Ada?” he managed to say.

Legolas smiled down at the tot. “We will go find your Ada and your gwadors. Would you like that, little one?

Estel’s eyes rolled back into his head and violent tremors began to wrack his small frame as his body gave itself up to the seizure that had claimed it.

“Estel?” cried the prince as he tried to hold the child through the seizure. Grabbing up the boy, Legolas began to run. He had to get the child back to Lord Elrond. It was his only chance.

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan was seriously tiring. Never could he have believed that Quenthar would have this ability with a sword. He was by far the most experienced opponent that the twin had ever faced. How was this possible? Elladan’s breath was coming harder and harder as he fought to deflect each blow.

For the first several minutes of the fight the twin had held his own, but slowly the advantage had shifted to Quenthar. The twin was now completely in defensive mode as he struggled to block the lethal blows raining down upon him. Sweat streaked down his face and burned his eyes. His arms were so tired that it was all he could do to keep them raised and able to block Quenthar’s strikes. Nearing exhaustion, Elladan fell to his knees.

Amazingly the attacking elf did not even appear tired. He laughed evilly as he stepped back and allowed the twin to struggle to his feet. “You thought I would be easy, didn’t you?” he sneered. “You thought that the stable master would be no contest, but you were wrong! I told you that I was more powerful than you knew.”

Elladan had made it to his feet but was leaning heavily on his sword, bleeding from several cuts. He wiped quickly at the sweat blurring his eyes. He was sickened to realize that Quenthar was toying with him and he forced himself to stand erect. He had to keep this mad man away from Legolas and Estel, not to mention Elrohir and his Ada. “Ho…How,” he stammered.

Quenthar laughed again. “How? It is a spell, Elrondion, placed on me by the wizard who gave me the enchantment. He was a blue wizard who was misunderstood by those who were inferior to him too. He understood what my life was like. He recognized the greatness in me!”

Elladan frowned. “The Blue Wizard disappeared…”

“No,” roared Quenthar, “he left¸ of his own free will…as I will leave for Valinor once I have completed my mission to free Celebrían from all of you. Enough! It is time to die, foolish elf.”

With a fury and a speed that scarcely seemed possible to Elladan, Quenthar attacked in a relentless flurry of blows and strikes, anyone one of which would have killed the twin outright if it managed to get through the struggling elf’s defenses.

Elladan blocked the blows the best that he could as he weakened. Finally the twin stumbled and fell. He lay there panting, looking up at Quenthar, and realized that he would be unable to help Legolas after all. “Forgive me…” he whispered to all those he loved.

As though in slow motion he watched Quenthar raise his sword above his head. It seemed to Elladan that the evil Elf paused a moment and took a breath before starting the downward blow…the death stroke.

Elladan forced himself to keep looking, preferring to embrace death with his eyes open. The blade sliced down towards him with gathering speed, but never reached the mark.

So close was it to his head that the twin could read the fluid script on the sword that had blocked Quenthar’s blow. Aen estar Hadhafang I chatholhen thand around dan I thang an arwen. Hadhafang…his father’s sword.

TBC

Translation on Hadhafang: This blade is called Hadhafang, a noble defense against the enemy throng for a noble lady.