I fear that reading the first part of this chapter might be quite tiring, considering I'm still trying to establish the background of what will happen from here on. I apologize in advance if it was too detailed.
I wanted to point out that some ideas and details of the chapter were based on the article entitled Turin Turambar and Free Will written by Eric Tracy, and posted on 28/01/09 at Dúvendor, a Lord of the Rings Brazilian Fans site, though I have wandered here and there in some of his theories. I would like to thank him and recommend his article to the ones who read Portuguese.
Thank you all for reading. I am very grateful to those who are following the story. Hope you like this chapter and have time to leave a comment.
Sadie
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant -
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind
Emily Dickinson
CHAPTER IX – LOOKING FOR THE LIGHT – PART 1
Beside the main house there was a small staircase leading to the house of studies, one of the libraries of the city, where the older books were stored. It was among them that Erestor worked most of the time, spending hours at a dark wooden table in front of the large window. There were all sorts of volumes from different regions and eras, from those with well-finished bookbinding to modest scrolls, these last ones seemed to be more important to the counselor.
Elrohir had never understood very well the usefulness of those things, which, to him, always seemed like ancient paper that made his nose itch. Indeed, that was a mystery without any explanation: His nose seemed to hate everything that, to his brother, was very important and even fun. Elladan ran those shelves back and forth without even a sneeze, while he had to hold his breath every time he had to get any book his mentor had requested.
Libraries... Once he thought them amusing, but that was long ago.
However now something he had never imagined until today was happening: He was climbing, willingly, those stairs, with some good memories of his childhood coloring his mind. It was good to have a pleasant picture on which to find support, especially when everything seemed dark and dull.
Elrohir pushed the door open slowly. It was still very early, so he knew he would not find anyone in the house of studies, not even Erestor, who used to reserve his mornings for reading in his room or in the garden. The place was empty as expected. The daylight was already filtering into the windows, adding tones of light to the walls, but not hitting the books, which were wisely kept away from anything that could be harmful to them. The twin took a few steps through the shelves, not really sure what he had come for. He was barely able to sleep last night and, during the few moments he could, he felt his heart be taken by the same image again and again…
Nobody had spoken about it since he had arrived...
Nobody had asked him where he had hidden it…
Nobody sought to know about it… about that sword…
Why?
That was one of many questions that had invaded his mind, stealing his few moments of peace. He was not sure any answer would be found here, in these old books, whose backbones he slid his fingers over slowly, his eyes taking in letters of all sizes and kinds; some were brilliant, some were almost erased by time. He stopped at one of those spines then, recognizing the perfect handwriting on the last book.
Being a scribe was also an art, an art that his father dominated very well…
Elrohir sighed, moving his fingertips slowly over the words Elrond had written on that well-crafted cover. However, when he pulled the book, wishing just to have something in his hands by someone he was missing so much, he realized that, what he had taken from the shelf, was not a mere copy or work of reconstruction, like his father used to do in his free time. It was a collection with no authorship on the cover, which indicated they were, in fact, texts written by the healer himself.
OLD TALES - A collection of reflections about History, the gold letters said…
Elrohir opened the book, carefully reading the manuscript summary, savoring the good feeling of having his father's texts and ideas in his hands. Only at the bottom of the page there was a signature; his father's. The Lord of Imladris had always been concerned with the preservation of culture and history of both the Eldar and the Edain people. He feared that time would steal or misrepresent the view of facts they had lived and known, so he spent many of his days negotiating books and other documents, and rewriting the old ones the hands of time seemed to have reached before they could be rescued.
Elrond loved books.
Elrohir sighed, feeling guilty about needing to have a terrible experience in order to understand and react with such affection to one of his father's great loves. He ran his eyes through the book summary carefully until he read a title that made his heart beat faster:
The fate of Túrin Turambar: curse, predestination or free will?
At first Elrohir was astonished at the coincidence. He crouched slowly, his eyes still focused on those handwritten lines, until he sat down on the floor where he was. He was favored by the lack of interest of other elves in this place, so he could relax and allow himself to just stay on that cold floor. He joined letters and ideas of an article written many years ago, trying to understand what was so important about Túrin's life to move Elrond to spend his time reflecting about the adan warrior's destiny. However, Elrohir was even more astonished when he realized his father, in his manuscript, was treating Túrin Turambar as one of his ancestors.
