The Empty Chair
Disclaimers: All characters etc belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate. Only the plot is mine. No money is being made and no infringement of copyright is intended.
Rating: PG
Summary: After a tiring day, Estel notices that there is an empty chair in the Hall of Fire and asks Elrond about it. Sweet Estel childhood fic. Elrond/Celebrían.
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Thanks to Nemis for betaing this and pointing out my more amusing typos.
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The great blaze in the Hall of Fire danced and flickered, casting a warm light on the assembled elves despite the cold of the autumn night outside.
Elrond gazed into the flames, his face lit by the comforting glare and his thoughts far away. A sweet melody swirled around the elf-lord, and although he did not join in the singing, it soothed his soul and for the briefest of moments he was able to set aside the cares of Imladris and of all Middle-earth.
His sons sat across from him, talking in animated whispers with Glorfindel about their latest exploits in the Misty Mountains, from which they had returned only that afternoon as the sun set, muddied and bruised. Secretly Elrond hoped that the fast approaching snows would keep them in the valley until springtime, but he realised with a twinge that it was more likely that they would set out in a matter of days to pursue orcs once more. He knew that however much he wished to he could not keep them from their vengeful crusade, and he longed for the company of their sister, far away in Lothlórien.
He put that thought sternly from his mind.
"Ada!" a piping voice chimed from the doorway.
Looking up Elrond saw Estel hovering there, his dark hair wild and his childish face split by an enormous smile. The elf-lord opened his arms wide and the boy flung himself across the room, swinging himself up into his foster-father's lap.
Elrond cuddled the child tightly, relishing these few fleeting moments with the young descendent of his brother, acutely aware as he always was that in such a short time, by the reckoning of the elves, they would be taken from him forever.
"What did you do today, my son?" he asked.
Shifting his body so that he could look up into the elf's
face, Estel replied promptly, "Glorfi showed me how to hold a sword. It was very exciting, but Erestor did not
like it and made me learn Quenya."
"But Quenya is very important, and you will have great need of it," Elrond reproved him gently.
"It is not as interesting as swords. I shall kill many, many orcs with a big sword, and … and you will be proud of me and I will bring their heads to you," the child maintained stubbornly.
Laughing, Elrond kissed the top of his tousled head, although he was horrified by the prospect of this child alone in the wilds wielding a blade against the darkness. He knew it was Estel's destiny, but that did not alleviate his distress. He gazed into the distance, afraid that when he looked back he might see a fierce-eyed warrior instead of this mere babe.
Shaking his head to dispel the foolish fancy he looked down at the child cradled in his arms, recalling wistfully the gleam of joy in the eyes of the twins when they had first learnt how to handle weapons. Eventually exasperated with the clumsy metal and their own limbs they had cast the small swords aside and wrestled each other in the grass while he and Celebrían laughed.
When they were older still Arwen had followed the proud young men around Imladris, brandishing a sharpened stick in one hand, determined not to be left behind. They had relented and taught her the skills which her father was too fearful to.
But this child would grow so quickly, and in a few years the burden of his destiny would fall upon his shoulders and he would no longer be Estel, but the Chieftain of the Dunedáin and the heir of Isildur. Then Elrond would be forced to watch as scars accumulated on his body and soul and mortal age slowly crushed him.
Elrond hugged the tiny body closer, revelling for now in the beat of the small heart next to his, and in the way Estel's arms snaked around him as he sank into sleep.
"It is time for you to go to bed, child," he murmured.
Estel's hair rasped against the elf's tunic as he shook his head ferociously.
"No. Please do not make me go."
Elrond succumbed to the appeal in those drowsy eyes and allowed him to remain.
"Thank you, Ada," Estel whispered.
