Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters
and/or places thereof
Author's Note: Estel's memories are taken from 'Tearful at the Falling of a Star'. I'm not sure how this chapter happened. It just did. Sorry updates have been so rare. I've just started Secondary School and it's crazy. . .
Leggylover03: In this chapter, but not angry. This story may not leave you feeling very warm.
Daw the Minstrel: Sometimes children see things much clearer than adults, for their minds are simpler and less clouded by life.
Gwyn: No Legolas here, either, but in the next chapter. I'm going to write an entire story about him, there's a summary of it in my bio if you're interested.
Littlesaiyangirl: Thanks. You know, it's comments like that which really make my day a lot brighter.
Lady Laughing Owl: If you're going to be so picky, you may as well beta for me! Oh, wait, you were supposed to, but I stopped sending stuff. It's the only way to get a decent response out of you, anyway. I've no idea if Pellatal means anything in Elvish, I got it off a name generator. How could you eat the pie in the presence of the corpse of the woman responsible for baking it? Ewwww. . .Well, I had to save some plot twist for the end. Lysander was my Jean Valjean, if you will. You hate him at first, he repents and you love him. I am yet to learn Valjean's final fate, but for Lysander, none else would do. Considering the last political speech I heard (Arnold. . .) that may be a bad thing. Haha. If he gets elected I will force my dad to switch my full citizenship to British, not this half-and- half. You make the strangest connections with the text: "sleepy, like me". . .anyway, great hearing from you, nice to know you still have space for the old IHP-ers in your busy secondary school life. . .haha, I'm not funny. I'm going to stop babbling now.
*****
"They are here! They have come back!" A young, lilting voice rang through all of Imladris. "They are here, every one!" Oswald had been waiting atop a balcony, his chin resting on the rail, when he saw a line of horses begin their descent into the valley. His attention perked. Could it be them? He squinted for a better look. It was, it was truly them! His blue eyes lit with excitement, blonde braids flying as he dashed through up and down corridors, telling everyone he encountered of his vision. "They are here, they are home again!" he cried joyously. "My brother has come home!"
*****
Estel allowed his weary mind to wander. The slow rhythm of the horse walking beneath him and the feeling of Elrohir mounted behind him filled his head, for it was simpler to feel, to know and accept current circumstance, than to think on it and be forced to admit and to decide. Mustering all his energy Estel lolled his head to one side, meeting the now sideways gaze of Legolas, the reins of a bay mare clutched loosely in his hands, who nodded at him. Rearrangements had been made many times, and now Legolas rode alone. Elladan rode with Elothar, and had hardly allowed her out of his sight since that night. Glorfindel had decided the rest; Estel had not cared to know of any of it. He no longer had the energy to care. Legolas directed his horse closer to Elrohir and Estel.
"It is all over now," said Legolas, lying a hand on Estel's arm. Was it truly over? Had the torture and torment ended now? It seemed so, the death left behind and the struggle finished, yet Estel's mind was not at peace. Much had happened that he could not begin to comprehend. Someday, Elrohir had said, he would understand. Estel did not want to wait for that 'some day'. It seemed all too unfair that he must wait, uncomprehending. "You are home."
Suddenly they rode between two great oaks, whose mingling branches had formed a shield through which only light, not vision, might pass, and as the branches fell into place behind them the sunlight struck them, and truly they were home. It seemed all of Imladris had come to greet them, to celebrate their arrival. How disappointed they must feel, thought Estel, to be greeted only with the sight of many dirty, disheveled, worse-for-wear boys. Surely they anticipated heroes. There was an awesome silence, broken only by the ripple of whispers, as the remaining horses and so-called heroes broke into the clearing and stopped, and it was as though a wall existed between the two groups as parents saw for the first time their sons as men and as sons saw for the first time their parents, siblings and dwelling-neighbors as sheltered, protected people. Shock fell over them as they realized for the first time that although they had been away, and in the span of only three weeks they had changed so that the people who left, that now strangers returned, and by some perverse twisting of nature the world of their childhood remained unchanged, as though their misadventures had been naught but dreams--but they had scars and wounds and hurts to prove reality, some still oozing blood, some only beginning to spread with infection. One boy turned to another and seemed to ask, "Is it for real?" but he dared not truly speak. Only was the silence broken when one of the wounded slipped from off his horse and fell to the ground with a thud. A trance seemed to pass from over them, as cricketsong in summer seems to lay a sticky heat over the world, and with a suddenly jolt one awakens to find that it is morning and the crickets no longer sing.
