His Lordship
v. 3.5
"Erestor, what are you and Lord Elrond talking so heatedly about?"
Erestor and Lord Elrond turned to see Malfanaion, called Figwit, standing in the doorway. It was the middle of the night. He should have been asleep, or out roaming in the forest with the other youths. But there he was, with a questioning look in his eyes.
Elrond's face had almost been purple from his shouting at Erestor. But when the mighty Elf-lord saw Figwit in the doorway, all the blood drained from his face and left him cold. "Malfanaion!" Lord Elrond always called Figwit by his proper name.
On the other hand Erestor; the chief counselor, keeper of the library, and probably the smartest Elf in Rivendell; seemed to calm down when he entered the room. Judging from what Figwit had heard, a vast majority of the shouting had come from Erestor, as usual. Erestor was generally on the offense with his snide remarks and clever barbs; his sharp tongue was enough to make the watchwardens of Lórien back out of a conversation.
Erestor and Elrond had been embroiled in an intense verbal fracas for the last week or so. None of the Elves, particularly the younger ones, were sure of what had made Elrond and Erestor finally be honest about their secret disdain for each other; they had always held their tongues, in a mutual desire to keep factions from occurring in Rivendell. Elrond originally chose Erestor as his chief advisor to keep his authority in check, but now the Elf-lord was starting to resent Erestor's blatant disesteem for authority, and his gloating air of superiority (It rivaled that of the most haughty of Vanyar).
"Figwit, my dear boy!" Erestor walked over to Figwit and firmly placed a hand on his shoulder. A smile spread over his face as he spoke, "How would you like a story from your old Uncle Erestor?"
Figwit recoiled slightly under the scholar's stare. This situation felt wrong to him. Erestor was usually too busy being bitter and secretive to be nice to Figwit, let alone spend any quality time with him. Of course, he did see much of Erestor; he'd been like a father to Figwit, and he was greatly loved and admired by his young charge; but Erestor would constantly remind the little spawn of who-knows of his lowly station in life. There was a peculiarity about Erestor's aloofness, like he was saving Figwit for some deeper, darker purpose. Figwit always hoped that the day would come when Erestor would show him some form of affection; but now that it had finally happened, he wasn't so sure that he liked it.
"Erestor!" Lord Elrond gripped the desk he was standing in front of, and his knuckles turned white. The low growl in his voice reflected the rushing of boiling blood in his veins, as all of it flowed from his already pale visage. "You wouldn't dare--"
"Goodness, Your Lordship," Erestor's wicked grin was irrepressible. Did he have something on Elrond? "I can hear the blood draining from your face!" Figwit didn't doubt this; all of Erestor's former students knew that Erestor's hearing surpassed even that of most Elves. "Whatever could be the matter?" Amusement lingered in his shiny black eyes.
At that point, Erestor and Elrond locked eyes in a staring contest, intense enough to scare off Fëanor himself. They almost seemed to be having a wordless conversation; a contest of psychic powers; an out-of-body battle in the wraith-world—the more sensational the theory, the more likely it was that Erestor could do it. Some pretty strange rumors were centered around the young Elf's former teacher and mentor.
And then finally, without any sign as to who'd won the epic battle, the two Elves set their eyes on Figwit. The young advisor felt like he was shrinking under the gaze of the two older Elves--under Lord Elrond's dead- fish stare and under Erestor's austere scrutiny.
"Why, nothing at all. I only wish to tell you one of my favorite tales, that's all!" Erestor leaned in, as though he was letting Figwit in on a little secret. "And it's a true story, you know." The warm oiliness of his voice, the false affability revealed an underlying hostility that put Figwit on edge. At whom was this devious malice aimed?
Figwit glanced at Elrond. His eyes were wide, shifting from Erestor to Figwit and back mistrustfully, as though they were inquisitors and he was a heretic.
Whatever this secret was, Erestor had obviously struck on something very interesting. Figwit looked intently back at Erestor, his unease waning slightly. "Is it really true?"
"Erestor." Elrond never lost control over his underlings like this. Every last one of his subordinates, whether they were centuries his senior or a millennium younger, paid him the honor that was due such an esteemed lord. So it would seem that Elrond wasn't sure how to handle Erestor's blatant defiance. It was almost funny to watch.
Erestor smiled, and his gleaming white teeth, with unnaturally sharp canines, were contrasted with his smooth dark skin. He sat on the desk—deliberately turning his back on Lord Elrond—crossed his legs, and clasped his hands together on one knee. "Of course it is! I'd never lie to you, Figwit. Would you lie to Figwit, Lord Elrond?" Erestor peered over his shoulder at Elrond, who was shakily pouring himself a glass of his strongest miruvor. The wily advisor's brows were raised as he glanced at his liege with wicked inquisitiveness.
Elrond didn't dare look at him until he'd emptied his wineglass, which didn't take long at all. "That isn't funny, Erestor. Now Malfanaion, you are to go to your room and remain there until I send for you."
Erestor spun around to face Elrond and crossed his arms. "Now Elrond, I do think he needs to hear this—"
"Hear what? What do I need to hear?" Figwit's ears were positively itching by now. He had to hear the secret! He looked at them, matching Elrond's furrowed brow with his own frown. "What are you hiding from me that I need to know?"
