Eldarion
It is dusk, the shadows lengthening, when Finrod leads us into the heart of Estel's small community. There are whistles from the trees as we pass and I know his friends speak to him even before he turns to me saying,
"They are expecting us."
"Well of course they expect you, foolish child." Finrod answers before I can. "You are so long overdue and your father has known you to be in the woods since the moment you set foot it in. You may think the trees are on your side but actually it is him they dance for. Did you not think of that?"
Estel mumbles something I cannot catch but Finrod hears it and he throws back his head and laughs.
"Question my heritage all you like, Estel," he smiles. "It does not bother me. More important Elves than you have done so and I am still standing."
I wonder who that was? Who dared insult this unnerving, intimidating King? Someone equally unnerving and intimidating I imagine so I am glad I never met them.
"It is probably as well you did not." His voice behind me makes me jump out of my skin. Did he hear what I was thinking? "Celegorm and Curafin would have chewed you up and eaten you for breakfast."
I rub at my head as if I can rid him from there by touch alone, and he laughs.
"At least when my mother does that I can feel she is there!" I snap back.
"Forgive me, he says, though I do not think he is sorry in the slightest. "You are an open book. You need better defences, Eldarion. Or more accurately, some, for they are non existent."
"Even with the best defence in the world, you cannot stop him." Estel chimes in beside me. "You just have to rely on his good manners not to pry, but he is right. You need to work on yours. Any of us can stroll on in."
"It is not as if I had anyone to defend myself from. I told you, Estel, it was a world without elves."
"A world without elves?" Finrod murmurs softly and I feel his arm fall across my shoulders. "Poor child."
The light from the fire in the centre of the gathering place flares bright in the increasing shadows of dusk as we step out of the trees. There is no time at all to stop and prepare ourselves, to see who is there, for Estel's young brother launches himself across the glade the instant we set foot in it and Estel is left staggering under the weight and awkwardness of the small boy who catapulted into his arms.
"Estel!" he cries, "You are back! We have been waiting so long, and there is another Man here! And Elrohir is coming to live with us. We have been looking for a place for him to stay, Father, Legolas and I. Did you bring me something?"
It is a babble of non stop words and Estel is bewildered.
"What?" he says, looking around the adults seated by the fire, "Elrohir is what?"
"Not to live, Estel." Elrohir sits across from us, Legolas leaning against him. They seem happy, contented, certainly not the same as when I left them when tension crackled between them at every word. "Just to visit occasionally," He looks at Estel expectantly. "What do you think?"
"You do not do that." Estel blinks in the light, his brother in his arms, confusion across his face. This has wrong-footed him. "That is not how it is."
"But perhaps it is how it should be." Elrohir says softly, "and should have been when you were young."
"Estel," Maewen says quietly, from the other side of the fire, Erynion, by her side, "tell Elrohir how much you will enjoy him being here." It is as if she leads him by the hand through his bemusement.
And finally Estel smiles, a small smile, an uncertain one.
"Is it true then? I will see more of you? That is always good. I can show you the wood, Elrohir. We could go hunting, I will help you build a flet," Now he has started his words tumble out as enthusiastically as his brother's and he shines. "But I thought—" At last he hesitates, glancing between Elrohir and his father seated so cosily together, "You were unhappy with each other. I thought we would see less of you, not more. I was worried I had . . ." He stammers to a stop.
"Our problems are not your problems, Estel. They are not your fault. If we behave badly with each other you are never responsible." Legolas, though he appears completely relaxed, head resting on Elrohir's shoulder, is firm.
We are at the centre of the circle. The two of us standing, uncertain of what to do and they surround us. A ring of curious eyes. It is Finrod who nudges us out of our inertia.
"Food, Maewen?" he asks, as he strolls across to sit next to Legolas. "Tracking down these recalcitrants of yours has made me hungry. By the way," he smiles at Legolas, "it seems your son has lost the ability to find his way across a forest. Perhaps some additional training?"