As the singing drew to a close and a great hush fell in the hall, Elrond began to sing the Lay of Leithian, his powerful voice rising and falling as he recounted the tale of his ancestors, of Lúthien and Beren whom she had loved and for whom she had given up her immortality. No other voices joined his as he lamented their passing beyond the circles of Arda with melancholy sweetness, the notes capturing the joy and loss of times gone by. Instead, appreciative faces turned to him. When the final notes faded away, there was silence once again.
"Ada," Estel said although the elf had believed him to be asleep.
"Yes?"
"Why is there an empty chair there?" He pointed to the seat beside the one which the Master of Rivendell occupied. "All the others have people in them, but no one ever sits in that one. Why?"
Elrond stiffened. It was her chair and when he was here alone he could almost feel her in it, as he could sometimes imagine her curled up next to him in their lonely bed. For an instant he contemplated setting the child to the floor and striding from the room to lose himself in his memories, sinking into grief, but such was the innocence of the enquiry that he found he could not.
"Come with me, he said, rising from the chair with the youngster in his arms. Estel looked at him uncertainly, afraid that he had caused his foster-father some great offence, but when the grey eyes remained calm and benevolent he locked his arms around Elrond's neck.
The elf-lord walked to his study, not even flinching when Estel's fingers accidentally tangled in his black hair, tugging it slightly.
Settling the child into a chair, Elrond passed him a simple sketch. The child scrutinised it intently.
"What is it?"
Perching himself on the corner of the desk, Elrond murmured, "That is my Celebrían."
"Your what?"
"My wife."
"Oh!"
Estel looked at the picture more closely. Elrond was glad that the child was too young to notice that the elf-maiden was clad only in a sheet, or that the strokes of the pencil had captured a certain gleam in her eyes.
"Who drew this?" Estel inquired.
"I did, one morning," Elrond answered, trying to restrain the flood of memories.
"I did not know you could draw."
"Nor did I, nor did I," Elrond sighed, and lost himself to bittersweet recollection of the past.
Celebrían had slept with one hand curled under her head, replete in the aftermath of their dawn lovemaking. He had simply watched her, marvelling at the way the light sparkled on her hair and in her dreaming blue eyes. Almost involuntarily he had reached out, finding pencil and paper close at hand, and, his eyes still fixed adoringly on her face, begun to draw her, tracing the lines of her beauty with the lead as he had just done with his fingers.
When the sketch was nearly completed she had blinked up at him and smiled wickedly. With a last flourish he had finished his drawing and captured her in his arms. Their lips met, irresistible fire drawing them together…
For the sake of that morning, when there was nothing in Arda but the two of them, he treasured this picture above all else now that she had gone away.
Estel's voice called him back to reality, seemingly so bleak without her.
"Where is she, Ada?" he asked, confused.
"Do you remember your lessons about Valinor?" Elrond said.
"Yes…"
"She has gone over the sea to Valinor," the elf stated. "She has left these shores."
"Will you follow her?" Estel's voice was tinged with fear.
"Not yet. Not until you are fully grown," Elrond promised. He did not dare to mention the other responsibilities which kept him in Middle-earth.
"Then I shall not grow. I shall be like an elf and it will be a very, very, very long time before you can leave me," Estel said obstinately.
Elrond laughed, smoothing the dark hair with his hands.
"It will not be so terrible," he whispered, but he was unable to keep the sorrow out of his voice and Estel shook his head vigorously.
They sat in silence until the Edain child's brow furrowed once more.
"Did you love her?" he asked.
"Very much indeed: more than anything else; more than the sunlight," Elrond replied vehemently, aware that the sense of his words might elude the child.
"And did she love you?"
"I dare to believe so, yes," Elrond said, remembering the ardent way she had kissed him farewell despite the weakness of her body, and her declaration of love beside the Bruinen which had jerked him out of his grief over the death of his King, whom he had called father.
"Then why did she leave you?" Estel demanded.
Fresh despair gnawed at the elf.
*Why indeed?*
But he knew in his heart that it was not a lack of love which sped her on her journey across the Sundering Seas.