This struck a chord somewhere deep inside the Elf-Lord. Resisting the urge to double over with nausea, he looked at Erestor—almost pleadingly. "Not like this, Erestor."
Erestor paused, and he weighed carefully his options. But he only turned his back on Elrond again. Figwit sat down on a chair facing his much- admired teacher.
"There once was an Elf, an Elf-Lord to be exact," Erestor began. "He had a brother, a twin brother, but his brother is now dead."
"Dead? How come?" Figwit was leaning forward in his seat already. "Was he killed in a battle?"
"No, 'twas no great war that claimed his life. 'Twas because he chose to live among the Humans."
"The Humans!" Figwit tried not to cringe. Lord Elrond would always tell him that most civilized humans were their friends. Still, Figwit couldn't help but be repulsed. To live among them was just too much.
Erestor relished the little Elf's reaction. He leaned closer and closer as he spoke, his hands gripping the desk he sat upon, as his voice took on a quality that chilled Figwit. "Yes, little one, the Humans. They say that his hair became grey, and then a faded white and that he grew whiskers, and lost his mind before he died. just like the mortals, among whom he chose to live."
Elrond slammed down his goblet and decanter, and he whirled around—he'd been busy knocking back another glass of miruvor—to give Erestor his most piercing death-stare. "Erestor! Hold your tongue!"
Elrond and all his anger were lost to Figwit now. He belonged to the storyteller. He was mesmerized by Erestor's words. "Did he really?" Figwit's voice was usually filled with a childlike awe—a reverence— whenever he talked to Erestor. This instance was no different.
Erestor also was unaffected by Elrond's presence. He went on speaking as though Elrond wasn't there. "I have no reason to doubt the rumors. Such symptoms could only be expected to occur, if one is going to live with those filthy mortals!"
"What about his parents?"
Without giving Elrond a chance to interrupt, Erestor resumed his story. "When the Elf-Lord and his brother were little more than infants, their father abandoned them, going off in search of the West. About a century or two afterward, when their home was sacked-"
"Wait a minute. You're talking about Lord Elrond!"
"M--Malfanaion!" Elrond looked at Figwit in astonishment. "How would you know about--?!"
Erestor stood and walked up to Elrond with a smug expression on his face. "My dear Lord Elrond, do quit fooling yourself! Everyone knows your tragic life story, and it is beyond me to understand why you think otherwise."
Elrond slowly looked away, and then returned to the half-empty decanter.
Erestor turned back to Figwit, dragging a chair over to sit next to him. "Now, Figwit, to continue the story.
"At a very young age, even before he was kidnapped by the Sons of Fëanor, Elrond was arranged to marry the beautiful Lady Celebrián. But he and everyone else seemed to forget about those arrangements, all except for a certain, lone scholar—"
"You?" Figwit's eyes brightened as the imagery played out in his head to the tune of Erestor's deep, canorous voice.
Erestor smirked and nodded. "—Mm—when he met a gorgeous Elf-maiden in the Grey Havens. Lord Elrond made her his wife, and she bore him a son."
"Were they happy together, Erestor?"
Elrond didn't look back at them, and didn't say a word.
"Very. She loved him with all of her heart." Erestor didn't seem to mind the effect that it had on Elrond, to resurrect such memories.
Figwit cocked his head to one side and frowned. The story still had yet to be pieced together with his reality. "But... what happened to her? And who is their son? Do I know him?"
"No!" Elrond said all too quickly, after hastily regaining his composure. He looked at Erestor desperately, praying under his breath that he would have mercy and lay the past back to rest without another word.
Erestor didn't even bat an eye in Elrond's direction, and continued as though it were just him and the boy. "Figwit, do try to be patient. I'm getting to that.
"Now it came to pass that Lord Elrond was sent out from the Grey Havens to establish a refuge for the misfortunate Elves of Eregion. His wife and son stayed behind with me, as the dear woman was content to wait for him forever if need be. Indeed, she waited a very long time."
Elrond felt his anger rising again. He hung onto it for strength. "Erestor, do not say such things! I didn't—"
"—didn't desert them?" Erestor finished for him with his characteristic moue. "You are starting to sound suspicious, my Lord."
Figwit shook his head in disbelief. "So... so Lord Elrond just left his family behind and forgot about them?"
Elrond cringed in horror at the thought, and almost cried out for forgiveness before the verdict was reached.
Erestor put a finger to his lips, making it look like he was thinking hard about Figwit's words. "Hmm. that is a very interesting thought, my boy..." he drawled playfully.
Figwit stood up and clenched his fists in indignation. "Lord Elrond's a good person! He wouldn't do that!" He glanced at Elrond. "Would you?" Lord Elrond only stared blankly at him. "Would you, my Lord?"
"Erestor..." Elrond's voice was filled with pain and frustration now. He grabbed hold of Erestor's shoulders and looked him in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
Erestor stared back at Lord Elrond, with a wicked sneer on his face. "Where was I?" Erestor turned back to Figwit and smiled sweetly, looking upon him with such mock-affection. He shook himself free of Elrond and pushed him away, as if the Elf-Lord was a mere peon, and he propped his feet up on the desk. "Oh yes. now I remember!"