Elbereth. That was totally true, Elrohir thought, looking at the drawing of his own family tree Elrond had sketched to introduce the character he was talking about. Somehow Elrond and the adan warrior were part of the same family. Túrin Turambar was the son of Húrin Thálion, a hero of Men during the First Age, and the greatest warrior of both the Edain and all the other Men in Middle-earth. Húrin was the older brother of Huor, who was the father of Tuor Eladar. Tuor had a son called Eärendil… Eärendil… was his father's father… His grandfather...
So Túrin Turambar and his father were like distant cousins, in a way...
Elrohir paused for a minute, thinking about that surprising information. He swallowed some strange feelings as he looked again at his family tree, feeling sad about it. Huor was dead, but his family tree was still growing; Elladan and he were the newest branches of it. But Húrin's tree had no more branches or leaves… all his three children had died and, beyond them, was Túrin Turambar.
Elrohir moved his eyes away from the paper for a moment, not helping trying not to remember the horrible scene he saw in his grandmother's mirror. During his trip back home he had followed Galadriel's advice and read the sad story of the Children of Húrin. Narn I Chin Húrin… He had seen that book thousands of times, but never thought about reading it. However, after seeing what he saw, the young elf put aside the fact that he didn't like reading that much and spent his time getting to know the sad story of Húrin and his cursed family.
And there were lots of things he didn't know. He got to know Húrin Thálion and his important role in the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, where he and his brother Huor took a stand fighting off the Orcs, allowing Turgon to escape. Turgon was a good friend to him, that's why Húrin was brought captive to Angband instead of just being murdered. And that's why Morgoth decided to torture him implacably. The evil creature wanted to retrieve knowledge of Turgon's hidden kingdom from Húrin, torturing and tormenting him.
But Húrin was strong and loyal, so he resisted. When Morgoth was convinced he would not get the information he needed employing those evil tools, he cursed Húrin along with his kin. He took Húrin to Haudh-en-Ndengin and placed him high on the peaks of Thangorodrim, immobilized in a seat.
There, through the power of Morgoth, Húrin could see and hear all the evils that later occurred to his son Túrin and daughter Nienor, who was born while he was a captive. The most horrible thing to Húrin was learning how his children felt, while both were under the influence of Glaurung, a very powerful dragon.
Elrohir closed his eyes after remembering the last scene he had read in that book. Only then he could understand what had moved Túrin to take the desperate action he saw in his grandmother's mirror. He hadn't remembered feeling as sorry about anyone's destiny as he felt for Húrin and his family, especially for Túrin, who was at the center of something he could never understand.
Curse… That was the word repeated on those book pages. Húrin was cursed, as was his family, as was his son. Curse… he just couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe someone or something could be cursed; people, swords, places… that idea just didn't make sense to him…
Maybe his father had the same feeling, Elrohir thought, as he looked back to Elrond's book. His father had talked about free will on those pages, and in his theory, he avoided associating the curse Húrin had received at the hands of Morgoth to the destiny Túrin, his son, faced.
Elrohir frowned, carefully reading his father's ideas and thinking about the expression Elrond was using – Free Will… What was he talking about?
The use of Free Will is a theme that reveals to the careful reader that the choices have extreme consequences, and the reasons behind these effects determine the outcome - for better or for worse. The good reason for it is the self-sacrifice, and the most devastating one is pride and the desire to possess. We can observe the use of Free Choice in Middle-earth and see it exercised by Elves and Men. However, the use of Free Will is qualitatively different for the Sons of Middle-earth. As described in Quenta Silmarillion, Ilúvatar gave a special gift to the Atani (Men), which was:
"[...] the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and should find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else; and of their operation everything should be, in form and deed, completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest." (The Silmarillion)
Intrigued, the twin moved his eyes away from the page to think about that. Was it true? Had the Edain such privilege? Could they, and only they, be able to choose their destiny, while the Eldar people would have their destinies attached to the Music of the Ainur?
But… Was it really a privilege?
He tilted his head thoughtfully, looking at his father's lines again. That was when another detail came to his mind.
He was not an Elf... not yet...
But he was not an Adan either... not yet...
He knew that one day he would have to make that choice, but he had not yet bothered with it because there was time...
In fact there was still time...
Elrohir shook his head, trying to rearrange those pieces of information before reviewing them. If those ideas were true, then the fate of elves would be like a line outside of which no steps could be taken. The end of this line would be already predestined. So, being an elf meant to live under those influences and learn, or vainly try to fight for the right of choosing his or her own path, until he finally stopped resisting and accepted the need to perform the necessary role of History; accept to fulfill his or her destiny.
