Disclaimer: Just exploiting the heavenly goodness that is Tolkien's world and its characters. To no profit but my own enjoyment.
Warning. Emotional elves.
AN Another alternate univers of 'what if's. Follow the familiar characters of Rivendell as they stumble into one mess after the other. Non-canon, but following a similar timeline. Artistic license needed a little tweeking to make it look right. So if it seems a little out of character, bare with me.
Edited as of 17/7/2017
Finding Courage
~: Chapter 1:~
"Of days lingering in starlight... Days.. spent springing buds, our hearts... bathed in the balm of fading moonlight.."
He stopped and reread the last line twice before scribbling over it angrily with his charcoal pen, making another big mess of his note book. Heaving a sigh, he closed the small book and stuffed it back into his pocket.
The morning wind caught his hair, blowing chill tendrils down his neck which made him shiver.
Since when had autumn grown this cold?
His dark, almost black, grey eyes stared off into the surrounding woods.
Nature, green and overflowing, showed little signs of the oncoming winter. But he, as much as all the other elves around him, could feel the subtle shift. The trees had grown quiet. Almost like they were falling into slumber, hard pressed to pay attention to the band of elves travelling beneath their bows. The creatures of the forest, busy with stashing up on their food stores for the winter, moved swift and unseen though the foliage. Making use of each day until the big snows fall.
Yes, if it hadn't been for the very noticeable train of elves – some riding, others walking – making their way in silence, he would have thought himself to be part of the woods himself. For that was what Eru had made them out to be, one with nature.
A sudden trail of sorrowful song echoed through the trees, trickling through the leaves and trunks, once more making its presence known. Lindir, it seemed, had decided to grace them with another of his creations. The melody a fair, haunting tune that would resonate with each and every fëa present. A song of hardship and the approaching calm. The promise of long sought after peace.
Erestor willed his feet to move again as he followed the entourage that had set out to escort the daughter of his lord to the havens. A trip that had awoken mixed feelings in the household of Elrond Half-elven.
Not the least, in Erestor himself.
Long had the thought of sailing lingered on his mind...
He had grown old. Erestor felt old. As impossible as it seemed for one of the firstborn, one blessed with eternal life, to feel tired of living. Erestor never viewed the order to sail as a punishment. No, he had volunteered, freely, to do his lord's bidding.
The world had grown too perilous for the elves of Middle Earth. Too wrought with danger to sustain life. How many years had it been since he had last seen any elflings running around? His kind no longer felt it safe to create life while the Dark Lord existed. Nor did Erestor blame them for not wanting to bring children into a world where evil could roam freely. How could he judge his lord for wishing his daughter to reach for safety? To be free of the ever present darkness that flooded Middle Earth?
He lifted his gaze, his eyes immediately finding the form of the Lady of Rivendell.
The Evenstar of their people.
Arwen, an elleth Erestor had watched sprout up from infancy into a fully fledged maiden of unrivalled beauty, was at this moment nothing more than a shadow of her true self. Her normally glowing form now faded, her inner light waning with the growing dark.
Erestor's hands balled into fists as he remembered the cause of her diminishing radiance.
For Arwen's already weak and far too kind heart now lay broken by one she had trusted beyond all. She, the hope of his race! Arwen's brilliant fire extinguished by the burning flame of the Second Born.
Estel really had no idea what he had done.
Estel, as he was called by his foster family, had grown far too dangerous and even worse, slipped past his notice.
Regret still tinged his heart as he thought of what he could have changed if he'd just been a bit more observant. Yet, in hindsight, would knowing have changed things?
Erestor had welcomed Estel into their household like a long awaited son, and look where it had brought them. The boy, once filled with life and innocence, had turned bitter with passing years. Responsibility beyond what could be carried by a single man's shoulders had brought him down on his knees, left him straining to keep himself afloat in the growing torrents of war.
For that was certain.
War was upon them, whether they want it or not.