Elrond tried a new tactic. "Leave him alone!"
Figwit clenched his fists again, this time in defiance. "No!" But he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, and then tried again. "I mean, with all due respect, your Lordship, I'd like to hear him out."
"But why, Figwit? Why?" Elrond couldn't hide the fact that he was more than wary of where Figwit's curiosity would lead the conversation. "This old sinner spews only lies! To listen to him is folly!"
Again, there was no ear that would hear Elrond's warning. Erestor continued his tragic narration, "Later on Lord Elrond sent word for me to bring his family to him, and so I departed immediately. But we were waylaid by Orcs on the way there, and barely escaped with our lives. The woman was grievously wounded, by a poison-tipped javelin." Figwit shuddered when he heard this. The Orcs knew which poisons worked the fastest on Elves, and their victims rarely survived such an attack—especially the Elf-maidens, who weren't always born with the same sturdiness as their Human counterparts. Erestor went on, "By the time I'd brought them to Imaldris, the woman was nearing the end of her short life. She had only the strength to suckle her infant one last time, and cling feebly to her inconsolable lover in her last few moments of life."
"How awful." Figwit glanced at Elrond sympathetically, who quickly turned away from them.
"Yes, Figwit. It was tragic." Erestor didn't seem to sound too upset as he spoke, though. He fed every cruel detail to Figwit with a trace of smile on his face. "You could see the pain in her eyes, as she lay there suffering from the poison in her wounds, despite how she'd insisted that she could ask for no happier fate than the one she was given."
For a while, the room was silent. And then Elrond tried to pull himself together and spoke to Erestor with a shaky voice. "Please, Erestor. Speak no more of this."
"And what happened to the baby? Did he die?" Figwit took one glance at Elrond, and he was sorry that he'd asked such a thoughtless question.
But Erestor chuckled out loud, as though all of this were some hilarious joke. He sat up and placed a hand on Figwit's shoulder. "Of course not, my dear boy! Golradir and I nursed him back to health, and he lives to this day—brought up as an orphan, of course," Erestor artfully played off this last part as a minor detail, baiting the innocent young Elf's sense of righteousness.
Figwit tried to work this out logically, but something inside his naïve little mind was telling him that this wasn't right. "But why? Is it because of Lady Celebrián?"
Erestor thought for a moment, and then looked back at Figwit. "One could say that. Shortly after this time, fair Lady Celebrián was given over to Lord Elrond by Lord Celeborn, for she was getting along in years and her father grew impatient at his would-be son-in-law. So Lord Elrond swore all who knew of his former marriage into secrecy, so that Lord Celeborn wouldn't suspect that his son-in-law had been married to another. That way his reputation-quite possibly even his position-would be safe (Imagine how hard it would be, explaining to one's wife why there's a little urchin following you about and calling you 'Ada').
"Thus his firstborn son was, in one tragic night, reduced in status to that of a forsaken whelp of some obscure refugee."
"But that's terrible!" Figwit couldn't bear this any longer. He'd thought so highly of Lord Elrond. "My Lord, how could you do such a thing?"
"No!" Elrond cried out in horror. He was on the brink of falling to his knees before Figwit. "You don't understand, Malfanaion!"
Erestor stood. "Oh, but my Lord, I believe the child understands perfectly!" His smile was wider than ever, and his eyes were luminous with energy. Could he have possibly enjoyed this moment more than he was now?
"You! You stay out of this, Erestor!" Lord Elrond was fuming again. "'Tis none of your business!" It wasn't fair. Erestor was casting such a light on this story, that everything was twisted and contorted until he was made to look as wicked as Sauron. Why did Erestor take so much pleasure in tormenting him?
But Erestor was beyond the point of merely enjoying himself. He was consumed. "It would seem that it is my duty to reveal the truth of Figwit's origin, since you have renounced him, Lord Elrond!" Instantly, all eyes were on the horrified Figwit.
Figwit gasped, at a loss for words. He was out of his chair immediately, and he almost knocked it over as he stood. He wanted to flee from the room.
"Curse the day you were born, Erestor!" Instantly, Lord Elrond's thoughts were of all the way he could hurt his mutinous advisor. He wanted to hit Erestor. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to cause him the most agonizing pain possible, until he begged for mercy. But he knew that nothing he could do to Erestor could ease the pain that Figwit was going through.
Figwit finally found his voice again. "It—it can't be..." But he still couldn't say much. So many thoughts were racing through his mind. He looked to Erestor for answers, for comfort-for anything that he could cling desperately to. He looked for some trace of sympathy in his eyes.
"It is true, my dear Figwit." But Erestor's face—and most of all his voice—revealed no traces of sympathy.
Instead, his eyes burned in a way that frightened poor Figwit. He seemed to enjoy watching Figwit's peaceful little life be blasted to pieces by this harsh new reality. Figwit's head swam; he was exactly where Erestor wanted him to be.
Figwit wasn't the only other person who's life was spinning out of control. "Malfanaion... I didn't mean for you to find out like this."