"Bad things happened to her and she could not stay."
"What sort of things?" Estel inquired, not yet old enough to realise the pain he was causing.
Images assailed Elrond, brief fragments of sensation he had felt through his bond with his wife. Pain. Suffering beyond description. Blood. Leering faces. The feeling of being dragged along rough stone until flesh was raw and bloodied. The searing agony of a poisoned arrow plunged into the shoulder…
Elrond lifted the child from the chair before sitting down with Estel in his lap. He cupped the child's head between his hands. He was unwilling to impart this information to one so young, but knew that Estel would not give up until he had the truth, and that, in the near future it would be thrust upon him with all the other horrors of the marred world.
*Better that he learns it from one he trusts…*
"Earlier you spoke of orcs," he said quietly.
"They are evil and nasty and Elladan and Elrohir hate them. They said that one day they will take me with them when they go to kill them."
Elrond did not know whether to laugh or cry.
"Did the twins ever tell you why they hate the orcs so much?"
Estel shook his head solemnly.
"They would not. They just said that orcs are bad, and then they went away again."
"Orcs are bad," Elrond reaffirmed. He paused. "But Elladan and Elrohir hate them so much because the orcs took their mother, my wife." He struggled for words. "They were cruel to her, and gave her a poisoned wound. Although I could heal her injuries I could not stop her hurting in her soul. Only blessed Valinor could heal that, so she left."
He closed his eyes in misery as he recalled her torment. The manner of her departure would always pain him like salt in a new cut.
To his surprise he found small fingers on his face, brushing away the tears which pooled on his cheeks.
"Do not cry, Ada," Estel begged. "Please do not cry."
He hugged the Edain boy.
"I cry only for the past, for I pray that she waits for me beyond the sea," he responded. "But for now I have my children and Rivendell. Until we meet again that will more than content me. Now, tell me more about what Glorfindel taught you today."
He listened to the boy's enraptured descriptions of basic swordplay until his eyelids drooped. Scooping him up he bore him to his bedchamber, tucking him into the small bed.
Returning to his own room, he shed his own garments and slipped into bed, and, in that solitary stillness, surrendered to his dreams.
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"Meleth-nîn," a voice called, but he ignored it, knowing that he was dreaming.
"Meleth-nîn," it persisted, and out of the formlessness a figure appeared.
Not caring any more whether he was waking or dreaming Elrond ran towards it.
"Melethril," he rejoiced. "Celebrían-nîn, are you truly here?"
"I am here in truth, if not in reality," she replied somewhat cryptically. "I am always with you."
"Is this then merely a delusion of my sleeping mind?" he inquired desperately.
"Say rather that it is only here that we can meet until we are reunited," she whispered in his ear. "This dreamland somewhere between what is and what might be will be our solace, my beloved Elrond."
He kissed her passionately, feeling her lips part between his, lost to everything else.
"It has been an eternity," he said hoarsely when they parted to catch a breath. "I have missed you so much that my heart bleeds."
"An eternity indeed, even in Aman," she echoed. "And I have missed you, but you have duties to fulfil, and the child needs you."
"I know. I shall not leave Middle-earth until the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron vanquished, but I yearn for you, and I wish I could cross the sea."
She kissed him again, slowly, sweetly.
"Do not fear, El-nîn, for all will be well, and I will greet you on the shores of the Undying Lands and from that day forth we will be together once more."
"I hope so," he breathed. "I hope so, for I love you more than I can tell."
"I know, for that fire is in my heart also, but have hope."
"I shall, for all my hope is in you, and I shall neither falter nor fail for
your sake."
And for once he slept peacefully, no joyless toils burdening him, until he awoke to the new dawn.
FINIS
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Translations:
Ada – daddy, father (shortening of Adar – father)
Meleth-nîn – my love
Melethril – (female) lover
Celebrían-nîn – my Celebrían
El-nîn – my star.