Summary: All is not well in Imladris. A young Estel finds a little more trouble than he bargained for and learns something valuable about what it means to be a warrior.

This story was intended as a New Year present for Silivren Tinu (who made the comment that led to it)... And I had hoped to have it finished in time! *blushes* But I guess a late fic is better than nothing.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for the editing and reassurance.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien. I own nothing.

Warnings: Angst and mild violence

On the Trail

Imladris wore silence like a cloak, the lights in its windows and doorways glimmering like unearthly lamps through the softly falling snow. In the Hall of Fire the voices were silent: nobody sang of the beauty of Middle-earth, nobody offered up a newly-composed song in memory of Valinor and the Two Trees, nobody even began a hymn to Elbereth. To Estel, accustomed to mirth and merriment in the Last Homely House, the silence was oppressive.

He looked up from the book to which he had been paying only scant attention. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the fire, sat Lord Elrond, frowning direfully into the flames. Glorfindel was not far away, idly running a whetstone up and down his sword, giving no more mind to his actions than Estel had been giving to his book. He, too, looked angry.

Estel looked around the room and realized that a distinct air of unease pervaded it. He had never known the Elves to be affected by the cold as he was – they usually went about with only light garments even in the coldest of winters – but today they all wore thick cloaks, fastened at the throat and pulled tight around themselves as though they finally felt winter's chill. Most of them wore their weapons, as well, and this, too, was an oddity: there was no need to go armed inside Elrond's halls.

He glanced at his mother, sitting beside him. She shrugged and put a finger to her lips. Estel thought she was right. The Elves did not look as though they would welcome conversation.

The fire flickered suddenly as the door opened on noiseless hinges. A blast of cold air came with it. Estel shivered, and not because of the cold. The door only opened into the corridor: it ought to be no colder than the rest of the house.

The Elf who came in, at least, seemed to see no need for silence. He made no more noise than he usually did, to be sure; and usually he could creep up behind a deer without its knowledge. But in the near-perfect stillness his muffled footsteps seemed to echo in the cavernous hall.

He came up to the fire, for once without a formal bow for Lady Gilraen. His blue eyes, normally dancing with fey amusement, were grim, almost dark. His mouth was a thin, straight, line; even his hair, gleaming damply as the snowflakes on it melted, seemed to bristle with displeasure. Estel shivered. Legolas was almost never angry; when he was, it usually meant disaster for the nearest Orc encampment or a month on kitchen duty for some careless archer who had neglected to polish his knives and groom his horse.

Glorfindel and Elrond both looked up at the young Elf, one with sympathy, the other with a slight lessening of anger, but still nobody spoke.

"Where –?" Estel began, but stopped short when his voice came out in a tremulous squeak. Legolas turned to him, but none of the others showed the slightest reaction. Estel swallowed and tried again. "Where are they? Elladan and Elrohir?"

He would not have thought it possible for Legolas' face to darken further, but it did, with frustration, disappointment, and something dangerously close to fury burning in his eyes.

"Hunting," the young Elf replied tightly. "Again... always... hunting."

His eyes gleamed suddenly bright with barely-suppressed anger. Estel, who had seen enough of Thranduil to recognize a shadow of his temper in his son's face, said nothing. After a moment, Legolas looked at him.

"I am sorry, penneth. Did I scare you?"

His voice was calmer this time, even if his gaze still burnt with as much intensity as the fire in the grate, and it heartened Estel to hear it.

"Why does it trouble you?" he ventured.

Nobody in Imladris liked the twins' desperate vengeful quests, but Estel had the feeling that nobody in Imladris found them quite as distasteful as Legolas did. This puzzled him a little; while he knew why most Elves disapproved of his foster-brothers' need to slaughter Orcs, he thought he understood it – he had lost his own father to Sauron's vile creatures, after all, and every day the suppressed grief in his mother's eyes made him wish he could join Elladan and Elrohir on one of their hunts. Moreover, he thought Legolas ought to be able to sympathize, if any Elf could, since his life in Mirkwood was practically a continuous battle against the Shadow ravaging his home.

It was a long time before Legolas answered.

"Perhaps because I might have prevented this if I had opposed it in the beginning," he said softly, the flickering firelight casting shadows on his face. "I thought then that their desire for vengeance would fade with time. I was wrong."

"None of us imagined it would last this long," Glorfindel said, speaking for the first time. "Any of us might have stopped it in the beginning; if Elrond or I had expressly forbidden it instead of merely advising them against it, it could never have come to this. I doubt they will listen to anybody now."