Erestor repressed—just barely—his desire to laugh at Lord Elrond. "You didn't mean for him to find out at all!" His eyes locked on to Figwit's again. He literally backed the little Elf into a corner as he continued his verbal assault. "Now—little one—" Erestor spat the term of affection out of his mouth as though it tasted like old cerumen, "as I was saying, he forgot all about raising you like one of his own. Why, even his infernal nephew Aragorn receives more love and attention from him than you ever did!
"Oh, doubtlessly he did protect you from afar—but only enough to soothe his nagging conscience! Why else would he place you so close to a ranger during our last council meeting? It was so you weren't eaten alive by the real councilors, of course!
"And now you see why you've grown up to be such a mewling, witless, horrid little urchin—because he didn't truly care whether you lived or died, or whether you grew dull and vapid from lack of a proper education."
Elrond's skin felt clammy, and the color was gone from his face. He tried to convince the others—to convince himself—that he had been a good father, a good guardian—anything. "I saw to it that he lacked nothing, you know that just as well as I do! I even appointed you to teach him alongside my son—alongside Elrohir and Elladan!" But Lord Elrond knew that his excuses, if there were any at all, were weak. He wasn't fooling anyone. And that little slip of the words didn't go unnoticed, either.
Erestor shook his head, but he didn't take his eyes off Figwit, nor did the traces of his secret, sinister smile go away. "He lacked much, my Lord. It takes more than a brilliant scholar to make one a truly complete person. He knew nothing of who he really was, except for what those around him were permitted to hint at."
Elrond was bearing down on his chief councilor, unable to take any more of this. "You're out of line!"
Figwit could feel a lump growing in his throat. It felt like a mass of rocks and thorns. His eyes were welling up with tears. "Why are you being like this, Erestor?" His feeble voice cracked slightly as he spoke. He felt so helpless at that moment, and Erestor's ruthless stare didn't help the vulnerable feeling go away. He couldn't understand why the one he looked up to the most wanted to hurt him so deeply.
Erestor was no longer smiling. His voice trembled with ire, the whimpering of the heart-broken Figwit only feeding his anger. "I'm not slandering you, you pathetic little imp!" There was a new kind of poison in his voice now—intended for Elrond, though Figwit was verily wounded by his keeper's hurtful words. "I'm accusing you, my Lord, holding you accountable for crimes that you have gotten away with for too long!" He finally turned on Elrond and diverted his piercing gaze from Figwit, who wanted to curl up and weep. Erestor walked over to where Elrond stood, and brought down his indictment upon the stunned Elf-Lord:
"I also had a family, in the days when Gondolin was still standing. It was there that I dwelt with my adoring wife and my two beautiful daughters. And it was there that they were stolen from me forever, by Morgoth himself; it was there that I watched the only people who mattered to me die-and was left living, tortured by the memory. And now I have watched your generation grow to become what it is now, the jaded, listless generation that it is! Our ancestors would be shamed by your state of decay. I have witnessed your entire life from the day you were carried to the Lindon by Maglor.
"For too long have I watched you squander your blessings, and alienate your family from you without giving a single thought to the consequences of your actions-or your lack thereof? Do you think that your sons stay so far from this house for the sole purpose of decimating random hordes of Orcs? And do you really think that dear, sweet Lady Arwen, the beloved of all who gaze upon her, doesn't linger on the thought of someday being rid of you? And your cherished second wife, Lady Celebrián-why do you really think she left for the West?"
"Enough!" Elrond, incapable of controlling himself any longer, backhanded Erestor across the face, and knocked him to the ground.
Erestor didn't cry out in pain. He didn't put a hand to the bloody gash left by Elrond's signet ring. He didn't even flinch. Erestor had an unearthly control over his mind and body, and, it would seem, over the fears and emotions of everyone around him.
The usually mild-mannered Lord Elrond didn't seem in the least bit bothered by what he'd just done to his advisor. He was so close to strangling him at that moment. "Leave this room-immediately!" Elrond pointed to the door, his face a brilliant shade of red.
Erestor stood up and sniffed, like a cat who felt slighted. "Yes, my Lord." He bowed politely to Lord Elrond, and paid no regard to Figwit's presence. He closed the door behind him as he left.
Figwit sniveled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He headed for the door, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Lord Elrond.
"Malfanaion, wait!" He seized Figwit by the arm, and spun him around to look at him. If only he could get his son to hear his side of the story... "Where are you going?"
Figwit sniffled again, still refusing to look at Lord Elrond. "I—I can't stay here!" He shook himself free from Lord Elrond's grasp, and turned from him.
"Please don't leave! I wish to speak to you."
Figwit grasped the doorknob. His hands, his entire frame, were shaking as he tried to open the door.
"Malfanaion."
Figwit broke down at last. There was no more strength left in him. He collapsed against the door and sobbed pitifully.
Lord Elrond didn't know what to do. His relationship with his firstborn was destroyed before it had even begun. "... My son." He held out his hand and placed it gently on Figwit's shoulder.
"No!" Figwit roughly brushed his hand away and opened the door, not caring who saw him in this sorry state.
Elrond fell onto his knees in desperation. "Please! Don't go—" Through foresight, Elrond saw how his world was starting to cave in on him. There was nothing left.
Before he slammed the door in Elrond's face, Figwit glared at him through a stream of warm, salty tears and whispered, "I want nothing to do with you, your Lordship!"