Suddenly in a flurry of motion everyone was alert. Orders were shouted and carried out, the injured were helped to the Hall of Healing. Estel, uninjured, stood in a daze as the world slipped and slided around him. Colors seemed to mix together and every thing blended into one writhing mass of form and shade, pinks and greens and browns and grays and blues and white. . .There was such noise with all the shouting and worrying and ordering about that an oliphaunt might have gone unheard. Estel heard only the twitters of the birds in the trees and the thoughts of the butterfly, so clear to him as it flew through the crowd, seeming so out of place, bright yellow wings pulsing up and down, carrying the fragile form gracefully through the air. . .
"Sir?" asked a small voice, and Estel felt a tug on his arm. His illusions suddenly whipped away from him. The butterfly was gone. The people were gone. Only this small child, innocent and vulnerable, remained. Estel looked at him, and something in his memory sparked. 'I heard that tadpoles turn into frogs. . .' The mortal knelt, placing one hand on either of the Elf-child's shoulders. Beneath the pliable soft-green fabric of his tunic, his shoulders were bony and harshly lined. His eyes reflected older days, days of happiness and ignorance, days of looking up to his brother with such pride as he ever knew. . .Estel swallowed as he felt a great twanging in his heart. 'Really? Then are -we- going to turn into frogs when we grow up?' "I am looking for my brother, sir. Every one was taller than I am, and I could not see. He is a great warrior, sir, with blonde hair and blue eyes, just like me, and one day I will be just like him."
Estel felt himself shivering within, but stayed still on the outside. 'Have you been by this pool lately? There are tadpoles grown in it!' "Do you not know me, Oswald? I was your friend. . ." Estel could hardly believe that this fragile, naïve little boy had once been his closest friend, yet it was so. This was not because Estel looked down on the boy, but saw him as a different person than the boy who had told a terrible truth and watched the tadpoles in the river. "Lysander. . .fought bravely. He fought well. He was a most noble and worthy comrade. I am sorry."
Oswald faltered. "W-what do you mean?" he asked warily.
"Lysander--Oswald. . .he is not coming back. I am so sorry, child."
"You are lying!" Oswald cried, his lip quivering as tears came to his eyes. "You are a stupid old liar!" He punched Estel as hard as he could, which was not hard by the mortal boy's standards, and ran away, trying hard not to sob. Estel watched him go, thinking that he ought to be following after the child. Why, he might be lost on his own. He might be hurt. It was not safe for him to run about like that.
Estel turned and made his way to the Hall of Healing. He could not clearly see the faces of the people, and the atmosphere seemed to warp him completely. He did not care, but stood about. Why had he come here? Perhaps he meant to help tend the wounded. Perhaps he simply meant to follow. Perhaps he was only tired of leading, and meant again to follow.
"Estel? Estel, are you all right?" Was it because he was a mortal or simply out of paternal love that Lord Elrond's voice held such worry? Estel almost laughed. He was all right. He was unscathed, for crying out loud! He, the mortal, was unscathed!
"I am unhurt," he said.
"Lord Elrond!" It was Glorfindel calling. "Lord Elrond, I am sorry. You are needed." He stopped five paces from the father and son.
"Go," Estel urged. "I am unhurt." With one final, uncertain and reluctant glance and a slow nod, Elrond turned and went back to his work. Estel left the Hall of Healing. He walked without looking up, but his feet knew their way. When he reached his room he sighed, shutting the door behind him. He stripped off his tunic and allowed it to fall to the floor, similarly kicking off his trousers. His garments were too like his body: stifling, sweaty, and blood-stained. Estel fell onto his bed without a thought, drawing the quilt over him and falling into a deep sleep. He woke the next morning as the sunrise poured light into his window. With a groan he looked about and realized what had happened. He rose and drew the curtains angrily, then went back to sleep.
*****
To be continued (looks like two more chapters here, folks. . .making your reviews all the more appreciated!)
