Never had I thought that the day would come, when I would stand in the garden of my father’s house and see it with the eyes of a complete stranger.

But this day has come and it is not the only thing to have arrived. What has brought him here again? I can see his long, slim face as a canvas to the play of light and shades as he consults with Ada. It is about a matter of great urgency, no doubt. Of life and death, since, as his father’s right hand, he is part of the chain of command that seals fates in Middle Earth.

What am I?

Despite the prophecy, of which Ada told me, I have still done naught for this land. I have been training, nothing more and I feel the press of times past, and times to come.

I find that I have to back away from the window and of any shred of knowledge that may lie yonder. Memories begin to flood me, more overwhelming than ever. I fight them back, but know not who shall drown whom. I keep walking away as their emergence causes them to become more and more tangible and the Earth beneath my feet, less.

“Estel!”

The call carried around the garden, sounding as clear as the day was. The young man, crouching near a group of bushes and looking them over for herbs, stood up and made his way to the gate of his father’s house. He had already been informed of the young Mirkwood Prince’s arrival.

“Young?” he had wondered then, knowing that he was far younger himself. The difference between his life span and his family’s, as well as other Elven acquaintances, had puzzled him occasionally. His father had explained to him that he was descended from a different blood heritage, in which one aged otherwise. But the explanation was never too wide in scale, nor did the words' full meaning ever quite register. Thus, for the most part, Estel simply remained fascinated by the odd relativity between him and all else he knew.

“Estel,” his father had said, alarm well disguised in his voice and yet rather evident to his son’s ears. “Do not be hasty in your treatment of the prince. He is as young to his race as you are to yours. Still, he has had time to acquire many more skills of war.”

“I meant no disrespect, Ada,” Estel had answered pliantly to calm Lord Elrond down.

“Good. You must remember that not only does he come here to instruct you in the ways of war, Estel, he is also an envoy for his King and father. You would do well to keep in mind that, in this meeting, you will be my representative. You must therefore live up to the manner of conduct you know I would have set for myself.”

“Yes, Ada.” There had been more acceptance and understanding in Estel’s reply this time, which calmed Lord Elrond’s mind. They had spoken no more of it until this day, until Prince Legolas’ arrival.

Rushing to answer his father's call, Estel met Lord Elrond and his brothers at the gate, accompanied by an extensive entourage. The Lord surveyed his son's out fit and his dismay was obvious. “You have forgotten that the Mirkwood Prince is coming today,” he stated.

Estel shook his head and repositioned himself in a more defiant pose, alongside the members of his house. While he never wanted to cause his father grief, there was a rebel in him who didn't take too well to lectures. This one, he felt, he had heard before and while his outfit might not have been the fanciest one, it most certainly was not inappropriate for the occasion, nor would his manner be.

The royal procession's first riders had already appeared in the distance. Estel rolled his eyes at himself, but in a discreet fashion so that his father would not notice it, right before donning his mask of calm obedience. This was going to be a very long day.

To be continued...