Finis.
v. 3.5
"Erestor, what are you and Lord Elrond talking so heatedly about?"
Erestor and Lord Elrond turned to see Malfanaion, called Figwit, standing in the doorway. It was the middle of the night. He should have been asleep, or out roaming in the forest with the other youths. But there he was, with a questioning look in his eyes.
Elrond's face had almost been purple from his shouting at Erestor. But when the mighty Elf-lord saw Figwit in the doorway, all the blood drained from his face and left him cold. "Malfanaion!" Lord Elrond always called Figwit by his proper name.
On the other hand Erestor; the chief counselor, keeper of the library, and probably the smartest Elf in Rivendell; seemed to calm down when he entered the room. Judging from what Figwit had heard, a vast majority of the shouting had come from Erestor, as usual. Erestor was generally on the offense with his snide remarks and clever barbs; his sharp tongue was enough to make the watchwardens of Lórien back out of a conversation.
Erestor and Elrond had been embroiled in an intense verbal fracas for the last week or so. None of the Elves, particularly the younger ones, were sure of what had made Elrond and Erestor finally be honest about their secret disdain for each other; they had always held their tongues, in a mutual desire to keep factions from occurring in Rivendell. Elrond originally chose Erestor as his chief advisor to keep his authority in check, but now the Elf-lord was starting to resent Erestor's blatant disesteem for authority, and his gloating air of superiority (It rivaled that of the most haughty of Vanyar).
"Figwit, my dear boy!" Erestor walked over to Figwit and firmly placed a hand on his shoulder. A smile spread over his face as he spoke, "How would you like a story from your old Uncle Erestor?"
Figwit recoiled slightly under the scholar's stare. This situation felt wrong to him. Erestor was usually too busy being bitter and secretive to be nice to Figwit, let alone spend any quality time with him. Of course, he did see much of Erestor; he'd been like a father to Figwit, and he was greatly loved and admired by his young charge; but Erestor would constantly remind the little spawn of who-knows of his lowly station in life. There was a peculiarity about Erestor's aloofness, like he was saving Figwit for some deeper, darker purpose. Figwit always hoped that the day would come when Erestor would show him some form of affection; but now that it had finally happened, he wasn't so sure that he liked it.
"Erestor!" Lord Elrond gripped the desk he was standing in front of, and his knuckles turned white. The low growl in his voice reflected the rushing of boiling blood in his veins, as all of it flowed from his already pale visage. "You wouldn't dare--"
"Goodness, Your Lordship," Erestor's wicked grin was irrepressible. Did he have something on Elrond? "I can hear the blood draining from your face!" Figwit didn't doubt this; all of Erestor's former students knew that Erestor's hearing surpassed even that of most Elves. "Whatever could be the matter?" Amusement lingered in his shiny black eyes.
At that point, Erestor and Elrond locked eyes in a staring contest, intense enough to scare off Fëanor himself. They almost seemed to be having a wordless conversation; a contest of psychic powers; an out-of-body battle in the wraith-world—the more sensational the theory, the more likely it was that Erestor could do it. Some pretty strange rumors were centered around the young Elf's former teacher and mentor.
And then finally, without any sign as to who'd won the epic battle, the two Elves set their eyes on Figwit. The young advisor felt like he was shrinking under the gaze of the two older Elves--under Lord Elrond's dead- fish stare and under Erestor's austere scrutiny.
"Why, nothing at all. I only wish to tell you one of my favorite tales, that's all!" Erestor leaned in, as though he was letting Figwit in on a little secret. "And it's a true story, you know." The warm oiliness of his voice, the false affability revealed an underlying hostility that put Figwit on edge. At whom was this devious malice aimed?
Figwit glanced at Elrond. His eyes were wide, shifting from Erestor to Figwit and back mistrustfully, as though they were inquisitors and he was a heretic.
Whatever this secret was, Erestor had obviously struck on something very interesting. Figwit looked intently back at Erestor, his unease waning slightly. "Is it really true?"
"Erestor." Elrond never lost control over his underlings like this. Every last one of his subordinates, whether they were centuries his senior or a millennium younger, paid him the honor that was due such an esteemed lord. So it would seem that Elrond wasn't sure how to handle Erestor's blatant defiance. It was almost funny to watch.
Erestor smiled, and his gleaming white teeth, with unnaturally sharp canines, were contrasted with his smooth dark skin. He sat on the desk—deliberately turning his back on Lord Elrond—crossed his legs, and clasped his hands together on one knee. "Of course it is! I'd never lie to you, Figwit. Would you lie to Figwit, Lord Elrond?" Erestor peered over his shoulder at Elrond, who was shakily pouring himself a glass of his strongest miruvor. The wily advisor's brows were raised as he glanced at his liege with wicked inquisitiveness.
Elrond didn't dare look at him until he'd emptied his wineglass, which didn't take long at all. "That isn't funny, Erestor. Now Malfanaion, you are to go to your room and remain there until I send for you."
Erestor spun around to face Elrond and crossed his arms. "Now Elrond, I do think he needs to hear this—"
"Hear what? What do I need to hear?" Figwit's ears were positively itching by now. He had to hear the secret! He looked at them, matching Elrond's furrowed brow with his own frown. "What are you hiding from me that I need to know?"
