Imladris...
Sauronion... Erestor inwardly swore as he hurriedly stalked the corridors of the House of Elrond, peering suspiciously into every public room he passed and receiving many a queer look from the rooms' occupants each time he did so. Luckily, the other Elves had had sense enough not to enquire as to why their Lord's chief advisor felt the need to scowl through all the doorways in Imladris, for Erestor was in no mood to offer an explanation for his actions. Hína rúcima...insolent, disrespectful, irresponsible youth!
He reached Lord Elrond's private study, where he knew Glorfindel would be, and paused outside to compose himself. If that...that Orkling is not with him... he mentally trailed off, closing his eyes tightly as he willed the vein throbbing in his left temple to still. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his hand and rapped firmly on the door.
"Come in, Erestor," a half-amused voice resonated into the hall, and Erestor entered the study with a frown.
"How did you know that it was I?" he charily asked, and Glorfindel smirked in a self-satisfied manner.
"How could I not?" the golden-haired Elf answered. "I know of no other who can impart such great exasperation into a mere knock on the door."
Erestor's glower did not waver as his eyes moved about the room, and it was then that Glorfindel recalled that the dark-haired Elf was meant to be in the library, along with a dark-haired human who was nowhere to be seen. Dread began to creep upon him, causing the fine hairs at the nape of his neck to stand on end as he posed the dire question: "...where is Estel?"
Erestor averted his eyes, suddenly extremely interested in a tidy stack of scrolls that rested near the far wall. "I had hoped," he began with some reluctance and much aggravation, "that he was with you."
Glorfindel stood abruptly, alarm etched into his features. "It has not yet been a week and already you have lost him?" he demanded, staring at the other Elf incredulously.
"I have done no such thing!" Erestor protested. "He has deliberately misplaced himself!"
"How? What in Arda possessed you to allow him out of your sight for even a second's time?!"
"It was not my fault! The little fiend lulled me into a false sense of security. He was doing all that I asked of him with nary a breath of resistance; he approached his lessons with patience and diligence - how was I to know that when I requested he retrieve a book from the stacks that it was the last I was to see of him?"
Glorfindel snorted in disdain. "That he was minding you at all should have been your first clue! I thought such foolishness to be completely beyond your character!" Erestor narrowed his eyes, focusing upon the lighter Elf a piercing glare he usually reserved for debating with the likes of perfervid Dwarves. Glorfindel did not allow whatever acid words were lingering on the other advisor's tongue to leave his mouth - Erestor could defend his honour later; for now, locating Estel was of greater import. "For how long has he been missing?"
"No longer than an hour. I have searched nearly every room in this house - he is not here."
"Nearly every room," Glorfindel reinforced, the stoic control of many years spent at war the only thing keeping him from outwardly displaying the well-nigh panic that was beginning to echo off of the inside of his skull. O dear Elbereth, if anything happened to that boy, the countless centuries of friendship he, Erestor and Elrond had shared would cease to matter - the Lord of Imladris would surely have their hides. No - more than that - he would have their hides, stretch them, dry them, and use them for the very parchment on which he would write of their untimely demise, and the neglectful circumstances surrounding it, for the Half-elf did love the young human as he loved his own children, and so great a blunder could never be forgiven...
Glorfindel swallowed hard. "Check all of the rooms. All of them. I will search the banks of the Bruinen - you know how he adores the river."
Erestor nodded and spun on his heel to resume his hunt, but paused in the door's threshold and turned around. "What of the stables? And the wood? And the falls? Glorfindel, this is folly! We shall never be able to locate the child on our own. A formal search party must be organised--"
"Nay!" the pale-haired Elf quickly interrupted, shaking his head. The last thing he wished to do was spread word so early on in Elrond's absence of his incompetence in looking after a mere boy, even though it had been Erestor who had mislaid the youth - this time. "You swore it yourself - he has been gone but an hour. Such a short length of time hardly constitutes sending all of Imladris into a needless fright. We are two grown Elves, Erestor, who have fared horrific battles, out-witted the most stubborn of Dwarves, and slain countless cunning wargs, Orcs and other hideous creatures; what chance has a six-year-old Man-child of escaping our keen intuition, intellect and tracking skills? He has been gone but an hour; he will be caught within a moment. I have no doubt of it."
From his perch among the branches of the tree that stood just beyond the window of Lord Elrond's study, large grey eyes watched the two counsellors exchange urgent words and expressions of concern. The owner of the puckish gaze did not require the sharp ears of the Elves to know that it was he, Estel, of whom they spoke, and his advantage over them did please him greatly. He had considered hiding first and not attending his lessons at all today, but this was much better, for this put Erestor in the wrong, and Estel was feeling none too generous in relation to the dark-haired Elf.
