Hiding Places
Summary: It had been his father's favourite, and now it was gone. Estel hides after he accidentally breaks something of Elrond's.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings; they all belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
He pressed himself as far back into the shadows as his small figure would allow, and bit down on his lip to stop the sob from escaping as tears rolled down his cheeks
It had been his father's favourite, a gift from his mother, though he himself had never met her
A long stretching shadow appeared at the end of the corridor, just within his line of sight, and he unconsciously held his breath, eyes riveted on the shadow, waiting for it to come closer
He had not meant to do it. It had not been his fault
His breath came out in a silent 'whoosh' as the shadow moved on past the corridor. He had known this would have been a good hiding place. He had used it when he had first come to the house, four years before. They had never found him when he had hid there then. They would never find him there now.
If only the others would leave him alone. If only they would treat him as an equal and not as a servant. A slave.
Slowly, his ears catching every creak of his young bones and making him wince, he settled back on his heels, fingers that had wrapped around one slender arm peeling away to expose the smear of blood that had lain beneath, and the well that continued to rise from the long, jagged cuts across his arm.
Why did they always have to be so cruel? Why did they have to try everything they could in the hope that his father would no longer want to bother with trying with the child, and would instead end him away?
A silent whimper escaped his clenched teeth, and the fall of tears landed on the cuts. The salt water making them sting. Angrily, he brushed them away with his healthy arm, and glared down at the injured one.
He knew it had been too much to ask for when they had invited him to join in their game. He had known they were up to something. Yet he had believed against everything his mind told him that they had finally decided to accept him, and he was willing to prove himself to them.
He heard the light sound of clothed feet on the stone – although his hearing was not as good as theirs, his hiding place at least echoed the sounds for him, increased the volume so that his inadequate hearing could catch the footfalls – and he silently tensed, his fingers once again closing around his cuts, tears welling in his eyes as the pressure brought him more pain.
They had laughed and joked at him as they had made their way through the corridors, and as they had reached the one that held the pot, the had fallen into whispered conversation, their eyes constantly falling on him. He had paid no attention, his innocent mind blocking out all the cruel actions as it betrayed him and led him to believe they were being friendly.
A shadow once again fell into the corridor, and this time started towards him, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat, his fingers unconsciously digging harder into the wounds and forcing out more blood and pain. Yet he paid no attention, only seeing the shadow grow closer, and drew himself further into the shadows as it came ever nearer.
They had almost drawn level with the pot, and a smile fell upon his face when he saw it. He remembered when he was only a few years younger, and had been plagued by nightmares one night. His father had taken him from his room, and had carried the boy around the corridors. He had stopped before the pot, and had told him of the one who had made and presented it to him, and how they had loved each other. The whispers behind him were louder now, and there was giggling. He had made to turn to find out what was happening, when he had felt the pressure of hands at his back, and he had fallen forwards, into the pot, and it had fallen with him, and shattered upon the stone floor as he sprawled into it's remains.
The footsteps were loud, beating into his ears and through his skull, and then they stopped so suddenly that he was afraid to breath, for he knew they were right on top of him. There was a sigh, and he had to stop himself from making any noise, any movement, in fear that they would find him.
He had heard the noises as they had ran by him, giggling and laughing. He gave them none of his attention, though his mind took in the moment of betrayal so that it could haunt him with it later. Instead he just lay there and stared at the broken fragments, unaware that several had broken into his arm on his impact with the floor, and the blood from the wounds was spilling amidst the wreckage. He only focused on the damage he had done, how this would break his father's heart. How he would be got rid of, sent away to another family. In a moment of fear, he had jumped up and fled, allowing his feet to carry him to his old hiding place.
He stayed so long in absolute silence that he was sure the owner of the shadow had gone, and he had not realised. Then suddenly the door was pulled open properly, and the cloaks nudged back, and he tried to make himself smaller in the shadows, wide eyes staring up into the sympathetic ones that gazed back.
"Oh, Estel," Elrohir breathed, his eyes drinking in the terrified and shaking form of the small edain, and making careful note of the blood that covered his arm, though the boy tried desperately to cover it with his other hand "What have you done now?" he knelt, reaching out to lift the boy in his arms, and frowned as the child shied away. Shaking his head, Elrohir had grabbed up the child, and had pulled him unresisting from the cupboard, and gently kissed the child's forehead as he kicked the door closed
"We are not angry," he assured the boy "Erestor saw what the elflings did to you, Ada will make sure they are punished. You are not in trouble." Estel relaxed slightly, and Elrohir smiled gently
"You knew I was hiding there?" Estel's tiny voice asked, and Elrohir nodded
"I've always known you've hidden there," he told the boy
"How come you've never got me from there before?"
"Because," Elrohir started, looking down at the silver-eyed boy "Every person needs some space where they can think. You are so much easier to handle if you've thought things through yourself, tithen pen, rather than someone forcing you to do something. I would have left you today, but Erestor had said you had cut your arm," he nodded at the hand covering the bloodied wounds "And Ada said he needed to look at them." He smiled, and the boy gave him a weak smile in return
"I will tell none of the hiding place, Estel," Elrohir promised, "It is your place to think. I hope it continues to bring peace into your mind."