This struck a chord somewhere deep inside the Elf-Lord. Resisting the urge to double over with nausea, he looked at Erestor—almost pleadingly. "Not like this, Erestor."
Erestor paused, and he weighed carefully his options. But he only turned his back on Elrond again. Figwit sat down on a chair facing his much- admired teacher.
"There once was an Elf, an Elf-Lord to be exact," Erestor began. "He had a brother, a twin brother, but his brother is now dead."
"Dead? How come?" Figwit was leaning forward in his seat already. "Was he killed in a battle?"
"No, 'twas no great war that claimed his life. 'Twas because he chose to live among the Humans."
"The Humans!" Figwit tried not to cringe. Lord Elrond would always tell him that most civilized humans were their friends. Still, Figwit couldn't help but be repulsed. To live among them was just too much.
Erestor relished the little Elf's reaction. He leaned closer and closer as he spoke, his hands gripping the desk he sat upon, as his voice took on a quality that chilled Figwit. "Yes, little one, the Humans. They say that his hair became grey, and then a faded white and that he grew whiskers, and lost his mind before he died. just like the mortals, among whom he chose to live."
Elrond slammed down his goblet and decanter, and he whirled around—he'd been busy knocking back another glass of miruvor—to give Erestor his most piercing death-stare. "Erestor! Hold your tongue!"
Elrond and all his anger were lost to Figwit now. He belonged to the storyteller. He was mesmerized by Erestor's words. "Did he really?" Figwit's voice was usually filled with a childlike awe—a reverence— whenever he talked to Erestor. This instance was no different.
Erestor also was unaffected by Elrond's presence. He went on speaking as though Elrond wasn't there. "I have no reason to doubt the rumors. Such symptoms could only be expected to occur, if one is going to live with those filthy mortals!"
"What about his parents?"
Without giving Elrond a chance to interrupt, Erestor resumed his story. "When the Elf-Lord and his brother were little more than infants, their father abandoned them, going off in search of the West. About a century or two afterward, when their home was sacked-"
"Wait a minute. You're talking about Lord Elrond!"
"M--Malfanaion!" Elrond looked at Figwit in astonishment. "How would you know about--?!"
Erestor stood and walked up to Elrond with a smug expression on his face. "My dear Lord Elrond, do quit fooling yourself! Everyone knows your tragic life story, and it is beyond me to understand why you think otherwise."
Elrond slowly looked away, and then returned to the half-empty decanter.
Erestor turned back to Figwit, dragging a chair over to sit next to him. "Now, Figwit, to continue the story.
"At a very young age, even before he was kidnapped by the Sons of Fëanor, Elrond was arranged to marry the beautiful Lady Celebrián. But he and everyone else seemed to forget about those arrangements, all except for a certain, lone scholar—"
"You?" Figwit's eyes brightened as the imagery played out in his head to the tune of Erestor's deep, canorous voice.
Erestor smirked and nodded. "—Mm—when he met a gorgeous Elf-maiden in the Grey Havens. Lord Elrond made her his wife, and she bore him a son."
"Were they happy together, Erestor?"
Elrond didn't look back at them, and didn't say a word.
"Very. She loved him with all of her heart." Erestor didn't seem to mind the effect that it had on Elrond, to resurrect such memories.
Figwit cocked his head to one side and frowned. The story still had yet to be pieced together with his reality. "But... what happened to her? And who is their son? Do I know him?"
"No!" Elrond said all too quickly, after hastily regaining his composure. He looked at Erestor desperately, praying under his breath that he would have mercy and lay the past back to rest without another word.
Erestor didn't even bat an eye in Elrond's direction, and continued as though it were just him and the boy. "Figwit, do try to be patient. I'm getting to that.
"Now it came to pass that Lord Elrond was sent out from the Grey Havens to establish a refuge for the misfortunate Elves of Eregion. His wife and son stayed behind with me, as the dear woman was content to wait for him forever if need be. Indeed, she waited a very long time."
Elrond felt his anger rising again. He hung onto it for strength. "Erestor, do not say such things! I didn't—"
"—didn't desert them?" Erestor finished for him with his characteristic moue. "You are starting to sound suspicious, my Lord."
Figwit shook his head in disbelief. "So... so Lord Elrond just left his family behind and forgot about them?"
Elrond cringed in horror at the thought, and almost cried out for forgiveness before the verdict was reached.
Erestor put a finger to his lips, making it look like he was thinking hard about Figwit's words. "Hmm. that is a very interesting thought, my boy..." he drawled playfully.
Figwit stood up and clenched his fists in indignation. "Lord Elrond's a good person! He wouldn't do that!" He glanced at Elrond. "Would you?" Lord Elrond only stared blankly at him. "Would you, my Lord?"
"Erestor..." Elrond's voice was filled with pain and frustration now. He grabbed hold of Erestor's shoulders and looked him in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
Erestor stared back at Lord Elrond, with a wicked sneer on his face. "Where was I?" Erestor turned back to Figwit and smiled sweetly, looking upon him with such mock-affection. He shook himself free of Elrond and pushed him away, as if the Elf-Lord was a mere peon, and he propped his feet up on the desk. "Oh yes. now I remember!"