The flames would spread, scorching earth far and wide. It would only be a matter of time before all the free peoples of Middle Earth were dragged into it.
Erestor watched Arwen where she sat atop of her grey horse. Her deep grey cloak tucked around her like a shield against the cruelty of the world. Her back, still straight but swaying slightly, struggling but failing to keep her fatigue from showing.
His eyes narrowed and he cast a calculating glance at the sky peeking through the heavy canopy above. For how long had they travelled without rest? Erestor would have to alert the guards. Compel them to settle for a break. Some time to rest their weary companions...
He strode over with determined steps to the captain, who had been put in charge of their safety during their voyage west.
"Haldoron." The captain turned around to meet him as he caught up to the guard. "When are we to rest? Some of us are growing weary. Not all are soldiers, trained for these lengthy exploits in the wild."
The captain seemed amused by the shorter advisor's veiled hint at the ellith that had started to straggle behind them. "We are due to break fast in an hour or so, but I can see if it is possible to stop at the next clearing, will that appease you?"
Erestor felt his lips thin at the taunt that lay in the voice.
He nodded silently, having accomplished what he had come for.
Turning back, he allows his eyes to trail along the wandering elves, a mix of males and females who had long since chosen to sail.
Being one who had suffered from hearing the call of the sea for decades, Erestor could easily pick out the familiar signs amongst his travelling companions. The glazed eyes, the unearthly glow that seemed to reverberate into their surroundings. The song, which although silent was as clear as the seagull's cry to him. Only those charged with escorting their Lady were free of the longing. Only those very few.. and Arwen.
It stirred his soul to see the elleth so troubled. For although Arwen was showing signs of fading, her hroa (body) and fëa (soul) were very much still bound to these lands.
It was part of the reason Erestor had tried to reason with her father.
An unwilling fëa was hard to heal, even in the sacred gardens of Lorien. If Arwen could not accept the healing by leaving Arda and its ties behind, she could not abandon the pain that bound her to it. No matter how many years she spent wandering the fair gardens.
She would stop fading, yes. But the pain of her heart would never leave her.
Could Erestor condemn her to an eternity of such unrest?
He could only hope that her heart would see reason before they left shore. The grey water way was a one way passage. Once they were sailing there would be no turning back.
.oOo.
A hand bearing a familiar shimmering grey stone, set in a band of silvery vines, came into view. The familiar hand held a wafer of lembas bread, which sweet smell made her stomach turn.
"Please, Arwen, you must eat something," the dejected voice said softly.
Her blue-grey eyes lifted from the ground and watched as Erestor – familiar, sweet Erestor – sat down beside her. His presence, though unlooked-for, made her gain a grain of calm in the turbulent storm of feelings she was caught up in.
She forced a smile unto her lips, knowing the elder elf was perceptive enough to pick up on her mood.
"I am not hungry, my friend," she said but still took the offered waybread, her voice weak after days of minimal food intake. Arwen could only force a small amount of the sweet, honey tasting wafer down her throat before her stomach started its protesting anew. She was certain Erestor had noticed her reluctance as he soon offered her his silvery pocket flask.
Arwen held the flask for a moment.
The glass, encased in veins of silver, was cool in her palm. The liquid inside, clear as the water from a sparkling spring, stared back at her from between the intricate silver work of tree branches.
"I cannot take this," she said softly. Arwen knew all to well the preciousness of the liquid held inside.
"Only a sip would suffice," Erestor said, urging her on. "Miruvor is far more healing than the water we have at hand, Arwen. I offer it to you freely."
She held his gaze for a moment. Her body battling with her mind. Miruvor was the elixir of her people, a wine painstakingly brewed by mixing healing herbs and nectar. Arwen knew its strengthening healing effects, and her body, for all her protests, craved it. She craved the ease it would give her, the calm it would bring her heart. But Arwen was also well aware of the fact that although it would strengthen her fëa, it would also weaken her resolve.
Reluctantly, she raised the flask to her lips, taking a short sip.
