Enyalie
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Author: Etharei
Many thanks to my excellent beta reader, Halo Son
Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One
Author's Notes:
Apologies for the slow pace of the fic, but I think it's essential in building up the characters.
Words in italics indicate thoughts.
The language used by the characters {in 'real-life'} is stated at the beginning of each section.
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Chapter Two: The Hearts of Fathers
[Sindarin]
Four months later...
"Ai, Elrohir, that was not fair!"
"You only say that when you are losing, brother."
"Come Elladan, let us show our brother that even his talent cannot withstand superior numbers."
"Now who is being unfair? Estel, don't you dare- Aiiiieeee!!!"
Elrond could only laugh out loud as he saw Glorfindel throw his hands up in disgust and - after quick consideration- retreat to a safe distance away from the splashes of water.
What had started out as sparring practice between Estel and Elrohir had (as it usually did, more often than not) somehow evolved into a wet, brotherly brawl and even the more mature Elladan had joined the fray. Anyone watching would have thought the three were truly brothers; indeed, even Elrond had to keep reminding himself that Estel was mortal and did not have endurance of Elves, for sometimes the twins got too caught up in their own games. Although he had to admit that the twins usually instinctively knew when their younger sibling was pushing his limit.
Usually.
Perhaps he was being a little too over-protective, but Elrond felt that he should keep an eye on them whilst he still could. Just in case.
To be honest about it though, Elrond was very proud of his sons, and easily forgave these lapses into playfulness. He welcomed it even, for laughter was rare in days of growing shadow. After all, the trio were more than capable of handling themselves in battle, and even Glorfindel confessed that Estel had reached the point where anything else he could learn would be through his brothers and his own experience.
Of course, Elrond made sure that Estel learned from the best in Imladris: Glorfindel, Sulvaen, the twins, and Elrond himself. Quite a lot of the older elves had also participated one way or another in the boy's education, despite initial misgivings about teaching elven ways to a mortal. Once it was clear that Estel was going to be a permanent member of Elrond's family, it seemed as if the older elves secretly welcomed the sight of a youngster in Imladris; there were always too few children. Elrond himself had been quite surprised by how much he had missed having a child in the Last Homely House.
Estel had turned out to be a more than competent fighter, even by elven standards, and could rival Glorfindel at times with the sword. Yet the boy had taken more to lore and healing, much to Elrond's surprise and delight, for he was a master of both. So it was that Estel actually spent more time in the Healing Chambers and buried under a pile of scrolls than in the training yard.
And the twins didn't begrudge their brother's passion either (though sometimes they wished he was more social), for both had their own specialties outside of combat. Elladan, the best scout and fastest of the three, has inherited Elrond's subtlety in speech and mind, and often represented his father in negotiations. Elrohir, true to his name, was a master of beasts (particularly horses) and had inherited his mother's love of song and life, as well as her ringing laugh, and he was the best archer in Imladris.
Ironically, it seemed that of the three it was Estel who took after Elrond most in heart and mind, preferring healing to combat and seeking always to learn of the ways of the different peoples of Middle-Earth. His judgement was fair, and he also had Elrond's ability to see right through the hearts and minds of those around him. Even the twins flinched when those grey eyes were leveled at them in full force.
Sometimes Elrond felt that fate was being unjustifiably cruel.
I had not wanted him, thought Elrond as he recalled the dark, windy night nearly twenty years ago. His dreams had spoken to him: Beware of the Heir who will be King, for he will bring grief to the kin of Lùthien, and Hope to mortal Men.
But doom had befallen him the moment he saw the babe in the arms of Gilraen, for though he always saw a shadow of his brother Elros in his distant predecessors, in Aragorn it had seemed as if his brother had returned from beyond Arda; how could Elrond refuse the one he had mourned in his heart for the past Age?
Elros, how could you choose such a path? Why did you desert me?
At that moment the brothers spotted Glorfindel attempting to hide amongst some beeches, and succeeded in getting their mentor wet, though suddenly collectively decided to dive in the lake at the enraged look on Glorfindel's face.
Spluttering as he floated on the surface of the lake, Estel laughed at the comical sight of a dripping wet Glorfindel attempting to fish out Elrohir with a stick when the elf swam too close to the bank. Feeling his father's gaze, he looked up at the window out of which Elrond was watching them and waved. Elrond responded with a small wave and a resigned smile, which made Estel grin all the more.
What do you mean? I am here. I have not deserted you.
Elrond blinked. It was what his twin would have said, and perhaps in a way it was true. The bond between them could not have been broken by all the ages of Middle-Earth, and thus it pained Elrond even more that his brother had chosen to part them.
And now you have given me Estel, only to have him taken away, too. His people are not mine, and one day he must return to them.
Yet you have reminded me that I could still love a child without my Celebrian. What joy you have given me, brother!
Thank you.
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[Westron]
At the same time, a distance from Rivendell's southern frontiers...
"He will not make it, Rhuidal! We can stop here, they say that Lord Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell is a master of healing. Let us seek aid from him!"