The Edain people, in their turn, would have the right to live their own lives without any influence, just subjecting themselves to the elements of the world and seeking to survive. So, performing, or not, a role in History would be just a matter of choice to them.
The twin shook his head again, realizing those ideas were too complicated for his understanding now. Anyway, that theory would invalidate the other ones, which attributed Túrin's tragic fate to Morgoth's curse, which fell on his father's family. Elrond had then expounded on his theories, saying that if Túrin, as an adan, had such power of decision, all his missteps would have been the fruits of his own recklessness, exacerbated by his pride, his arrogance, his desire for revenge.
Consequently, there was no curse... Not for an adan warrior…
But…What Morgoth said, when he extended his arm toward Dor-lómin and cursed Húrin's wife Morwen and their offspring, including his son Túrin, were just words without effect? That couldn't be true. The young elf rubbed his face, uncomfortable with that hypothesis. After all, Húrin's family had succumbed... One by one... Even the innocent baby who Nienor, sister of Túrin, was carrying when she dove to her death in the river Teiglin...
Elrohir felt a shiver run down his spine, which made him scrub both arms to keep that sinister feeling away.
But what if his father's hypothesis wasn't true, and there was an effective curse? What if you could really be cursed by words for making wrong decisions? And if that were true, then could it also be true that there were powerful curses flying around using all kinds of subterfuges as tools? So could that mean a special curse could be centered on a unique object?
An ordinary object such as... a sword?
Elrohir covered his face, rubbing it now. He moved his fingers slightly, looking through them to the lines his father had written.
Which would be worse?
Knowing that you are cursed or doomed and being resigned to that fact... Or accept that everything, good or bad, that happens to you and around you is due to your own will, your free will...
Which would be better?
Elrohir took a deep breath, feeling that such an attitude did not calm his restless heart. If there were actually two destinies, the Eldar one and the Edain one, which one would be his, as he hadn't already decided which way to go? He hadn't yet made the decision about whether to be an elf or a man.
Elrohir gasped, those two hypotheses weren't good at all. He could be the next arrogant and intransigent warrior who the sword had chosen to condemn, or the one who just kept the same impulsive traits of some of his ancestors and was paying a price as high as Húrin and Túrin had paid…
The young elf cringed then, realizing he had abandoned his father's theories to look for his own, so he decided to finish reading the healer's article.
Elrond actually was looking for a different interpretation to the idea of free will in his text, giving both men and elves the same right. The Music could dictate the fates for some, but it was up to individuals, singly or in groups, to make them true or not. They were not mere tools in skilled hands, they were important pieces that may or may not be part of the History, helping the gears of the world to spin easier or not. Everyone, man or elf, could receive some kind of help for doing that, everyone could be guided by words, visions, events. However, at the end of all, what would indeed be important would be their own decisions, and what had moved each one to decide to help or not.
Elrohir pressed his lips together, understanding his father's opinion better than he would like to. Free Will was like a double-edged sword. Carefully reviewing the History facts he had read, he saw that different choices were offered to everyone, at all times, but each one, individually, had the right to make the final decision.
There was always a different path, a different choice…
However one single decision could affect other people… so the feelings that move that decision should be very well analyzed before making it.
Elrohir closed his eyes, seeing himself painfully mirrored in Túrin's thoughtless attitudes. Though Morgoth had used his tools, the young adan more than once made use of his right to choose impulsively, moved by his own pride and anger to choose by himself to follow the way in which Morgoth wanted to lead him. Túrin hardly offered compassion, ignored the idea of remorse and he loathed the terms 'give up' or 'turn back'. These characteristics had made him undeniably a feared and brave warrior, but also sealed his fate with the darkest ink.
Free will, sacrifice, love, forgiveness, searching, choices...
Pride, hatred, seduction, cruelty, destruction, curse...
There were too many words. There were too many questions. There were too many answers. How to combine the right ones, Elrohir asked himself, standing up forcefully on one knee to put his father's book back on the shelf. When he did that, he noticed another book on the same shelf: A book that he now knew very well.
Narn I Chin Húrin-The Children of Húrin
Elrohir shuddered but tried to quiet his heart. He took the book anyway, and soon he was back on the floor. He opened the book to a random page, and the first paragraph he read was one which contained one of the saddest scenes of that history.