Author's Note: Estel's memories are taken from 'Tearful at the Falling of a Star'. I'm not sure how this chapter happened. It just did. Sorry updates have been so rare. I've just started Secondary School and it's crazy. . .
Leggylover03: In this chapter, but not angry. This story may not leave you feeling very warm.
Daw the Minstrel: Sometimes children see things much clearer than adults, for their minds are simpler and less clouded by life.
Gwyn: No Legolas here, either, but in the next chapter. I'm going to write an entire story about him, there's a summary of it in my bio if you're interested.
Littlesaiyangirl: Thanks. You know, it's comments like that which really make my day a lot brighter.
Lady Laughing Owl: If you're going to be so picky, you may as well beta for me! Oh, wait, you were supposed to, but I stopped sending stuff. It's the only way to get a decent response out of you, anyway. I've no idea if Pellatal means anything in Elvish, I got it off a name generator. How could you eat the pie in the presence of the corpse of the woman responsible for baking it? Ewwww. . .Well, I had to save some plot twist for the end. Lysander was my Jean Valjean, if you will. You hate him at first, he repents and you love him. I am yet to learn Valjean's final fate, but for Lysander, none else would do. Considering the last political speech I heard (Arnold. . .) that may be a bad thing. Haha. If he gets elected I will force my dad to switch my full citizenship to British, not this half-and- half. You make the strangest connections with the text: "sleepy, like me". . .anyway, great hearing from you, nice to know you still have space for the old IHP-ers in your busy secondary school life. . .haha, I'm not funny. I'm going to stop babbling now.
*****
"They are here! They have come back!" A young, lilting voice rang through all of Imladris. "They are here, every one!" Oswald had been waiting atop a balcony, his chin resting on the rail, when he saw a line of horses begin their descent into the valley. His attention perked. Could it be them? He squinted for a better look. It was, it was truly them! His blue eyes lit with excitement, blonde braids flying as he dashed through up and down corridors, telling everyone he encountered of his vision. "They are here, they are home again!" he cried joyously. "My brother has come home!"
*****
Estel allowed his weary mind to wander. The slow rhythm of the horse walking beneath him and the feeling of Elrohir mounted behind him filled his head, for it was simpler to feel, to know and accept current circumstance, than to think on it and be forced to admit and to decide. Mustering all his energy Estel lolled his head to one side, meeting the now sideways gaze of Legolas, the reins of a bay mare clutched loosely in his hands, who nodded at him. Rearrangements had been made many times, and now Legolas rode alone. Elladan rode with Elothar, and had hardly allowed her out of his sight since that night. Glorfindel had decided the rest; Estel had not cared to know of any of it. He no longer had the energy to care. Legolas directed his horse closer to Elrohir and Estel.
"It is all over now," said Legolas, lying a hand on Estel's arm. Was it truly over? Had the torture and torment ended now? It seemed so, the death left behind and the struggle finished, yet Estel's mind was not at peace. Much had happened that he could not begin to comprehend. Someday, Elrohir had said, he would understand. Estel did not want to wait for that 'some day'. It seemed all too unfair that he must wait, uncomprehending. "You are home."
Suddenly they rode between two great oaks, whose mingling branches had formed a shield through which only light, not vision, might pass, and as the branches fell into place behind them the sunlight struck them, and truly they were home. It seemed all of Imladris had come to greet them, to celebrate their arrival. How disappointed they must feel, thought Estel, to be greeted only with the sight of many dirty, disheveled, worse-for-wear boys. Surely they anticipated heroes. There was an awesome silence, broken only by the ripple of whispers, as the remaining horses and so-called heroes broke into the clearing and stopped, and it was as though a wall existed between the two groups as parents saw for the first time their sons as men and as sons saw for the first time their parents, siblings and dwelling-neighbors as sheltered, protected people. Shock fell over them as they realized for the first time that although they had been away, and in the span of only three weeks they had changed so that the people who left, that now strangers returned, and by some perverse twisting of nature the world of their childhood remained unchanged, as though their misadventures had been naught but dreams--but they had scars and wounds and hurts to prove reality, some still oozing blood, some only beginning to spread with infection. One boy turned to another and seemed to ask, "Is it for real?" but he dared not truly speak. Only was the silence broken when one of the wounded slipped from off his horse and fell to the ground with a thud. A trance seemed to pass from over them, as cricketsong in summer seems to lay a sticky heat over the world, and with a suddenly jolt one awakens to find that it is morning and the crickets no longer sing.