Immediately, Arwen felt the warmth of liquid sunshine fill her insides; her mood lifted and her strength returned. She sent him a grateful look, her slender hands no longer shaking as she returned the flask to him.
"Arwen.." He started as he hung the flask back around his throat, the thin silver chain digging into his neck. "You cannot go on like this. We have four weeks left of travel. Even if you ride, your strength is bound to falter if you do not eat." He grabbed one of her hands with his own, uncaring of propriety at the moment. "Plain Miruvor won't sustain you for long."
Arwen drew in a shaky breath.
She knew that it wouldn't. She knew that she couldn't go in this state. But what could she do? Her own father had turned her away, sent her on this journey she was not ready for. Not when her heart screamed at her that she was tearing it apart! She levelled her eyes with Erestor's. Wishing, not for the first time, that by gazing into their profound depths she could gather an inkling of hope, find some sign of what she should do.
"I do not know if I can do this," Arwen said in a whisper.
"I know, little one," Erestor comforted, his voice full of deep understanding. "Know that if it was up to me I would fly you back, hit that stubborn man until he regained his reasoning and force him to come back to you."
She laughed weakly at his words, and was in return graced with a impish smile from Erestor.
She saw Erestor lift his palms to her, long fingers standing pale in the morning light. "Though, considering how many weeks it would take me to track him down and haul him back with these scholar hands, it would probably be quicker for you to search for him yourself."
Arwen, unable to resist any longer, burst into laughter.
Without thinking, she leaned forward, enfolding him in a clingy embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she clung to him, the same way she used to as an elfling. Before manners and behaving like a proper lady became so important. Arwen drew all the strength she could from his familiar presence, the same safe haven that had comforted her so many times, long ago when she was small and still so easily hurt by her brothers' teasing.
She felt Erestor stiffen slightly at her sudden move, but he soon relaxed into it. His hands moving to hold her in return.
"I thought you had stopped wanting these when you came of age.." he murmured softly as his words became muffled by her flowing dark hair. "It seems my little Princess never really grew out of it after all."
Arwen closed her eyes, her mind recalling the familiar nickname Erestor had addressed her by as an elfling. She had been, in all but name, a princess whenever she was with Erestor. Such special care did he take to treat her like no other elfling, that Arwen had always felt like royalty when they spent time together. Erestor had always thought of her as the most important of Elrond's children. Perhaps because she was the youngest of them? Because she was more needy than her brothers? She really did not know why. Her mother always said Erestor held a certain warmth around her that hadn't been present with her brothers. Perhaps, that was the reason she felt so safe and comfortable in his arms?
"You know I love you, Erestor," Arwen said warmly, her voice regaining some of its former brightness.
"I know," he said, his arms tightening around her. "I love you too, Princess."
Arwen pulled away, her eyes big and watery as she trailed his face.
Again, she was overflowing. She really couldn't handle being this emotional. On some base level Arwen blamed her father, her peredhel (half-elf) heritage made her more susceptible to them. Searching his grey eyes, she asked him:
"Do you really wish to sail, Erestor?"
The ebony haired elf watched her intently, his eyes glazing over for a moment as the familiar ache settled inside him. Erestor released a long held breath as he touched her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had managed to escape her eye.
"I have been ready to sail for years, Princess. Be it today or a hundred of years from now, nothing will change the fact that my heart is pulled by the sea." His eyes warmed for her, trying to stop the tears that now fell freely from her eyes. "I have had years to come to term with this. But I know I cannot expect you to have done the same."
Erestor, sweet Erestor.
Why did he have to be so understanding. Why did he never judge her? Arwen wiped her tears with her hands, knowing she probably looked quite the sight to those at camp. But her old friend's shared strength, his support was important to her. Perhaps, she would be able to pull through this after all?
Yes, Arwen thought, as she watched Erestor try to ease her sadness, his hand smoothing out her hair, if Erestor was at her side, she could find strength to do anything.
# To be continued...