Estel found Erestor to be too...stuffy...for his liking. Far too haughty. Elrond had said it himself, "Erestor is a prideful one;" and Elrond always spoke true. Hence, young Estel reasoned, he was merely doing his part to bruise a great ego and make Rivendell an even more wonderful place than it already was - for with the absence of Erestor's ego, Estel mused that his home and haven might become a good deal more child-friendly. Perhaps he would never again be required to take lessons - at least, lessons of the bookish sort; he would certainly continue with his practice sword and bow, and whatever else actually interested him. No more sniffy, arrogant Erestor lording over him in the library as if it were a kingdom and he naught more than a peasant to throw stale lettuce at. Estel was not quite sure where he ranked among the nobility of the household, being not truly of Lord Elrond's blood, but the Lord of Rivendell seemed to treat him no differently than his other sons, and they were nearly considered princes.
Yes, he decided, that was what he was: A prince. Prince of Imladris. It was the only logical conclusion. Mayhap he had not yet been told of his undeniably royal status because it was feared that he would mature too quickly if he knew the true weight that rested upon his shoulders, and Ada did often lament how big he was growing to be. For now, he would remain small and unassuming, at least for the sake of his foster father.
But Elrond was not here right now, and Estel was not about to feign ignorance of his obvious position of authority for the likes of Glorfindel and Erestor. He was his own master now. Indeed, as prince, and with Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir away, sure he was the true Lord of Imladris in their absence. The two advisors should have been counselling him in affairs of state, not boring him with tedious lessons of past events that mattered not to his young life.
Estel held his breath as Erestor, after one false start, finally left the study, Glorfindel close behind him. Then, with a grace he was certain would be worthy of a fully Elven child, the Edain slowly crept along the fork of wood he had been standing on, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. The branch bowed under his weight as he moved further toward its leaf-tipped end, and he spread his arms for better balance. Only a couple more steps...
There! he triumphantly thought to himself as he leapt from the branch to the protrusions of the windowsill with a slight rustle, small hands and bare toes gripping the frame tightly. O yes - his was without a doubt the grace of a prince, or perhaps even a king! The King of Imladris, the noblest leader of all the Ages, and all who opposed him would fall to their knees at the mere sight of him and beg his forgiveness for whatever wrongs they had committed against his rule. He could practically feel it coursing through his veins, this sense of royal righteousness.
Swollen-headed from his success in crossing the tree branch, Estel felt with small fingers along the edge of the window's frame, prodding at it in different places, searching for its weakest point - no simple task when one is dealing with Elvish craftsmanship. Impatience quickly got the better of him, and with a few swift shoves in the same spot, the window at last unstuck itself and swung open upon its hinges with a sharp crack of splintering wood and a quiet groan. Estel winced at the sound, his eyes darting around to see if anyone had been within range to hear it.
The small courtyard which the study overlooked remained empty and silent but for the sounds of nature.
Confident once more in his skills of invisibility, Estel climbed easily through the window and dropped down to the floor. He was rarely admitted entrance into his foster father's study, and certainly he was never permitted inside without Elrond himself as an escort. He would have to proceed with caution, and touch nothing that he was not positive he could replace in the exact location it had been in.
...well. Almost nothing, and surely the something he was after was replaceable...
Thoronil blinked curiously as his Lord's chief counsellor darted past the trees to his left for the dozenth time. The Imladris guard had ceased his target practice at the fourth sighting of the dark-haired Elf, and lowered his bow and notched arrow at the eighth, unable to find intension of the situation. There was no cause for alarm that he could tell, no wicked creatures that he could sense. Young Estel was nowhere to be seen, and Thoronil seriously doubted the likelihood of Erestor playing such a repetitive sort of game as "tag" with the boy to begin with.
"Ah - Master Erestor?" he queried at the advisor's fourteenth to-and-fro. "Might I enquire as to what you are doing?"
"You might," Erestor snapped in reply, looking everywhere but directly at Thoronil as though he were searching for something quite zealously - though Thoronil could not see how whatever it was Erestor was looking for could have ended up in the clouds.
"What are you doing?" he asked again, by now very used to the darker Elf's temprament, and fell into step beside him.
"Pacing with haste."
"But - do you not usually do your pacing in the Hall of Fire?"
"Usually," Erestor murmured distractedly as they approached the banks of the Bruinen. "Today I felt it necessary to go about my activities outdoors. With the festival fast approaching, I thought it might do well to get me into the spirit of things."