When all in the camp were sleeping Beleg took up his bow and in the darkness shot four of the wolf sentinels on the south side, one by one and silently. Then in great peril they entered in, and they found Túrin fettered hand and foot and tied to a tree. All about knives that had been cast at him by his tormentors were embedded in the trunk, but he was not hurt; and he was senseless in a drugged stupor or swooned in a sleep of utter weariness. Then Beleg and Gwindor cut the bonds from the tree, and bore Túrin out of the camp. But he was too heavy to carry far, and they could go no further than to a thicket of thorn trees high on the slopes above the camp. There they laid him down; and now the storm drew nearer, and lightning flashed on Thangorodrim. Beleg drew his sword Anglachel, and with it he cut the fetters that bound Túrin; but fate was that day more strong, for the blade of Eöl the Dark Elf slipped in his hand, and pricked Túrin's foot. Then Túrin was roused into a sudden wakefulness of rage and fear, and seeing a form bending over him in the gloom with a naked blade in hand he leapt up with a great cry, believing that Orcs were come again to torment him; and grappling with him in the darkness he seized Anglachel, and slew Beleg Cúthalion thinking him a foe.
But as he stood, finding himself free, and ready to sell his life dearly against imagined foes, there came a great flash of lightning above them, and in its light he looked down on Beleg's face. Then Túrin stood stone still and silent, staring on that dreadful death, knowing what he had done; and so terrible was his face, lit by the lightning that flickered all about them, that Gwindor cowered down upon the ground and dared not raise his eyes.
Elrohir closed his eyes tightly now as if he had been struck.
For a few moments he had managed to forget it...
Now it came back to haunt him. The image of that sword, the forbidden sword. It was still in his heart, like it was begging for one more moment in his hand. Elbereth, it was the most beautiful weapon he had ever seen. More beautiful than any other, even Glorfindel's. How could he still love it so? Could it be because the sword had regained life through his strength, his commitment, and that made him desire to hold it, to make it his?
No, Elrohir! No! he heard a voice inside him shout. Beleg was a worthy and fair warrior, and with the sword in his hand the archer never committed any injustice, but it seems that just porting it had sealed his cruel fate.
The twin shook his head again and covered his face in extreme agony. Cursed was the moment he put his hands on something that did not belong to him. Cursed was the fate he had sealed to himself, and he would find no words in these books that would help him avoid it..
No... He couldn't be feeling like he was connected to it. He couldn't feel tied to that… curse…
"The truth you see in the books is bound to the interpretation we give to it," he heard a voice say, and he moved his head toward it. Even knowing who it belonged to, his heart was afraid to believe.
Standing in the hall was a dark figure he knew well. Elrohir shuddered, closing the book and rising slowly. The image did not move. The young elf took a few steps, his heart filled with a mixture of fear and excitement.
He hadn't seen him since he arrived... He was allowed to talk to him, wasn't he? Was he allowed to touch him? And if he was, would the other one wish the same?
The newcomer was now a few feet from him, his face slowly emerging from the darkness, becoming clear in the light. There was the same serene look on his face, although he seemed a bit melancholic. Elrohir stopped two steps away and winced, he wanted to continue onward, but he couldn't... He wanted to hug him... He wanted... He wanted to be forgiven.
"Ada..." he mentally said, just to try the word that he could not say. But as if he had heard, his father's figure moved ahead, making the young elf tremble again with apprehension. But the healer did not move away, as his son had feared; he approached slowly, as silent as the breeze, and Elrohir felt his heart beating in his throat when he realized his father was staring at him.
There was consternation in his eyes... There was that same worry he knew too well and that, for the first time, he felt a great relief to see there on his father's face.
He cared... His father still cared...
Elrond bowed slightly and put his hand over his son's chest, cautious. However, he did not employ any pressure, as if it was a delicate act, a nearly forbidden one.
"Take all the pain and sorrow away from your heart, my child," he said in a low voice now, almost a whisper. "Let what is good fill you now. This is your way back. You're doing well... Keep going."
Elrohir parted his lips to reply, but he still could not allow the words to break his vow, even in this moment. Tears threatened to roll from his eyes, but he controlled himself. He had already embarrassed his father; he would not cry in front of him now, not in a moment like this, not with what he had put his father through. He closed his eyes and bit the corner of his lip to try to send another distraction to his brain, something that might help him contain the almost uncontrollable desire to jump into the arms he had before him.