"But..." Estel looked from one Elf to the other, and finally at Gilraen. She smiled at him, but he suddenly realized that this smile, like all her other smiles, was regretful. "I want to go with them," he announced.

He had expected an instant outcry, but instead his statement was met with dead silence that lasted for several moments before Elrond turned to Legolas.

"This has gone far enough," he said quietly. "I do not like asking this of you, Legolas, and I daresay your father will demand my head on a platter when he finds out, but you are the only one who might still be able to talk to them. Go and stop them. They only have a day's head start. You can catch up with them easily."

Legolas jerked a nod. Before he could say anything, Estel burst out, "I will come with you!"

"Do not be ridiculous, penneth," Legolas said curtly. "You will do nothing of the kind. Stay here – yes, Estel, stay here." He sounded stern enough that, for once, Estel did not dare try to wheedle him into consenting. "This is bad enough without –"

To Estel's surprise, his mother came to his rescue. "Legolas, if you do decide to take him with you, I will not object." She glanced at Elrond, who sighed and nodded.

"Nor will I. I suppose it will be easier for him to understand if he sees for himself."

Neither of them said any more: Estel knew perfectly well that if Legolas insisted that he remain behind, neither his mother nor his foster-father would debate the issue. They had too much respect for the Elf's experience as a warrior.

"Please," Estel begged, before Legolas could say anything. "At least, if you take me with you, you will not have to ride alone." Legolas' determined expression wavered, and Estel promptly added, "I will not get in the way and I will do whatever you tell me if you will only take me with you. I want to help?"

"Help hunt Orc?" Legolas asked dryly.

"Help you," Estel responded. "It is true that I do not understand why you want to stop them, but if it is that important to you, I want to help you do it."

"I still cannot believe I consented to this."

"You consented because you could not bear to leave me behind," Estel teased, secure in the knowledge that they were too far from Imladris for Legolas to send him back. "Imagine how lonely you would be without me."

Legolas stopped and half-turned to shake his head in exasperation. His horse snorted in disapproval: she was eager to get out of the snowdrift through which they were walking. Legolas patted her head. Estel had to stifle laughter at the sight: Faelwen was tall for a riding horse, but with Legolas standing on top of the thickly-piled snow she was barely higher than his shoulder. As though the same thought had just occurred to her, the horse took Legolas' cloak between her teeth and tugged in the direction of the road.

"Peace," the Elf said, rubbing her nose. "I know this is the more difficult path, but the road might be dangerous now. We must find Elladan and Elrohir. We do not have time to stop and fight Orcs."

"Will we reach them today?" Estel asked, shifting in his saddle. Legolas had decided to get down and walk his horse; the young man knew he himself would only slow them down if he got down and tried to walk through the snow, but that did not prevent him from longing to stretch his legs.

"Tired?" Legolas asked, smiling at him. "We will not reach them today, Estel. It is too close to evening, and I do not want to risk travelling through the night. Once we have found a village, you can rest and I will try to find out which way they have gone."

"I do not need rest," Estel insisted.

Legolas rolled his eyes and did not answer.

It did not take them long to find a village with an inn. The innkeeper was reluctant to house them at first, clearly worried about harbouring strange travellers in such dark times, but eventually he agreed, in exchange for a considerable pile of coins, to let them have the use of a small room on the upper floor.

"Sleep, Estel," Legolas said, as soon as they were safely in it. "I will find out where your brothers are. We can go on in the morning."

Estel would have argued, but although Legolas sounded cheerful, something warned him not to push the Elf too far. He undressed and got into bed under his friend's watchful gaze. Legolas nodded, apparently satisfied, and left the room.

Despite his insistence to the contrary, Estel really was tired, and it was not longbefore his eyes shut. His dreams were troubled, full of his brothers slaying faceless monsters while a dim, mist-wreathed figure that he somehow knew was Lady Celebrían looked on in sorrow. Then suddenly it was not Lady Celebrían but his mother, sobbing over his father's shrouded body. She looked directly at him and raised her hand. Estel tried to call out to her, but his voice was too weak.

Then her face dissolved as he was shaken awake.

"Legolas!" Estel gasped, clutching at the Elf's tunic.

"What is wrong?" Legolas gently disengaged Estel's hands and helped him sit up. "You look like you have not slept at all. Did you have bad dreams?"

"What time is it?"

"It is morning, Estel."

"What?"

