(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)
(AN: again, I'm sorry for the delay. There is more to come, all I have to do is write it!)
Elrond continues the story.
Time eludes me, on occasion. When I read, or write. When I listen to those who sing of the past. When I remember.
Estel keeps me to the hours of his world. When he was very small, and his mother still cared for him herself, his cries marked the passage of time. Then she left us and his care became mine. Meals had to be regular, time for play, time for learning and for sleep, time for him to speak and be heard. Time for us to get to know one another.
Which is, I suppose, my rambling confession that I have let him lie sleeping all this morning, when I had said we would see about his swimming place. I have chosen those who will do the work required, and that is well under way, but it had been in my mind to let Estel be in charge of this project, so that he might gain experience of organising a complex task.
So I went to his room this morning, when it was not yet broad daylight, and found nothing more than a breathing lump in the bed. He has been up most of the night, I reason. He has been through a very demanding time. He needs to sleep. I had no choice but to leave him, and now it is past his breakfast and his midday meal. I must wake him now, or he will be awake all night, or too sleep-dazed to be of use today.
Still, the quiet has given me time to send out messages. Perhaps some news will come which will identify the couple who came to us from the river last night. We are preparing for their burial, but it may be that someone is waiting for word of them.
"Estel. Wake up now. Come along, it is time to go swimming."
There is a sound, and a stirring. A face appears, the dark eyes only just open, the mouth already shaped into a yawn.
"Swimming, Papa?" Estel says, with a hint of the plaintive in his voice.
"When you are dressed, and you have eaten something, and we have finished the repairs yes, I think that in an hour or so you might go swimming. If you wish to," I say, as he seems a little more reluctant than I had hoped.
He yawns again. "Can I dive under if I want to?" he says carefully. There is something on his mind. I shall have to lead him gently to telling me what it is.
"Of course. You may even catch a fish, if you are quick."
"Oh. Well, what should I wear? Isn't it going to be cold?"
Ah – that fear surfaced quickly enough. He has every reason to know of the cold waters of the Bruinen.
"You will find it is warmer than you think, my boy. Now, come, get up. Go and wash and I will find the right clothes for you."
Enthusiasm begins to brighten his eyes and he smiles broadly now as he pushes the sheets to the bottom of the bed and swings his legs over the side. Suddenly he stops, a curious expression on his face. He wriggles his toes.
"What is it?" I ask, suddenly concerned. Do his legs hurt him?
"Look!" he says, lifting his feet from the floor then setting them down again.
I cannot see what he is driving at. He sighs, and reaches down to touch his feet.
"They're flat on the floor! I've never been able to put my feet flat on the floor – not flat, all the way down!"
It is a great moment for him. He looks so pleased with himself, at this small accomplishment, that I have to smile.
"Tonight, we will make a new mark for you on the door frame. Then, perhaps, we will see if you are tall enough for your first sword."
Am I indulging him too much? Well, it is too late now. It is said.
He is open-mouthed for a moment. "Really?" he says.
"Yes. Now go and wash!"
They are still hard at work at the swimming place when Estel and I get there. Before long, he is paddling about in the shallows, moving rocks and brushing away the silt. He has taken off his coat and is now wearing the shirt and cut-down breeches I persuaded him to wear, though he looked a little troubled. Doubts about his thin legs are gone in the engineering that now holds his interest.
"This one?" he asks, and my servant nods, then helps him to roll the largest of the stones away. The music of the water changes and memories crowd in on me. There, my two boys, barely two years old and splashing in the water, with their mother and I to help them.
Estel hears the difference too, and runs to me, splashing through the water.
"Can I go in now?" he asks, all his fears gone. "It's not cold. I don't know why, but it doesn't feel cold any more."
"Yes. Take off your shirt, but you may leave your breeches on if you wish. I shall join you."
He shrugs out of his shirt then waits for me to take off my boots and leggings. We walk together to the edge of the water. I give leave for all but one of the servants to return to the house.
Estel stands on the edge of the pool, peering down into it. He does not yet know how to do much more than keep his head above water, and I must remember that.
"Show me how to dive, Papa!" he demands.
"Not from here. It is too shallow. Over here." I move to the large, dark rock from which even my tall sons can dive safely. The water here bubbles from beneath the river bank, and miraculously, it is warmer than the riverwaters. It must come from deep below the surface. But I have not told Estel this yet, and he puts his toe into the water with great care.
"Oh – it's not so cold! And it's deep – it's very deep."
"We do not have to start here. We can sit over there, where it is shallow, if you want."
"I'd like to be able to dive by the time Halbarad comes, though," he says. His mouth twitches in indecision.
