A First Meeting
Eight year-old Estel clambered onto the heavy wooden chair by the window and looked longingly up at the steep walls of the valley, the winding mountain path that led out of it to ways unknown, to the adventure and excitement that featured so often in the stories of his elder brothers, Elladan and Elrohir.
‘Nana, where does the path lead?’ he asked.
Gilraen glanced up and smiled at her son’s dreamy expression.
‘Far and wide, my boy. Further and wider than you need worry about at your age.’
‘All the way to Trollshaws?’ This little wood was the outermost limit of Estel’s childlike world.
‘And beyond.’
‘All the way to the Sea?’ That was so far as to seem impossibly distant.
‘Eventually. Don’t hang on the back of the chair, Estel, you’ll tip it over.’
The boy obediently repositioned himself in a crouch behind the high backboard, peeping out from behind it like a ranger watching goblins through the high grass. After a moment he wriggled closer to the window and his smooth brows creased into a frown.
‘Nana.’
‘Yes, Estel?’
‘Why is there a horse coming down the path? Nobody went out today.’
Gilraen abandoned her sewing for a moment and went to look.
‘He’s riding a brown horse,’ Estel said matter-of-factly. ‘The only brown horse we have is Lindir’s. But Lindir didn’t go out today. And why is he wearing that funny dress?’
Stifling a grin at her son’s gaffe, Gilraen stroked his hair gently.
‘That isn’t a dress, Estel, it’s a cloak you wrap all the way around yourself so it hangs down the front as well as the back. The forest folk wear them.’
‘
‘Weird?’
‘All shy and stuff. Don’t like travelling. What’s that one doing here?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps he’s delivering a message.’
‘Can I go see?’
‘Certainly not.’ She smiled to soften the harshness of the denial. ‘He’ll be tired, Estel, if he is from the forest. He’s come all the way over the mountains and the last thing he needs is you bouncing all over him asking questions.’
‘Oh.’ The boy was disappointed, but trying not to let it show. ‘Can I go outside?’
‘You can go into the woods if you’re careful. And be back before sundown, understand?’
‘I will, nana.’ Kissing her roughly on the cheek, Estel scrambled down from the chair and raced to the door, pausing only to collect the treasured bow and arrow that Elladan had made for him once he’d been deemed old enough to pull a miniature version of the famed Elvish longbow. Then he was off into the woods that surrounded Rivendell, hiding behind trees and shooting his one dart at invisible goblin armies before they could penetrate the house and reach his poor defenceless mother.
Losing track of time as an eight year-old was wont to do, Aragorn didn’t know how much later it was that he lunged around a particularly ancient pine to fire his arrow only to discover that there was really someone standing there at the edge of the overhang, looking out over the river. Unfortunately he’d already let go of the string and the little arrow, which was of course really no more than a stick with the end fletched, went flying out to hit the person neatly in the small of the back. Estel clapped a hand to his mouth and dodged behind the tree, mortified. If his mother or- he whispered the thought- his father found out about this…
Risking a quick glance around the knurled trunk he saw that his unwitting target had turned and picked up the arrow, regarding it with understandable puzzlement. Recognising the dr- the wraparound cloak, Estel realised that his crime was more heinous than he’d initially thought. Not only had he shot a real person, he’d shot a visitor.
‘You can come out, ertithen,’ said a musical voice. ‘I know you’re there.’ A light laugh. ‘You’re breathing so loud I could hear you a hundred leagues away.’
Holding his breath now, Estel sidled out from behind the tree and guiltily examined his boots for a moment, but his curiosity got the better of him and he looked up. It was indeed a Wood-Elf, from the golden hair and funny cloak to the longbow and quiver strapped to his back. He had a kind face and deep blue eyes, which were fixed rather quizzically on his small attacker.
‘You are no edhel, little one,’ he said. ‘Ah, then you must be Estel. Your father mentioned you to me.’
‘Yessir, I’m Estel.’ The boy peered up at him. ‘Who are you? Nana said you must be from the forest.’
‘Your mother is a very knowledgeable woman. Yes, I am from the forest.’ The Elf hunkered down and cocked his head, birdlike, holding up the stray arrow. ‘Is this yours, Estel?’
‘Um. Yes. I was just shooting, and you…you got in the way. I didn’t mean to hit you.’
‘That’s very gratifying.’ He handed the arrow back. ‘You’re not a bad shot, all things considered.’