He leaned forward, nearly bent double, and peered into the quickly moving current of the river, his eyes scanning its entire length. With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head and started for the trees that were to the right of where Thoronil had been practicing his archery.
"But sir," the guard pointed out, "if it is your daily activities that you are going about, then I daresay whatever it is you are looking for may not have had your foresight and is still inside."
"O dear Thoronil, I sincerely doubt that. Inside was the first place I looked."
Thoronil frowned. "Then it should also be the last place you look."
Erestor halted suddenly, and Thoronil started, nearly running directly into the other Elf's back. The counsellor tensed for a moment as if expecting the collision, then sighed once more with no small amount of exasperation and turned to face the sentry.
Thoronil was a good Elf, a sweet Elf, and brave as any lord - he was not, however, the sharpest blade in the bunch, so to speak, and did at times require one to make up obscure and occasionally absurd excuses if one wished to rid oneself of his presence. Still, Thoronil was not lacking in simple wisdom, and Erestor was becoming quite desperate. Thus, he folded his hands and adopted his most patient expression. "Explain."
Thoronil flushed slightly and laced his fingers together. "Well...I know that whenever I lose something, I usually find it in the last place I look. Therefore, I try to think of where I would least expect the lost object to be found, and search there first. I still find it in the last place I look - but it is also the first place I look, and it thence does save me much time and trouble."
"..." Erestor opened his mouth to speak, but was at something of a loss for words. He frowned, running through what the younger Elf had said in his mind. "So...you believe that, because I first looked for what I am missing within the house, that it will miraculously be there when I return? That merely because I searched the same place both first and last, the object in question will be waiting for me regardless of where else I look inbetween?"
"I..." Thoronil trailed off, looking befuddled by Erestor's jumbled recitation of his philosophy. "...yes?"
"And how, may I ask, would this object - as it had so cleverly evaded my prying eyes - come to reappear out of thin air in a place that I had already searched and found wanting?" He arched an expectant eyebrow, but did not wait for Thoronil to respond before continuing. "I suppose it might have sprouted legs for the sole purpose of deceiving me? That it simply rose and walked away, awaited my departure, and then replaced itself for the sheer amusement of my mystification as to how it returned?"
"I...ai..." Thoronil cleared his throat, now very pink around the ears and casting a longing glance at his discarded bow. "In my experience, lost things will go to great lengths to evade capture. Especially if they are...er...alive."
Some strange light seemed to flare behind Erestor's dark eyes, like the first swell of a candle's flame after being lit, as he quelled his inclinations of superiority and recalled that that which he was seeking was indeed alive, did indeed have legs and could indeed walk to the borders of Imladris and back to the house again if it so wished to. Which it would, particularly if it had knowledge that both Erestor and Glorfindel were there no longer.
"Thoronil," Erestor addressed the guard, clasping the other Elf's shoulders firmly, "it is mayhap my greatest fortune to have stumbled across your stumbling mind. Thank you."
Thoronil blinked as he watched Erestor begin quickly back in the direction of the Last Homely House. "Ah...you are welcome?" he called, and the dark-haired Elf acknowledged him with a slight wave of his hand. Confused yet with an odd sense of pride, Thoronil merely shrugged and returned once more to his bow and arrows.
"Ilúvatar...let this vision be false...o dear Eru, I beg thee, let this vision be false..." Erestor murmured, staring at what lay before him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "...Glorfindel!!"
His shout resonated throughout the halls of the house and beyond, drawing the attention of at least a dozen Elves from their activities and scattering a small flock of birds that had been chirping in a nearby tree to flight.
"Master Erestor?" a female voice sang from the hall. "Be thee well?" An Elf-maid, Ilmalin, floated into the room, concern written on her face as she peered at the advisor.
"Look I well?! Sound I well?! Where is that disobedient, disrespectful little..." he trailed off, hissing a long breath through his teeth.
"Glorfindel?" Ilmalin asked, and jumped back when Erestor rounded on her, his expression caught somewhere between helpless and incensed.
"Estel!" he exclaimed. "See you not what the boy has done?" He gestured frantically toward the wall behind him, and Ilmalin gasped as she first took notice of the cause of his distress. There, smeared on the marble and already half dried was a crude ink painting that was certainly no work of any artist residing in Imladris, covering a good portion of the wall from floor to ceiling. The clever use of chairs had doubtless extended the child's reach.
"O Master Erestor..." the Elf-maid breathed in dismay, stepping forward to more closely inspect the picture. "It truly does you no justice."