It seemed to Estel that he had barely been asleep for ten minutes, but when he looked out the window he could see the sun shining and a pair of small birds perched on the sill, watching him with undisguised curiosity. When he looked in their direction, they swooped into the room and alit on the bed beside him. Estel reached out to them: they twittered in alarm and fluttered to Legolas, settling down on his knee.

"They are scared of you," the Elf said in amusement. "I am surprised they are still here. Most of their brethren fly to warmer climates in the winter months... Get up, Estel. You must eat, and then we have a long ride ahead of us."

"Do you know what my brothers are doing?"

As soon as he had asked the question, Estel regretted it: Legolas' brow furrowed and his eyes darkened until he seemed a stranger.

"Yes."

With that word, the archer got to his feet and left the room.

The sun in the sky told Estel that they had only been riding for a few hours, but with Legolas' unwonted silence and scarcely-concealed anger, it seemed more like a few days. Estel knew that the Elf's anger was not directed at him, but it scared him nonetheless.

He wanted to ask how much further they had to go, but before he could summon the courage, they crested a hill and he saw it.

At the foot of the hill a skirmish was in progress. Elladan and Elrohir, recognizable even at this distance, stood back to back in the midst of a circle of Orcs, with wargs pacing around it snarling and snapping. The ground was littered with dark bodies. The twin sons of Elrond fought with a desperation and ferocity new to their foster-brother. Their anger and their hatred for the foul creatures they faced made them, if anything, even more graceful. Estel had not seen any Elves, not Legolas, not even Glorfindel, move with such deadly, accurate speed.

As he watched in awe, he felt his pulse throb with a sudden rush of fury. Those were the creatures that had killed his father and broken his mother's heart. They were the reason Lady Celebrían had sailed, leaving Imladris a shadow of itself.

He heard Legolas' warning shout, but he ignored it, spurring his horse to a gallop and racing down the hill with his blood pounding in his ears.

At the foot of the hill he charged into the melee, slashing wildly in every direction. Rage and grief seemed to be giving him skill he had never known he possessed. He cut and thrust and every blow hit home. He was aware of Elladan and Elrohir doing the same beside him. The Orcs stood no chance against the three of them: they fell as easily as the straw-stuffed dummies Glorfindel used for archery practice.

Estel spared a moment to glance towards the top of the hill. Legolas still stood there, too far for Estel to discern his expression, but the young man had the distinct feeling that the Elf was not pleased.

But he was too busy to wonder why.

The fight ended swiftly – almost too swiftly. The satisfaction that Estel had felt during the battle faded as quickly as it had come. As he looked around at the fallen, he felt a sick sensation in his stomach. Yet he also wanted very, very badly to go into battle again.

"I thought we had told you never to interfere!" Elrohir bellowed on his left, startling him. Estel turned to protest that he had only joined in to help his brothers, but then he realized that Elrohir was not speaking to him. He was glaring up the hill at Legolas. "We do not need any help in ridding Arda of this filth!"

Only then did Estel notice that several of the dead Orcs and wargs had the green-fletched arrows of Mirkwood sticking out of them. He examined the nearest. The arrow had shot it straight through the neck, in the weak point of its armour, and it had clearly had an instantaneous death.

That was a mercy Estel did not think the Orcs deserved.

Legolas came down the hill, leaving his horse where she was. He walked over the deep snow as though it were the packed earth of the practice fields. Estel found himself hastily wiping his sword and sliding it into its scabbard, so that by the time Legolas was standing before him his hands were empty of weapons.

He felt Elladan and Elrohir move close to him on either side, and he shivered. He had never seen his brothers and Legolas having a serious disagreement, and after everything he had heard about the times when they did, he did not want to.

"Estel." Legolas' voice was utterly devoid of emotion. Estel might have been defiant in the face of anger, but now he dared not make a sound. He shot a glance at Legolas and looked away quickly.

"I am sorry," he muttered. "I... I had to help."

"And you had no business bringing him here!" Elladan snapped. "He could have been killed! What were you thinking?"

"You are right," Legolas said, sounding unperturbed. "I should not have brought him. That does not change the fact that you should not be doing this at all. You know how it distresses your father – and everyone who cares about you."

Neither Elladan nor Elrohir said anything. Estel ventured, "But, Legolas... All warriors have to kill. Sometimes. Orcs are evil. And you shot so many of them yourself!"

"It had to be ended quickly," Legolas replied, ignoring Elrohir's furious expression. "I had no idea it had become this bad."

"And our father sent you to chastise us, did he?" Elrohir demanded. "What good did he imagine that would do?"