"Then stand like this," and I demonstrate for him, then adjust his stance. "We will just practice standing in the right way, then you can dive tomorrow. I think you had better try swimming underwater before you dive."
So he practises until he feels secure in the right position, then he sits on the edge, dangling his feet in the water.
"I think I'm ready to try swimming now," he says and, before I can say anything, he has slipped off the rock into the water. I have no choice but to follow him and then, as he flounders a little, provide support until he remembers how to stay up.
He has difficulty with the most important part – putting his face in the water. But slowly, by degrees, he manages it without needing to fight his fear and splash and gasp and struggle.
"I did it! I did it!" he shouts, and all Rivendell must hear him, I think. I laugh with him, and splash him, and forget I am Elrond Half-Elven for a blessed time. The trees laugh too, and I know that our adventure will weave itself into song this night.
He is tired now, and I heave him up out of the water. The servant comes and wraps him in a blanket, and makes him laugh again with the fun of being rubbed dry. "I'm hungry!" he says, and, "Are we coming here again tomorrow?" and finally, "Thank you, Papa. This was the best day ever."
I chase him back to the house, both in bare feet, both wet and laughing, and he crashes through the front door, shouting, "I'm first! I won!"
I follow him, acknowledging defeat and am about to send him upstairs to change when a delegation of startled men catch my attention.
Can I never have a day's peace?
"My Lord," says one, bowing.
"Yes? What is it?" I say, short of patience with this interruption.
Estel is holding his blanket tightly around himself, uncertain now what to do.
"We came about – about the two who you found. In the boat, my Lord. If it not convenient . . ."
I summon what little dignity I can muster, and say, "Of course. Allow me a few moments to dress and I will attend you. Have you had refreshment?" I am acutely aware of the water dripping from my tunic onto the floor, but I try to ignore it.
"We were about to …" another begins.
"Then please, I will only be a moment."
I hear a sound from behind me. Estel is trying with all his might not to laugh.
"Upstairs," I whisper to him. "Now!"
Thankfully, the delegation of serious, dark-clad men has returned to the room in which they were waiting.
What they are saying about me, I hardly dare to think.
Their story, when I am collected enough to hear it, is a sad one. I just wish I had known Estel was sitting on the bottom step listening to it.
Two lovers, cast out by their families for conceiving a child before they were wedded according to custom.
"But why did they die?" I ask. "We have been unable to find the cause of their deaths."
An old man, his face lined and grey with care, stepped forward. "It is my belief they died of a poison known to our people, Master Elrond. If I had known of their intention, I would have spoken to them – I would have found the words, I would." He grasps the edge of the table. "She was my grand-daughter. I would gladly have taken them in, had I known. She has killed the child too, my great-grandchild."
I do not know what to say to give this old man any comfort. If the boat had drifted to me faster, perhaps I could have stopped this tragedy. I have antidotes. I could be caring for them now, ready to return them to this man who so dearly wishes them to return.
Then I hear sobbing from the hall, and know it is Estel. I give the old man into the care of his friends, promising at least that the little family will be buried decently, and go to sit next to him on the step.
"I don't understand," he says, wiping his eyes. "Why does making a baby mean they have to die?"
"In truth, I do not understand either. Elves – we – well, I will explain it all to you one day. Humans conceive more - more easily then we. They – you – will live a shorter time then we, yet you may have many children. I know, it is difficult for you to imagine. You may meet someone, in the future, who will change your mind."
He shakes his head sadly. "If making babies causes so much trouble, I think I will not do it," he says, with all the worldly wisdom he can summon. I must teach him of the words and the actions of humans soon, so that he will be able to give voice to these new ideas.
"Well, not yet. Not for a long while, perhaps." For you may be a king one day, I think, and you will have need of a good consort, to love you and share your life.
"No. Not for a long, long while."
It is a sad and thoughtful Estel who stands, and pauses before he goes back upstairs.
"May I go to the funeral, Papa?" he asks. "Would I be in the way?"
"Are you sure? It will be a very sad occasion."
"Yes, Papa. I want to go." When I nod, he nods too, then climbs the stairs slowly, trailing his hand up the banister.
I frown, sad that his best day has been overshadowed. But it was ever thus. His name is still Estel, still hope. There will be other good things for us to do. Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall help him to dive and the world will seem a little better again.
I return to my guests, to see to their quarters for the night and discuss the rituals for tomorrow. When at last I am free of these duties, I go to check that Estel is asleep.
He is, as ever, in a tangle of blankets, one arm outstretched, the other behind his head. He is warm, and safe, and well, and for that I am grateful. I make sure his feet are covered and leave him. My brave boy.