‘Thanks! Say, you still haven’t told me who you are.’ Feeling bold, as this stranger was apparently friendly, Estel notched his arrow again and pointed it at the Elf’s head. ‘You might be an enemy, and then I’d have to shoot you for real!’
‘Goodness me, we can’t have you doing that.’ The Elf held up his hands in surrender. ‘In that case, Estel of Imladris, I throw myself on your mercy. I’m but a simple messenger, that’s all.’
‘Oh. Okay then.’ Estel lowered his bow. ‘I guess that makes you a friend.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’ The Elf put out a slender hand. ‘My name is Legolas. Mae govannen, Estel.’
Delighted at a chance to make the formal greeting, Estel shook.
‘Mae govannen, Legolas. It’s nice to meet you.’ Nana and ada would be proud to see how polite he was being, and to a visitor no less! ‘Sorry I shot you.’
‘That’s quite all right, Estel.’ Legolas nodded at the bow. ‘Where did you get that? Surely you’re a bit big for a toy one at your age.’
‘That’s what Elladan said, but nana won’t let me have a proper one.’ He made a face. ‘She thinks I might hurt myself. But I wouldn’t,’ he added quickly, not wanting the Wood-Elf to think he was scared.
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t.’ Legolas rose and smiled at him.
‘So what was the message?’ Estel asked. ‘Was it for ada- for Lord Elrond, I mean?’
‘Yes, it was. But I don’t know what was in it.’
‘You brought it but you don’t know what it said?’
‘No. My father wrote it. He said it was important, but he didn’t tell me that I could read it so I didn’t.’
‘Oh. What were you doing up here?’
‘I was intending to clean my bow where the view is good, but it rather distracted me.’ Legolas indicated the valley with the sweep of a hand.
‘The view’s okay,’ Estel said without enthusiasm. He’d seen it too many times to be moved. ‘You have your own bow?’ He hesitated, torn between interest and politeness. ‘Can I see?’
‘You may.’ Legolas unfastened his cloak and spread it on the grass, sitting down upon it cross-legged. Underneath he was wearing a leather overtunic dyed a deep green, and the worn straps of his quiver were visible. Undoing the buckle he took the assembly off his back and lifted up his bow. Estel’s eyes went as wide as saucers in appreciation as he drank in the sight of a full-sized Elvish longbow. It was black ebony wood with intricate golden designs painted near the pins and on the grip- and it was bigger than he was. Seeing this, Legolas stood the weapon on end with a laugh, for it came to just above the boy’s head.
‘Perhaps you’re not quite big enough for a proper bow of your own after all, Estel.’
‘Guess not. When did you get it?’
‘A very long time ago.’
‘How old were you?’ Then Estel remembered that this was a rude question to ask an adult and went pink. Legolas laughed again.
‘I was twelve years old- by your measure. In reality it was during my eighty-fifth summer.’
Estel boggled at him, embarrassment forgotten.
‘I’m glad I don’t have to wait until I’m eighty-five!’
‘Considering how fast you appear to be growing that’s understandable. Would you like to hold it?’
‘Can I?’ The boy held out eager hands and Legolas laid the bow onto them. ‘Wow! It’s really light!’ He ran his fingers over the patterns. ‘Have you ever shot any Orcs with it?’
‘Oh, a fair few.’
‘Bet you have to hit ‘em hard. They wear armour.’
‘Not as hard as you might think.’ Taking the bow away and laying it carefully down, Legolas drew one of his arrows out of the quiver and held it out for inspection. Making sure not to touch the razor-sharp point, Estel took hold of it and ran his fingers through the fletching. The feathers were long and a dun-yellow shade, the shaft perfectly straight and polished to a fine sheen. The point wasn’t a triangular arrow-head shape as he’d expected, but a thin point like that of a sword, and glossy so it would slip through the air. After a moment he handed it back and looked down at his own blunt ended stick, feeling stupid. As if sensing his thoughts, Legolas smiled and patted him lightly on the shoulder.
‘Don’t be ashamed, Estel. Even the greatest archer must start somewhere. Now, perhaps you can show me how well you shoot?’
‘Sure!’ Estel took aim at a knot on the tree trunk and let fly, but the arrow as always curved down and fell short of the target. He sighed in resignation and looked wearily at the Wood-Elf.
‘What happened there?’ Legolas asked.