"He is very worried about you. This has gone far enough. You have had your vengeance –"

Elrohir drew his sword suddenly, making Estel yelp. "Vengeance?" he growled, taking a menacing step towards Legolas. "You think that the lives of any number of these creatures will make up for what my mother suffered at their hands? If I slay every Orc in Middle-earth, Legolas, every Orc that has ever lived, my vengeance will still not be complete."

Legolas cursed in a fluent mixture of Silvan, Sindarin and Quenya. "You have to come back to Imladris. Now. This madness must stop. It is more dangerous to you than to anybody else!"

"We are not coming," Elrohir said. "Take Estel back by all means – he should not be here in the first place; he is too young for battle – but do not expect that we will follow. We will not leave our task half-done."

"Your task has been half-done for centuries." Elrohir's eyes narrowed dangerously. Estel, trying not to make a sound, edged away from the three Elves. He did not want to be caught in the middle if it came to the use of weapons. "It is going to be half-done for the rest of eternity unless you decide that it is over!"

"Leave," Elladan ordered; Estel could tell he was trying to sound rational. "Before either of you does something we will all regret, go."

"I will not. I am not leaving unless you come with me."

Elrohir raised his sword to an attacking stance. "Go."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "You do not really expect me to be frightened of you?"

"You may be the better archer, Legolas, but you cannot defeat me with the blade. Leave now or I will make you. And do not think I will not do it. If I have to disarm you by force..."

Legolas only crossed his arms and glared at Elrohir. With a snarl of rage, Elrohir brought his sword down –

And almost faster than Estel's eye could follow, Legolas' knife was out and blocking it.

As they began to spar, even Estel could tell that neither Elf was trying to do any serious harm: they were only attempting to disarm each other. All the same, it unnerved him to see Elrohir and Legolas duelling anywhere other than the practice field. He glanced at Elladan, hoping he would intervene, but the older twin was only watching with inscrutable grey eyes.

Estel turned away, truly looking at the battlefield for the first time. Now that he had calmed down, the sight revolted him. He had never imagined that he could take any life, even that of an Orc, in anger.

He swallowed.

"I will go home with you, Legolas."

Legolas and Elrohir both paused briefly as he spoke; Elrohir, recovering a split-second faster, brought his blade up with lightning speed. He clearly expected Legolas to block, but for some reason the archer's response was slow, and Elrohir drew blood before he could stop himself.

He hissed angrily and sheathed his sword at once.

"Let me tie that up for you, Elfling."

Legolas stepped away from Elrohir's proffered hand and scowled. For a moment Elrohir looked as though he would lose his temper. Then he sighed.

"Very well, if that is what you want. We will go back with you, Legolas. Now will you let me look at your arm?"

"Why do you do it?" Estel mumbled, watching Elrohir and Legolas set up camp. "It does not help. I thought it would make me forget, but it did not, and now it is worse." Elladan did not reply. Estel turned to him, staring for a moment before realization struck. "You will not stop, will you?" he demanded. "You will go hunting again."

"I expect we will," Elladan said with a sigh. "And I think you do understand why, Estel, although Legolas never truly can."

"I thought he did... in the beginning."

"He said he did," Elladan corrected. "But I think the truth is that he decided to support our decision only because he did not fully understand it. Estel..." Elladan hesitated. "Even before the Shadow arose in Dol Guldur, Mirkwood was not as safe a place as Imladris or Lothlórien. It was beautiful, certainly, but protected by nothing stronger than the force of Thranduil's character and the skill of his archers. While I do not intend to belittle either Thranduil or his warriors, that was not the same. Despite their best efforts, the occasional band of brigands did set up camp in the forest, and they did need regular patrols. Thranduil made sure that Legolas had little time to brood in the years immediately following his mother's death."

"And she had the mercy of a quick death," Estel added.

Elladan looked at him sharply. "So Legolas has told you the story."

"No, Saeldur did. Although Legolas knew he intended to tell me; I think he just did not want to talk about it himself."

Elladan nodded. "She had the mercy of a quick death. I think it was Thranduil who suffered the most, then, from Lindariel's loss and knowing what Legolas suffered at her murderer's hands, but... He had something to anchor him to the world."

Estel followed his foster-brother's gaze to the bright head raised to the stars.

"And you did not?" he demanded, more abruptly than he had intended.