A hand raised his chin, pulling his face upward, and then he moved his eyes to meet his father's. Elrond pulled him slowly toward him, showing him the care someone might use when he packs a fragile piece of porcelain. Elrohir thought he was dreaming, so he closed his eyes and let that dream grow wings, as he felt his father caressing his back gently, rescuing him from his uncertainties as he always knew how to do, helping him to feel the way he longed to feel: forgiven... and protected again, like a bird in its nest.
When he finally backed reluctantly out of his father's arms, he knew as he had never known before, how real what had happened was, and what he had made his family go through. However, something in his heart had changed, moved by the certainty he saw in his father's gaze: despite everything he had done, his family still loved him and loved him very much.
Elrond seemed to realize that, so he kissed his child's forehead, giving him an affectionate slap on his left cheek and walked away without saying anything more.
Elrohir noted that quick exit strategy with sadness. He knew what his father wanted to hide now. There was much pain in Arda, and healers had little space for their own.
Erestor entered the library when the sun was already reaching the top of a sky that already seemed not as blue as it had been the previous day. He walked slowly; his mind was distracted by a book in his hands, so it took some time for him to notice the young elf who was sitting on the cold floor in the aisle.
"Elladan?" He was surprised to see the boy sitting there without any book in hand. But when he looked at him, the counselor soon realized his mistake, as improbable as it seemed. "Elrohir? Is that you? "
The twin did not respond; he just lowered his head again. Erestor walked a little closer, squatting in front of his pupil.
"Elrohir?" He still looked for a final confirmation, and when the twin moved a dark look toward him, the mentor received his answer. "You cannot blame me, boy," he defended himself in his warm tone and subtle smile. "You and your brother are identical and your figure is not who I usually see here," he completed, carefully placing his hand on the child's shoulder. "Although I must admit how pleased I am to see you. I have missed your complaints."
That comment lifted the corners of the lips of the twin, whose eyes had turned downward to gaze at the floor beneath him. He let himself silently smile, feeling an unexpected pleasure in not being alone anymore. Erestor was the soul of this place, which just seemed lifeless when the counselor was absent. The young elf felt the mentor's hand tighten on his shoulder, and raised his eyes to meet a more worried look now.
"Why are you here, boy? Are you hiding from someone?"
Elrohir looked at him once more, then shook his head.
"Were you looking for a book then?" tried the mentor. Although he judged he already knew the answer to that particular question, an unexpected positive nod made him wonder. "Is that a fact? Have you found what you sought?
Elrohir did not answer immediately, but then he pulled out a volume he had wedged behind himself. Erestor squinted to read the title, then suddenly inhaled, a bit disturbed.
"I think your brother has an identical one in your room. Isn't it true? He asked me for a volume of the Laws of the Eldar, and the book has not yet returned to my shelves. Did you intend to take this too? I don't have many copies."
This time the twin did not respond, he just stared thoughtfully at the letters on the cover.
Erestor waited a moment, and then sighed.
"Did it at least have the information you were looking for? Or do you still have any some doubt?"
Elrohir's fingers tightened slightly on the old book he held, and it intrigued the counselor.
"You look anguished, boy," he noted, caressing the young elf's shoulder carefully. "Maybe this is not a proper reading for you at this time. I do not think anything in these pages can ease your pain."
But Elrohir did not answer again, and Erestor was not surprised by that. They had made a pact, the twins… But Elrohir's silence aroused in Erestor an uneasy feeling that he could not define. He knew his pupil; he knew Elrohir and his outbursts; his outbursts and his thoughtless actions. What could be behind those dark and anxious eyes?
" I see you still fulfill the vow of silence you made with your brother," he noted now, just to try to get a different reaction from that young face. "Don't you believe you have already been silent enough? Now that you are back together again both of you should start to communicate with others fully. This barrier complicates your learning."
Elrohir did not react; his eyes seemed distant, as if a series of thoughts were flooding his head. A series of thoughts Erestor didn't know, and that fact bothered him tremendously. He waited a few seconds, then stood and offered his hand to his pupil.
"Come here, Elrohir. I'll show you how your brother and I overcame this barrier during these past few months."
The twin hesitated, and then accepted the proposal, taking the mentor's hand and accompanying him to the huge study table. The counselor made him sit in his usual chair, as he took his own, then handed him a small blackboard and a piece of limestone. The board was a plate of slate, not too thick; the size of it was enough for a few words.
"Come on," Erestor smiled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands over his lap. "What are we going to talk about?"
At first Elrohir didn't move. He looked at the board, at the little chalk in his hand and then at his master. Finally he let out a sad sigh and started to scratch a few words on the slate's dark surface. Erestor waited, disguising his anxiety as well as he could. Soon the young elf raised the board for his teacher to read.