‘It always does that! No matter how hard I pull the string it just drops down short-‘
‘Then why not aim a bit higher, instead of in a straight line? Even the finest arrows won’t fly completely straight, Estel. Aim a handspan above where you want to hit and try again.’
Puzzled at how not aiming in the right place could make the arrow hit the target, Estel obeyed. To his surprise the shaft flew true and hit the knot squarely before fluttering to the ground. He gave a delighted whoop.
‘There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Legolas said, half-laughing at the child’s glee.
‘Can you shoot well?’ Estel asked excitedly. ‘Could you hit that knot?’
‘I sincerely hope so, young one!’
‘Well, then why don’t you? We can get the arrows back afterwards, and the trees don’t mind. They’re used to getting stuck with stuff.’
‘With you around, Estel, I can believe that.’ Legolas got to his feet. ‘Very well.’ Throwing his quiver over his shoulders and lifting his bow, he idly regarded the tree for a moment. Then he whipped the bow up and fired two arrows in such quick succession they were just a blur, making Estel give a loud laugh.
‘You can’t hit anything if you shoot that fast! Even Elrohir can’t-‘ then he stopped. One of the arrows was right in the centre of the knot on the trunk, and the other impaled through a fir cone which now lay on the ground. ‘Wow! How’d you do that?’
‘Practice, Estel.’ Legolas walked forwards to retrieve his arrows, checking the points before stowing them back in his quiver.
‘Even if I practiced every day, I’d never get as good as that!’ Estel couldn’t believe it. His elder brother Elrohir couldn’t have done that, and Elrohir was the finest shot in Rivendell. ‘You must be the best archer in the whole of Middle-Earth!’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. I suppose I’m a fair enough shot.’
‘Could you teach me to fire two in a row like that? Please?’
‘I imagine I could, Estel. But you only have one arrow.’
The boy’s heart sank.
‘Oh, I forgot…’
Legolas smiled at the utter dejection on the dark little face.
‘See if you can find me a bit of wood the right length, Estel, and perhaps we can put that right. Even without any fletching you can still learn the basics.’
‘A bit of wood?’
Pulling a short belt knife out of its sheath at his hip, Legolas nodded.
‘It doesn’t take long to smooth one down enough. But you’ll have to ask your mother for a quiver to keep them in, if you have more than one.’
‘You’d really do that? Wow!’ Estel cast around on the ground for a likely stick. ‘There’s got to be one somewhere…I’ll go find it.’ He scampered away into the woods, hastily calling back, ‘Don’t go anywhere!’
Laughing, Legolas lay down his dagger and took a scrap of cloth out of his belt to start cleaning the dust off his bow, listening all the while to the commotion the boy made as he raced around the little forest in a desperate search for some fallen wood of just the right size.
‘…he went off into the woods this morning and I haven’t seen him since…‘
Elrond smiled tolerantly at Gilraen’s worry. Two lively sons of his own as well as countless fosterlings had led him to know that when boys went off playing in the forest they were perfectly liable to forget how much time had elapsed. There was nowhere in Rivendell that the lad could have come to any harm, and he could not have gone out of the gates onto the main path without someone spotting him.
‘I’m sure he’s fine, Gilraen. He’s likely scouring out that invisible goblin invasion that we currently have on our hands, in which case he’ll be back when his stomach tells him it’s time for his dinner.’
‘I know…it’s just that he doesn’t normally go off like this, not on his own…’
‘
‘Good afternoon to you, young Estel. Where have you been all day to make you mother so sick with worry?’
‘Worry?’ The boy fixed his huge grey eyes on his mother innocently. ‘I was in the woods, nana, like I said.’
‘All this time? Gilraen exclaimed, worry replaced by puzzlement.
‘I’ve been learning to shoot properly!’ To prove the point, Estel hefted his bow up and aimed a shot with his new arrow across the courtyard, causing the Elves on the balcony above to cease their conversation in favour of watching. Most normal activity tended to be suspended when Estel was in a lively mood.
‘Very good,’ Elrond said approvingly. ‘That’s a sudden improvement.’ When the boy retrieved the arrow he frowned slightly. ‘That doesn’t look familiar, though.’
‘It’s new, ada. Legolas made it for me, just with a stick and a belt knife!’ Estel submitted the shaft for inspection and watched eagerly as his foster father gave it a cursory examination.