Elrond tried a new tactic. "Leave him alone!"
Figwit clenched his fists again, this time in defiance. "No!" But he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, and then tried again. "I mean, with all due respect, your Lordship, I'd like to hear him out."
"But why, Figwit? Why?" Elrond couldn't hide the fact that he was more than wary of where Figwit's curiosity would lead the conversation. "This old sinner spews only lies! To listen to him is folly!"
Again, there was no ear that would hear Elrond's warning. Erestor continued his tragic narration, "Later on Lord Elrond sent word for me to bring his family to him, and so I departed immediately. But we were waylaid by Orcs on the way there, and barely escaped with our lives. The woman was grievously wounded, by a poison-tipped javelin." Figwit shuddered when he heard this. The Orcs knew which poisons worked the fastest on Elves, and their victims rarely survived such an attack—especially the Elf-maidens, who weren't always born with the same sturdiness as their Human counterparts. Erestor went on, "By the time I'd brought them to Imaldris, the woman was nearing the end of her short life. She had only the strength to suckle her infant one last time, and cling feebly to her inconsolable lover in her last few moments of life."
"How awful." Figwit glanced at Elrond sympathetically, who quickly turned away from them.
"Yes, Figwit. It was tragic." Erestor didn't seem to sound too upset as he spoke, though. He fed every cruel detail to Figwit with a trace of smile on his face. "You could see the pain in her eyes, as she lay there suffering from the poison in her wounds, despite how she'd insisted that she could ask for no happier fate than the one she was given."
For a while, the room was silent. And then Elrond tried to pull himself together and spoke to Erestor with a shaky voice. "Please, Erestor. Speak no more of this."
"And what happened to the baby? Did he die?" Figwit took one glance at Elrond, and he was sorry that he'd asked such a thoughtless question.
But Erestor chuckled out loud, as though all of this were some hilarious joke. He sat up and placed a hand on Figwit's shoulder. "Of course not, my dear boy! Golradir and I nursed him back to health, and he lives to this day—brought up as an orphan, of course," Erestor artfully played off this last part as a minor detail, baiting the innocent young Elf's sense of righteousness.
Figwit tried to work this out logically, but something inside his naïve little mind was telling him that this wasn't right. "But why? Is it because of Lady Celebrián?"
Erestor thought for a moment, and then looked back at Figwit. "One could say that. Shortly after this time, fair Lady Celebrián was given over to Lord Elrond by Lord Celeborn, for she was getting along in years and her father grew impatient at his would-be son-in-law. So Lord Elrond swore all who knew of his former marriage into secrecy, so that Lord Celeborn wouldn't suspect that his son-in-law had been married to another. That way his reputation-quite possibly even his position-would be safe (Imagine how hard it would be, explaining to one's wife why there's a little urchin following you about and calling you 'Ada').
"Thus his firstborn son was, in one tragic night, reduced in status to that of a forsaken whelp of some obscure refugee."
"But that's terrible!" Figwit couldn't bear this any longer. He'd thought so highly of Lord Elrond. "My Lord, how could you do such a thing?"
"No!" Elrond cried out in horror. He was on the brink of falling to his knees before Figwit. "You don't understand, Malfanaion!"
Erestor stood. "Oh, but my Lord, I believe the child understands perfectly!" His smile was wider than ever, and his eyes were luminous with energy. Could he have possibly enjoyed this moment more than he was now?
"You! You stay out of this, Erestor!" Lord Elrond was fuming again. "'Tis none of your business!" It wasn't fair. Erestor was casting such a light on this story, that everything was twisted and contorted until he was made to look as wicked as Sauron. Why did Erestor take so much pleasure in tormenting him?
But Erestor was beyond the point of merely enjoying himself. He was consumed. "It would seem that it is my duty to reveal the truth of Figwit's origin, since you have renounced him, Lord Elrond!" Instantly, all eyes were on the horrified Figwit.
Figwit gasped, at a loss for words. He was out of his chair immediately, and he almost knocked it over as he stood. He wanted to flee from the room.
"Curse the day you were born, Erestor!" Instantly, Lord Elrond's thoughts were of all the way he could hurt his mutinous advisor. He wanted to hit Erestor. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to cause him the most agonizing pain possible, until he begged for mercy. But he knew that nothing he could do to Erestor could ease the pain that Figwit was going through.
Figwit finally found his voice again. "It—it can't be..." But he still couldn't say much. So many thoughts were racing through his mind. He looked to Erestor for answers, for comfort-for anything that he could cling desperately to. He looked for some trace of sympathy in his eyes.
"It is true, my dear Figwit." But Erestor's face—and most of all his voice—revealed no traces of sympathy.
Instead, his eyes burned in a way that frightened poor Figwit. He seemed to enjoy watching Figwit's peaceful little life be blasted to pieces by this harsh new reality. Figwit's head swam; he was exactly where Erestor wanted him to be.
Figwit wasn't the only other person who's life was spinning out of control. "Malfanaion... I didn't mean for you to find out like this."