"Do not misunderstand me, Estel. Everyone did all they could to help us. Our father, our mother before she left, Glorfindel, Erestor... even Legolas spent months with us in Imladris, although by then the Watchful Peace had ended and he could ill be spared. Perhaps our hurts ran deeper. Perhaps if somebody had stopped us that first time, it would have been different." Then he managed a smile. "But if we had not been out hunting Orc, we would not have been there to persuade your mother to bring you to Imladris. So it has not all been bad." He gave Estel's hand a light squeeze.

"Has Legolas ever joined –?" Estel began, and then stopped abruptly when Elrohir and Legolas came to join them.

"Joined their hunting?" Legolas enquired, and Estel realized with a start that the two Elves had probably heard everything. "I have never joined them actively, but I have helped, as I did today."

"Everyone must surely praise my foresight now," Elrohir said, trying to lighten the mood. "I always said it was a good idea to teach the Elfling how to shoot."

Estel tried to smile.

Hours later, Estel, buried under a pile of blankets, was drifting in and out of a restless doze while on either side of him Elladan and Elrohir slept as even Elves had to when they had been through several days of very rough and nearly-ceaseless battle. Legolas, who had volunteered to take the night's watch, was high in the branches of a tree.

Jerked to abrupt awareness by the sound of laughter above him, Estel opened his eyes. For a moment he looked around, puzzled; then more laughter floated down from above. He scrambled to his feet, careful not to disturb the sleeping Elves, and peered up at the interlocking branches overhead. Moonlight glinting on the tip of an arrow showed him the Elf's location. As silently as he could, Estel scooped up a handful of snow, balled it, and flung it into the tree at Legolas.

Whether it was Legolas or the oak tree that realized the snowball was coming Estel never found out. At any rate, there was a sudden creaking noise as an oak branch lowered itself, an audible snicker, and the young man found himself being seized by the scruff of his tunic.

Estel did not bother to protest when, after being hauled unceremoniously through the branches, he found himself settled comfortably on a thick one with his back resting against the tree trunk. Legolas was on one slightly below; but he was standing on it, so that his eyes were level with the young man's.

"Why are you not asleep?"

"I cannot sleep," Estel confessed, as the snow, which had held off for most of that day, began to fall again. "I keep thinking about... about... how I ran into the battle. I thought it would help me, but I hated it later. I hated the idea of what I had done, but I do not know why. I do not think I will ever be a good warrior, Legolas. I could barely think during the battle; when it was over I did not even remember most of what had happened."

"Estel, that happens to everyone. It is one of Eru's mercies. There are very few battles I can remember clearly, and I am grateful for that. If you dislike the idea of having killed Orcs so much, think of what it would be like to live with the memory of blood and death."

"You do not understand," Estel mumbled.

"What do I not understand?"

"I did not fight because it was the right thing to do, or because the Orcs were evil, or even because I wanted to help Elladan and Elrohir. I fought because – because of my father, and Lady Celebrían. Lord Glorfindel always says you should not fight in anger." Estel's voice began to shake. Legolas vaulted himself up onto his friend's branch at once, putting his hands on the slender shoulders. "I am frightened of myself," Estel went on unhappily. "I am frightened of what I could become."

"Good."

Since this was the last answer he had expected, Estel stared at Legolas in shock. The Elf laughed.

"As long as you are frightened," he explained, "you will not become the thing that you fear. It is only when you stop being frightened that I will begin to worry."

"What about Elladan and Elrohir?"

"What about them?"

"You heard what Elladan said. They will not stop."

"I did not expect them to." Legolas undid his cloak and handed it to Estel, who had begun to shiver despite the thick coat he wore. "It would mean nothing if they stopped because I or anybody else wanted them to. They must stop because they want to. That is the only way they will find peace... For now, it is enough that we will spend Yule together in Imladris. That was the best I expected."

"Is there nothing I can do to help?"

"I think you help them more than you know," Legolas said quietly. "You help us all more than you could possibly imagine, Estel." Smiling at the young man, he added, "And now you should go to sleep."

"I will need help getting down," Estel said, leaning to his right to peer at the drop to the ground. "I cannot jump that distance."

"Down? Who said anything about getting down? It is snowing and you will be buried by morning." Before Estel could demand an explanation, he found the branches closing around him, sheltering him from the cold. "Do not worry," Legolas said. "The tree will not let you fall. I should go wake your brothers, although it really would serve them right to be buried in a snowdrift. Sleep well."

Then the Elf was gone, and Estel was alone with the stars. But the tree was surprisingly comfortable, and the babble of familiar voices and laughter was soothing. It was not long before the young man was fast asleep, cradled safely by the branches of the ancient tree.

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