Erestor looked aghast. "What leads you to believe that it is I depicted in this...'portrait'?" His eyes flicked back to the childish design, which was in truth naught more than a very large scowling head atop a body composed of sticks. One such stick - the right arm, Erestor guessed it was meant to be - clutched a book, and the mouth of the face was but a circle filled with pointed teeth. The sharply arching, infuriated-looking eyebrows alone led Erestor to think it more likely an image of Lord Elrond, though he dared not speak as much aloud.
"Here," Ilmalin gestured to picture's brow, and then raised her hand to brush her fingertips along Erestor's forehead. "The frown lines are the same. Of course, the mouth is a tad Orc-like, and the frame far too thin, but the likeness is really unmistake--"
"Stop," Erestor interrupted her, holding one finger to her lips as he shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I pray thee, speak no more. Ever."
Before the Elf-maid had a chance to respond, Glorfindel appeared in the threshold of the library doors, tugging along behind him a short creature whose hands, arms, face and clothes were absolutely covered in black ink. "I found the most fascinating thing lurking near one of the western windows," he announced, glowering down at the struggling Estel, who stilled at the reprimanding look but continued to stare back defiantly. "Though I cannot account for the fouled state of his person."
Erestor narrowed his eyes at the child, his hands balled into fists at his sides, inwardly grateful that he and Estel were seperated by Glorfindel's presence. "I believe," he began silkily, unable to keep a sneer from touching his lips, "that young Master Estel has been making use of his 'free time' to further his studies in fine art."
The dark-haired Elf stepped to the side, revealing the painting in question with a grand flourish of both arms. Glorfindel's eyes widened, though when his mouth opened, it seemed almost forced, as though he were feigning appall to conceal a smile.
"Estel!" Glorfindel gasped, schooling his expression into one of severe disapproval. "Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"
The human looked from Glorfindel to Erestor to Ilmalin, upon whose kind face he lingered, before answering with a shrug.
The golden-haired Elf fought the urge to sigh at length, and looked toward the Elf-maid. "Ilmalin, if you would be good enough to escort Estel to his room whilst we discuss his punishment, please?"
"Of course, Master Glorfindel," Ilmalin nodded, and rested a hand on the child's back, leading him out of the library. Estel grinned innocently up at her, and with the clemency of Ilúvatar Himself, she returned his smile as though he had done nothing wrong.
Females... Erestor groused to himself, and turned his attention back to Glorfindel, who was no longer attempting to hide a widening smirk. "And what, may I ask, is so amusing about this situation?"
The Elf-lord laughed merrily, his eyes roving between his friend and the vandalised wall. "Well..." he began, stroking his chin thoughtfully with one hand, "the resemblance really is remarkable. Estel has quite a talent. I do believe he has managed to capture the very essence of sourness that composes your personality. You cannot deny that the boy has a gift, Erestor."
Silence.
"...Erestor?"
"Pardon me if I do not share in your mirth at my humiliation, Glorfindel, but I am unable to find it within myself to be gleeful at the defamation of my own character," the darker Elf said lowly, almost spitefully, and Glorfindel had the grace enough to look genuinely apologetic.
"O, come now, Erestor. The boy is but six years of age."
"Yes," Erestor agreed. "Six years of age and human. For his people, such an age is far old enough to know the differences between what is right and what is wrong. So many here fail to remember that and coddle the boy's flaws as though he is an Elfling who has a century to learn the basic values of life, but he is not and he does not! You and I are no exception to this forgetfulness, but Glorfindel it must end now. The boy can be allowed to carry on this way no longer. He is human and he is vulnerable, and he must be taught that he is not invincible, nor is he above any of the rules that the rest of us are bound to. I have had enough of this folly - the boy will learn."
Reluctant as Glorfindel was to admit it, he knew that Erestor was right - Estel would have to learn at the same pace that Men learn, and no amount of sheltering the child in Imladris would change that fact.
With a heavy sigh, the golden-haired Elf moved to stand next to the other advisor and placed a sympathetic arm around Erestor's shoulders.
"Then, my friend," he declared, "we will teach him."
Sauronion - son of Sauron
hína rúcima - terrible child
To all who reviewed the first chapter: Thank you!! I'm absolutely thrilled to get such a positive response from you all! I hope this chapter did not disappoint.
Keeping the balance between the Elvish matter-of-fact way I'm trying to tell this story and the humour has it becoming a touch wordy, so it may be longer than I had anticipated. But the more the merrier, I say. :) I've decided to rotate the points of view by which this will run, as Erestor sort of took over this chapter. The next will feature a lot of Glorfindel, and the one after that should catch up with Elrond and the twins, if all goes according to plan.
Many thanks for reading!