Legolas laughs and Estel blushes bright red. This is payback, I think, for those comments about Finrod's heritage earlier.
But the child has Estel's back.
"Estel knows all the paths!" he exclaims in his high voice. "That is not true, Finrod. He is the most clever! I know it because he has shown me."
"Of course he has, little one." That cutting sarcasm bleeds away leaving Finrod's voice as soft and gentle as the sunlight on a spring day. "You are quite right. Forgive me my rash words about your brother," and the boy nods solemnly as if it is a serious business ensuring his brother has the respect due to him.
And Finrod turns to Estel.
"You have a champion there," he says. "Be careful of that for it is precious. Do not do anything to crush it. A gift indeed is the love of a brother. It is a terrible grief to lose it."
He speaks as if he knows exactly what that is like and I see Legolas glance at Laerion, where he sits across the fire with Elladan. He knows the reality of that too.
It is then I see my father. Next to Elladan and yet on his own he is not near Legolas as would be usual. Still Legolas curls up with Elrohir so perhaps that is why? Father lounges, as if he enjoys the warmth of the fire. There is no tension in him. The stern face of disapproval I was expecting is not there, in fact he smiles and beckons me to sit beside him. He feels almost alone in the midst of this crowd and so I go. There is room for Estel next to me if he chooses.
But Estel is stranded. The boy Rhawion clings to him like a limpet begging him to sit with Erynion and Maewen. He gives me a look as if to say, what can I do? Of course he can do nothing except go where Rhawion wishes. To do otherwise would be cruel after such a rapturous welcome. He cannot refuse him.
So we are apart.
The steaming plate of food Maewen places in my lap is delicious. The song Finrod begins to sing when he has eaten it is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. It is as if he reaches inside me and pulls out every moment of joy I have ever experienced. I am transfixed.
"He is majestic is he not?" My father leans over to whisper in my ear, "and intimidating all at the same time. I cannot keep my eyes off him yet when he speaks to me I find I can make no sensible sentence at all."
He takes me by surprise.
"That happened to me also," I find myself admitting despite myself. I had not anticipated agreeable conversation between us. "Now I know what it truly is to be speechless. He tore strips off me. That was not pleasant."
"What did you do to deserve that?"
Do I tell him?
In the end I decide there is no reason not to.
"He told me I was not behaving in a way befitting of a King. He told me to start being the King I was born to be."
My Father is silent. It is a heavy silence that presses down upon me as I wait for his reply, which must surely be in agreement.
But no.
"That must have been hard to hear," he says. "I do not envy you that."
It is not at all what I expected.
"Well he is right," I shrug for I know Father surely thinks that even if he does not say it. "I have not done myself justice. I do not know what it is. Since arriving here, after the Dagor Dagorath, I have not been myself at all. I would not be surprised if you wonder how I managed to lead our people."
"I have had many tell me how adept you were," he answers. "I do not think that is in doubt. I do not doubt it anyway but I know what you mean, Eldarion, and I have been thinking on it. I have hardly been calm, measured Aragorn myself. Instead I find myself behaving as I did in Imladris as a young man . . . Badly. It is as if all those life lessons learned long ago have become jumbled and my mind does not know how old it is at all."
He has it exactly right. That is how it feels for me also but I have struggled to pinpoint it.
"You must feel as if you have that sulky, difficult boy back," I tell him. "The one who thought he knew it all and would not listen to reason. The one before Aderthron."
But he laughs at that and glances at my uncle across the fire.
"I think Elrohir feels the same today," he says, "about me."
He has argued with Elrohir? I am about to prompt for more but he has not finished.
"Apparently rebirth is not as easy as it seems. I should have known that after my jaunt to the doors of Mandos halls with Legolas. That left me in a disastrous mess also. You would think Finrod would know it too though, and be easier on you," he sighs, "for it is not as if he has not experienced it."
"Perhaps it is different for elves?"
He looks across at me then, eyes full of a surprisingly fond affection.
"No easier path for you though? Elven as you are?"
It is like a thunderclap.