Suddenly in a flurry of motion everyone was alert. Orders were shouted and carried out, the injured were helped to the Hall of Healing. Estel, uninjured, stood in a daze as the world slipped and slided around him. Colors seemed to mix together and every thing blended into one writhing mass of form and shade, pinks and greens and browns and grays and blues and white. . .There was such noise with all the shouting and worrying and ordering about that an oliphaunt might have gone unheard. Estel heard only the twitters of the birds in the trees and the thoughts of the butterfly, so clear to him as it flew through the crowd, seeming so out of place, bright yellow wings pulsing up and down, carrying the fragile form gracefully through the air. . .
"Sir?" asked a small voice, and Estel felt a tug on his arm. His illusions suddenly whipped away from him. The butterfly was gone. The people were gone. Only this small child, innocent and vulnerable, remained. Estel looked at him, and something in his memory sparked. 'I heard that tadpoles turn into frogs. . .' The mortal knelt, placing one hand on either of the Elf-child's shoulders. Beneath the pliable soft-green fabric of his tunic, his shoulders were bony and harshly lined. His eyes reflected older days, days of happiness and ignorance, days of looking up to his brother with such pride as he ever knew. . .Estel swallowed as he felt a great twanging in his heart. 'Really? Then are -we- going to turn into frogs when we grow up?' "I am looking for my brother, sir. Every one was taller than I am, and I could not see. He is a great warrior, sir, with blonde hair and blue eyes, just like me, and one day I will be just like him."
Estel felt himself shivering within, but stayed still on the outside. 'Have you been by this pool lately? There are tadpoles grown in it!' "Do you not know me, Oswald? I was your friend. . ." Estel could hardly believe that this fragile, naïve little boy had once been his closest friend, yet it was so. This was not because Estel looked down on the boy, but saw him as a different person than the boy who had told a terrible truth and watched the tadpoles in the river. "Lysander. . .fought bravely. He fought well. He was a most noble and worthy comrade. I am sorry."
Oswald faltered. "W-what do you mean?" he asked warily.
"Lysander--Oswald. . .he is not coming back. I am so sorry, child."
"You are lying!" Oswald cried, his lip quivering as tears came to his eyes. "You are a stupid old liar!" He punched Estel as hard as he could, which was not hard by the mortal boy's standards, and ran away, trying hard not to sob. Estel watched him go, thinking that he ought to be following after the child. Why, he might be lost on his own. He might be hurt. It was not safe for him to run about like that.
Estel turned and made his way to the Hall of Healing. He could not clearly see the faces of the people, and the atmosphere seemed to warp him completely. He did not care, but stood about. Why had he come here? Perhaps he meant to help tend the wounded. Perhaps he simply meant to follow. Perhaps he was only tired of leading, and meant again to follow.
"Estel? Estel, are you all right?" Was it because he was a mortal or simply out of paternal love that Lord Elrond's voice held such worry? Estel almost laughed. He was all right. He was unscathed, for crying out loud! He, the mortal, was unscathed!
"I am unhurt," he said.
"Lord Elrond!" It was Glorfindel calling. "Lord Elrond, I am sorry. You are needed." He stopped five paces from the father and son.
"Go," Estel urged. "I am unhurt." With one final, uncertain and reluctant glance and a slow nod, Elrond turned and went back to his work. Estel left the Hall of Healing. He walked without looking up, but his feet knew their way. When he reached his room he sighed, shutting the door behind him. He stripped off his tunic and allowed it to fall to the floor, similarly kicking off his trousers. His garments were too like his body: stifling, sweaty, and blood-stained. Estel fell onto his bed without a thought, drawing the quilt over him and falling into a deep sleep. He woke the next morning as the sunrise poured light into his window. With a groan he looked about and realized what had happened. He rose and drew the curtains angrily, then went back to sleep.
*****
To be continued (looks like two more chapters here, folks. . .making your reviews all the more appreciated!)