Erestor repressed—just barely—his desire to laugh at Lord Elrond. "You didn't mean for him to find out at all!" His eyes locked on to Figwit's again. He literally backed the little Elf into a corner as he continued his verbal assault. "Now—little one—" Erestor spat the term of affection out of his mouth as though it tasted like old cerumen, "as I was saying, he forgot all about raising you like one of his own. Why, even his infernal nephew Aragorn receives more love and attention from him than you ever did!
"Oh, doubtlessly he did protect you from afar—but only enough to soothe his nagging conscience! Why else would he place you so close to a ranger during our last council meeting? It was so you weren't eaten alive by the real councilors, of course!
"And now you see why you've grown up to be such a mewling, witless, horrid little urchin—because he didn't truly care whether you lived or died, or whether you grew dull and vapid from lack of a proper education."
Elrond's skin felt clammy, and the color was gone from his face. He tried to convince the others—to convince himself—that he had been a good father, a good guardian—anything. "I saw to it that he lacked nothing, you know that just as well as I do! I even appointed you to teach him alongside my son—alongside Elrohir and Elladan!" But Lord Elrond knew that his excuses, if there were any at all, were weak. He wasn't fooling anyone. And that little slip of the words didn't go unnoticed, either.
Erestor shook his head, but he didn't take his eyes off Figwit, nor did the traces of his secret, sinister smile go away. "He lacked much, my Lord. It takes more than a brilliant scholar to make one a truly complete person. He knew nothing of who he really was, except for what those around him were permitted to hint at."
Elrond was bearing down on his chief councilor, unable to take any more of this. "You're out of line!"
Figwit could feel a lump growing in his throat. It felt like a mass of rocks and thorns. His eyes were welling up with tears. "Why are you being like this, Erestor?" His feeble voice cracked slightly as he spoke. He felt so helpless at that moment, and Erestor's ruthless stare didn't help the vulnerable feeling go away. He couldn't understand why the one he looked up to the most wanted to hurt him so deeply.
Erestor was no longer smiling. His voice trembled with ire, the whimpering of the heart-broken Figwit only feeding his anger. "I'm not slandering you, you pathetic little imp!" There was a new kind of poison in his voice now—intended for Elrond, though Figwit was verily wounded by his keeper's hurtful words. "I'm accusing you, my Lord, holding you accountable for crimes that you have gotten away with for too long!" He finally turned on Elrond and diverted his piercing gaze from Figwit, who wanted to curl up and weep. Erestor walked over to where Elrond stood, and brought down his indictment upon the stunned Elf-Lord:
"I also had a family, in the days when Gondolin was still standing. It was there that I dwelt with my adoring wife and my two beautiful daughters. And it was there that they were stolen from me forever, by Morgoth himself; it was there that I watched the only people who mattered to me die-and was left living, tortured by the memory. And now I have watched your generation grow to become what it is now, the jaded, listless generation that it is! Our ancestors would be shamed by your state of decay. I have witnessed your entire life from the day you were carried to the Lindon by Maglor.
"For too long have I watched you squander your blessings, and alienate your family from you without giving a single thought to the consequences of your actions-or your lack thereof? Do you think that your sons stay so far from this house for the sole purpose of decimating random hordes of Orcs? And do you really think that dear, sweet Lady Arwen, the beloved of all who gaze upon her, doesn't linger on the thought of someday being rid of you? And your cherished second wife, Lady Celebrián-why do you really think she left for the West?"
"Enough!" Elrond, incapable of controlling himself any longer, backhanded Erestor across the face, and knocked him to the ground.
Erestor didn't cry out in pain. He didn't put a hand to the bloody gash left by Elrond's signet ring. He didn't even flinch. Erestor had an unearthly control over his mind and body, and, it would seem, over the fears and emotions of everyone around him.
The usually mild-mannered Lord Elrond didn't seem in the least bit bothered by what he'd just done to his advisor. He was so close to strangling him at that moment. "Leave this room-immediately!" Elrond pointed to the door, his face a brilliant shade of red.
Erestor stood up and sniffed, like a cat who felt slighted. "Yes, my Lord." He bowed politely to Lord Elrond, and paid no regard to Figwit's presence. He closed the door behind him as he left.
Figwit sniveled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He headed for the door, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Lord Elrond.
"Malfanaion, wait!" He seized Figwit by the arm, and spun him around to look at him. If only he could get his son to hear his side of the story... "Where are you going?"
Figwit sniffled again, still refusing to look at Lord Elrond. "I—I can't stay here!" He shook himself free from Lord Elrond's grasp, and turned from him.
"Please don't leave! I wish to speak to you."
Figwit grasped the doorknob. His hands, his entire frame, were shaking as he tried to open the door.
"Malfanaion."
Figwit broke down at last. There was no more strength left in him. He collapsed against the door and sobbed pitifully.
Lord Elrond didn't know what to do. His relationship with his firstborn was destroyed before it had even begun. "... My son." He held out his hand and placed it gently on Figwit's shoulder.
"No!" Figwit roughly brushed his hand away and opened the door, not caring who saw him in this sorry state.
Elrond fell onto his knees in desperation. "Please! Don't go—" Through foresight, Elrond saw how his world was starting to cave in on him. There was nothing left.
Before he slammed the door in Elrond's face, Figwit glared at him through a stream of warm, salty tears and whispered, "I want nothing to do with you, your Lordship!"
Finis.