It is an innocuous question to ask and quite reasonable. He is relaxed as he asks it. He smiles at me, but my father has never, never, ever, casually mentioned my elvenness in conversation before.
Oh when we first discovered it he said all the right things. He told me it made no difference, that it was just a part of the whole Eldarion he loved. He fought for me. He went with me to Imladris so Elladan could help me understand what it all meant. That trip is one of the best memories of my life.
But he never discussed it. He left that to Elladan. We never sat down and spoke about what it meant. He has never mentioned it in passing as he does now, as if it is something of nothing, the same as my brown eyes, or the curls in my hair. We just did not mention it at all.
And that left me feeling as if I had hurt him. The fact I was not the same as him—this difference—was not something he wished to think on. It felt as if he was in some way uncomfortable with it. It has lain silently between us all these years.
And so I stare.
My silence makes him think I do not understand him.
"You are essentially an elf on the inside," he goes on to explain, "so you would think, if the elves had an easier time of it so would you. Your fea is as theirs are."
But I understood him clearly from the start.
It is strange, just one that sentence gives me wings. I feel as if I can fly.
And he waits for a response from me.
"I was mortal though Father." I say in the end. "And Finrod is not, nor ever has been. I am not built for rebirth. Not like him, or Laerion, or any of them. I am the same as you."
"That makes sense." His eyes soften as always as he mentions my mothers name. "Arwen has coped so much better than I. She is composed and sensible while I have no idea what is up or down. But she was never meant to be mortal in the first place."
"So what do we do?" If he has been thinking on it he must have ideas of a solution. There is no-one better able to solve a problem than he.
"I have no clue."
I do not think I have ever heard him say that.
"If I notice that sulky boy I will remind you you have once been a King." He grins at me and it makes him look just like a boy himself. "Likely it will not go down well though as I am not Finrod . . . I am only your father."
He is quite right and it makes me laugh.
"And you? What about you Father?"
"Ah, Legolas will tell me when I am being a fool."
"Before or after you stop speaking to each other?"
I love it when he smiles. I wish I had seen more of that as I grew up but he was often overburdened and serious instead. He smiles now. Things between he and Legolas must have improved if he can laugh about it.
The song Finrod is singing as we talk in our corner has changed. Still beautiful it has lost its joy and grows ever more mournful and Legolas has had enough of it.
"Enough Finrod," he calls, "You depress us all. We are not in Valinor now with those endless Noldor dirges."
As sad as the song sounded it is a wrench when he ends.
"You have had your reunion, Legolas," he sighs "but remember I have not yet had mine."
He seems defeated, as if some of that glorious magnificence has bled out of him.
Laerion leans forward with a frown, throwing a disapproving glance towards Legolas as he does so. It is a look that says, Behave yourself! What are you doing?
"What of Gildor?" He asks, "That is a reunion you have had."
"Gildor?" Instantly my father is alight. "Gildor who visited Imladris? Is he here?"
"Ah, I forgot he told me he knew you, Elessar." Finrod replies. "He is here. He stubbornly goes in search of Nargothrond though I have told him I cannot feel so much as a hint of it. It does not exist in this land, I am sure of it but I could not deter him. Perhaps you are right, Laerion. I should chase after him. It will make the wait less lonely."
"You should chase after him because he will not wish to find Nargothrond without you." Laerion says firmly.
"He will not find it. It is not here to find."
"But they said we would not find Arda remade." Elrohir interjects. "They said you were wrong, that we would vanish from the world, not move in to the new one. They said Legolas was doomed never to see the mortals he loved again. Yet here we are. What if you are wrong, Finrod, and Gildor is right?"
"I am never wrong." Finrod says, but at least he smiles when he says it. "Strange it is to hear you argue for belief without proof, Elrohir Elrondion."
"Strange to hear you not believe in it, Uncle." Elrohir counters.
What I think is strange is the fact all this time we have been sitting here, as the sun sets and the sky grows dark, and not one of them, not a single one, has said anything about Estel and I.