Disclaimer - These characters all belong to Tolkien, and I have made no money from using them.
A/N- This is all written from personal experience and memory, and is dedicated to anyone who has gone through this and also to Mel, my mates at school and Mr. J. Thank you.
Estel cowered in the corner of the Hall of Fire, suppressing a whimper of fear. Elrond's footsteps, firm and sure with that long, steady stride, carried to his ears and he swallowed hard. Cold fingers of fear - nay, pure terror gripped his racing heart.
Yet he is my father, his blood flows through my veins,
Estel rationalised. Why am I so afraid of my own kin? The answer run down his face - blood, bright red against torn ivory skin and bloodstained hair. It covered his hands, where he had tried to wipe the blood from his face. It run down his cheeks mixed with his tears.He wiped the blood away, slowing his breathing as best as he was able for fear of being overheard. The corner where he was hiding was dark, but not dark enough to hide him. He let his lids drop half over his eyes to ensure Elrond could not see the gleam of firelight reflecting off of them. Estel moved slightly to ease a cramped muscle and gave a stifled gasp. He hurts me, causes pain beyond enduring to me and still I cannot escape his grasp. And maybe, I would not want to.
Elrond paused in his stride and Estel glanced up at the towering shadow, fearful. He is my father and yet I do not see myself in him. How cruel is that glint of his dark eyes and how I fear his touch. Surely this man can not be akin to me, for if he is, why does he beat me? Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, neither mortal Man nor Elven, crouched and roughly grabbed Estel by the shoulder. The boy cowered away in panic.
What now? Why must he persecute me still further when my head spins from his blow and my stomach cramps from hunger whilst darkness settles on my heart? And what sort of person can I be to deserve such treatment from my own father? How very little he can think for me, for how very much I hate myself.
The expected blow came, sending the stars of Elbereth into his clouded vision as he fell heavily onto the cold stones, but at the brutal touch, his spirit flared wildly, proudly. No longer shall I be content to take his from him, weak though I am. He has hurt my flesh beyond belief, torn at my very soul but I shall not submit to him, my father or no.
But the future King of Gondor raged helplessly against power and force too great for mortals to comprehend and despite the smouldering fire that burnt in his tear filled eyes and the defiance in his heart, he was defeated even as Elrond lashed out, his foot catching Estel on the ribs. 'Ahhh... Don't. Father...Please.'
Elrond laughed, and dragged his foster son to his feet. 'Stand up.' His fist crashed in Estel's stomach, making the boy retch and fight for breath even as he heard and translated Elrond's angry cry. The Quenyan words hurt him deeply, even though he hated the one who spoke them. 'You are not my son.'
Does he say that only to hurt me or is that what he would prefer this to be? Or worse, does he actually speak the truth to me for once? Am I, in truth, no relation of his and walk alone in Middle Earth? If that is so, at least it is easier to hate one whose flesh and blood is not my own. But why did they lie to me?
Elrond glared at the boy who stood trembling in front of him, and a mirthless, lupine grin crossed his face. 'Get out of my sight, Estel. I do not wish to see you again until tonight.'
Estel nodded and left as fast as he was able to. His head was spinning not only from pain but also from Elrond's cryptic words, his stomach churning so much from Elrond's blow that he thought he might be sick. Hurriedly, he staggered over towards the pinewoods and once he was out of sight from the Last Homely House, he collapsed and wept long into the afternoon. If only he spoke the truth earlier. If only he would not try and harm me. What have I ever said or done to him to deserve this? And if only someone would believe me if I spoke of this to them.