"NO! Sauron take me before I let some Elven filth touch my son," the dark-haired man spat. "No, we will get there in time. We must."
Despite fraying tempers, the two Men kept their voices low so as not to disturb the figure in the wooden cart that was the object of their disagreement.
It was a young boy, pale and sickly-looking, stirring restlessly in his fevered sleep. There was a deep gash on his forearm, still bleeding slightly despite being almost a day old. Infection had obviously set in, probably the cause of the victim's fever.
The small band of humans had been attacked just before dawn of that day by a band of orcs. The orcs seemed more intent on stealing necessities than harming the humans, yet the men protected the precious stores that would have to last them over the Misty Mountains. The defense had been fierce and largely successful, but a lone orc, larger than his brothers, had broken through the line of armed hunters and, faced with death, had attacked the closest vulnerable target- Alhur. Fortunately, the boy had quick reflexes and narrowly escaped a fatal blow. The orc was overwhelmed and slain, and the Men thanked their fortune.
Yet Alhur's wound would not heal, and still bled freely as the sun rose to midday. Eventually he fainted, and had to be carried in the cart as he would not wake and a fever raged through his young body.
The sun was now setting in the western horizon, and the group reluctantly halted and set up camp. Though Rhuidal was reluctant for the delay in stopping, he knew the folly of travelling in sheer darkness. He did not like his feeling of helplessness as he stood back and watched his son fall deeper into darkness. The most skilled in healing amongst them was Gunae, and the man had done all he could. Now his son's survival depended on them making it over the Misty Mountains to a larger settlement of their people in a hidden valley on the other side of the mountain range.
As the wagon stopped a young woman approached it and checked the boy.
"How is he, Érina?"
Rhuidal's elder daughter shook her head sadly. So, it was getting worse. And though he would never admit it, the prospect of losing his son made Rhuidal seriously consider for the first time seeking out the fabled elves of Rivendell, and this Master Elrond. But he quickly abolished the thought.
Better to die than let Elvish magic touch you.
It was what his father had always told him. But for some reason his heart refused to agree.
~*~
[Westron]
"Érina, don't stray so far! It's not safe."
The young woman spun around quickly and smiled at her obviously worried friend coming towards her.
"Meryn, the night is peaceful, and I am still within the camp. There is nothing to worry about." Noting her friend's disapproving glare, she added teasingly, "They say that at night, if you listen hard enough, you can hear the elves singing from hidden Imladris. I was hoping that I could."
Meryn snorted in disgust. "And they can keep on singing as long as they stay away from decent folk like you and me. Elves are wicked and untrustworthy. Ever since we were children you had an obsession with them, and I have always let it be. But one of these days evil will come of it, you mark my words."
"I do not think that elves are wicked," said Érina softly. "I would very much like to meet one, as a matter of fact."
Another snort. "Your father will scrub your mouth out if he hears you talking like that. You know he thinks that Gunae's a bad influence on you."
Érina hid a sigh of relief as what was turning out to be an unwanted debate was interrupted by a call from Meryn's mother for more firewood. With a resigned shake of her head, Meryn stalked off.
"I remember a time when children trusted their parent's judgement before their own," a familiar voice teased. Érina smiled, though she did not look at the old man emerging from one of the tents on outskirts of camp.
"Aye, and there was also a time when the Elder were held in honour and love, instead of fear and hatred. Besides, I am following a parent's judgement- my mother's."
Gunae nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, she did. She would ask me about them all the time, and at night her eyes would turn towards the stars in longing."
Érina's eyes were sad. "I once asked her if she was an elf." Her face was tired. "But times have been dark of late, since she died. And I sense that darker times are coming."
"Aye, dark times are coming." Sometimes Gunäe suspected that Érina had Elvish blood, and of all his people he trusted her most, sharing with her all his knowledge of healing, battle, and particularly elves. Her mother had been one of the most beautiful women he had ever known, and even Rhuidal had mistaken her for an elf-maiden when they first met. Gunae remembered that day; he had been the village healer for twenty years then, and had officiated at their wedding a few months later. Their love for each other ran deep, and her untimely death had marked her husband and children.
"Until fate proves it otherwise, I will not believe that Elves are evil." Érina resembled her grandmother on Rhuidal's side of the family, but her eyes and spirit were all from her mother. Especially her stubbornness
Gunäe chuckled. "Your father was right when he called me a bad influence. People say that you are your father's daughter, yet in this you have always been at odds."
"I am old enough to believe what I choose, am I not?" she sniffed, and turned to leave.
The old man sighed. "A good night to you, daughter of Rhuidal."
"Good night, Iaur Atan."
The old man watched Érina walk towards the centre of camp, and was about to follow when he suddenly stopped. He cocked his head to one side, and anyone watching would have thought he was trying to listen to something. At length he smiled, and lovingly gazed at the clear night sky. The voices of the elves carried him to an Age long past, where in his mind he could see the beauty that was no more.
"Ai Eärendil, estel i Dúnedain."
And for a moment, starlight illuminated him.
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Ai Eärendil, estel eni Dúnedain- Hail Eärendil, hope of the Dúnedain!