"What if my father had not done it?"
Erestor was surprised by the question. It was very ambiguous, but he knew exactly what Elrohir meant. He parted his lips, hesitating a moment, until he found what he thought would be the right words:
"You know what would have happened, boy. Your grandfather told you at the time."
Elrohir carefully analyzed the answer. Then his eyes danced for a while, before he took a cloth in front of him and erased what he had written to write something else.
"Then they can punish me? Even if I am not an adult yet?"
Erestor pursed his lips thoughtfully, feeling the bitter taste of the most obvious conclusion he could come to. Elrohir had read enough and these questions he was asking were just a formality, a formality which turned them into very dangerous ones.
"Your father will not allow it. You know. So he did what he did, Elrohir."
This time Elrohir did not even look at his mentor. As he listened to the end of the explanation he had already begun quickly erasing the words he had written before.
"And if I do not want that?"
"Do not want what, boy?"
"...him to help me." Elrohir completed.
Erestor pondered that question. Despite not fully understanding what the young elf was getting at, he felt like he was falling into a trap, so he had to consider well the words he would say. He was a teacher, and as such he knew he could not miss the truth.
"You want to know if you can take the blame for yourself and free your father from the Council verdict." Erestor had translated the twin's intentions, as only he could do. Elrohir paled with the absolute sincerity and objectivity of his master. Something that both he and Elladan always liked in the counselor was that. He treated them like adults, talked with them as equals, invading forbidden topics, discussing any issue that arose, using complete sincerity. Elrohir took a deep breath, and then nodded his head.
Erestor was silent again; his eyes gazed at his pupil's face attentively in search of the dangers of that response. Finally he let the air escape from his lungs in a forced sigh and answered:
"You can do it before the city council, the same one which condemned your father. You are not old enough for certain responsibilities, but childhood is behind you and the council knows it. Although you were reckless, your courage and initiative in dealing with that weapon, turning it into a new instrument again, has earned you an early maturity that has impressed many," Erestor almost regretted his resolve when it came to truth, knowing the risk he took and the problems his answer could cause in this situation. Now he would have to attentively follow the boy's next questions. He knew how to interact with this young elf. Emphatic negatives were never a barrier to stubborn Elrohir. He had to convince him in another way.
The twin then turned pale again and his eyes grew darkly serious. However, to his mentor's surprise, he did not ask any more questions. On the contrary, the young elf stood up and would have gone if he had not been held by the arm.
"Elrohir. You know you cannot do it."
The young elf lifted his chin as if asking why.
"You cannot ignore what your father did for you, pursuing something from which he has been protecting you all these months."
Elrohir angrily pulled his arm away. He picked up the board again, scribbling on it quickly.
"I want to free him."
"He does not want to be free that way, boy! The freedom would only have some value if you could all enjoy it with him. If you do what you are considering, you will only increase his suffering. They will send you to distant lands and…" Erestor stopped his explanation when he realized that the young elf's attention had been diverted to erase with his hand what he had written, and re-launch words on the blackboard.
"Do I have to go where they want?"
Erestor parted his lips to reply, but frowned.
"You are not going anywhere, Elrohir. Do you want to break your family's hearts?"
Elrohir snorted, shaking the board in his hands to emphasize the question and Erestor's face twisted in equal indignation.
"You cannot live in any elven kingdom. Where will you go? You cannot go north either, because the Edain people there are like distant relatives of yours as well."
Elrohir shrugged, then threw the board onto the table and moved away.
"You do not learn a lesson even if it costs the happiness of your whole family, do you, Elrohir?" Erestor said then, and his words were so loud and unexpected that the young elf not only stopped in his path, but also had to take hold of the chair beside him to steady himself. "You cannot escape. If you do that, the pain does not cease to exist here. Quite the contrary. It will be intensified. Don't you see how your brother is with your mere absence? How do you think he'll feel when he knows you're gone forever and to a land without any security? He will surely prefer that you had pierced him through with that re-forged sword; it would have been more gracious on your part."
Elrohir turned quickly, his eyes so angry that Erestor felt that the young elf might come over and hit him. The counselor stood up, and cautiously approached his pupil.
"Be decent, Elrohir. It's what your family expects from you. It's what we all expect. Accept your fate, accept the pain of your relatives and learn your lesson. If you do that, then at least this whole nightmare will have had some purpose."