Elrond had to smile. The toy had been fashioned from nothing more than a sturdy piece of fallen wood, but the end had been carved out to look like makeshift fletching and there was just enough of a point to make it seem real to a child without being dangerous.
‘Who is Legolas, Estel?’ Gilraen enquired, just as the Wood-Elf emerged from the trees at a more sedate pace, his quiver in one hand and his cloak draped over his arm.
‘He is!’ Estel grabbed her hand and waved at his new friend. ‘Legolas, this is nana.’
Legolas inclined his head in a graceful half-bow of greeting and smiled slightly at seeing what Lord Elrond had in his hands.
‘Legolas is from Mirkwood, nana,’ Estel went on enthusiastically. ‘And he’s the best archer in the whole world!’
‘His words, not mine,’ Legolas explained somewhat sheepishly when Elrond shot him a bemused look.
‘I see. Been honing your teaching skills, young Master Greenleaf?’
Gilraen, realising exactly whom the boy had been keeping company with all afternoon, hastily pulled Estel to her side to put a stopper on his bubbling enthusiasm.
‘I do hope my son hasn’t been bothering you, sir,’ she said to Legolas. She’d heard strange tales of the woodland folk, of their often secretive ways and mistrust of outsiders, and she didn’t want such attitudes being passed on, however innocently, to her child.
‘Bothering? Not at all, my lady,’ Legolas said with a graceful half-bow. ‘In fact his keenness is rather charming. He’ll make a fine archer some day,’ he added, mainly for Estel’s benefit even if it was partially true. The lad had a fair enough innate ability with the bow, but like most Men he would probably end up favouring the sword as his weapon of choice. Which of course was bound to happen, considering the boy’s ancestry.
‘And if I had a proper bow…or at least a quiver…’ Estel hung onto his mother’s hand and treated her to a desperately hopeful little grin. ‘Please, nana?’
‘We’ll see, my lad, we’ll see. Let’s find out what Elladan thinks of this new talent of yours first.’
‘Oooh.’ Estel rolled his eyes. ‘But Elladan’s nowhere near as good an archer as Legolas is, and he said-‘
‘Now Estel, you’ll get me into trouble,’ Legolas interrupted quickly, exchanging a wry look with Elrond as the quartet turned to head back inside. ‘Wait until your mother thinks you’re ready.’
‘Adar, couldn’t I-‘
‘Oh, I won’t pretend to rule your mother when it comes to you playing with sharp objects, Estel.’
‘But I’ve got to practice! If I can’t be the bestest ever then I can at least be the best human, can’t I?’ Estel let go of his mother’s hand and skipped ahead a few paces, lost in a daydream. ‘I’m going to be a Ranger and save lots of people and travel all over Middle-Earth- and one day, I’m going to go see Gondor and the Sea!’
Legolas had to laugh, even if in his heart he felt a tiny pang of sorrow that one day all too soon this carefree little boy would have to leave his childhood behind and delve into all the darkness and shadow that his heritage had in store for him.
‘Hey, Legolas!’ Estel whirled and grinned at his new friend. ‘Guess what?’
‘What should I guess, Estel?’
‘When I’m a Ranger, I’ll even come visit you in Mirkwood, okay?’
‘I look forward to it.’
‘Good!’ The boy idly traced a circle on the ground with his boot toe. ‘Bet you can’t beat me to the archway!’
‘Oh, I believe I can.’ The Elf willingly rose to the bait, ignoring the bemusement of Gilraen and Elrond. ‘Shall we say for the count of three-‘ he stopped on a laugh and shifted to a run as Estel took off at top speed with a high-pitched squeal of mirth. ‘That’s called cheating, you know!’
Gilraen couldn’t help but laugh herself at the sight of a fully-grown Elf chasing her bouncing son around the courtyard, but the look on Elrond’s face was strangely enigmatic and his eyes unfocused, so she hastily stifled her amusement.
‘I think,’ he said after a moment, during which Legolas caught Estel and hauled him up so he was dangling upside down by his ankles while the child’s peals of laughter echoed around the yard, ‘That the friendship here will not end upon Estel’s growth to manhood.’
‘Is that a hope, or a promise?’ Gilraen asked him.
‘Both,
and neither.’ A hint of a rare smile crept onto the Lord of Rivendell’s face.
‘But I can find no doubt in my mind that Legolas will one day know and call
Aragorn son of Arathorn by his true name.’