Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
Saera: That much I got, but what bunnies?
Nihtfyr: The voice is. . .did you ever read I Never Promised You a Rose Garden? The voice is more or less Anterrabae in I Never Promised You A Rose Garden. If you haven't read that, then say so and I'll explain next chapter. Gone mad? One might argue so much, but then the definition of insanity is very, very shaky. Well, if people like Mary-Sues, it's all well and good for them, and those of us not liking them can simply not read them.
Anonymous: Thank you. For sharing that, and for having the strength to get through it. Really, you are amazing. It is good to know that you are above all of that now.
Lady of the Forest: Estel gets male cheerleaders. O. . .k. . .
Writer from Rivendell: Well thank you. Yes, I am twelve. As for tragic or better. . .ups and downs, that's all I'll say.
Knows all too well: Thanks. . .it's good to know it's helping others, because I don't think it is helping her.
Lina Skye: Er. . .I'm sorry. . .I didn't mean to make anybody cry, or hurt anyone or anything.
*****
Elrohir returned bearing a leather portfolio, which he handed to Elladan, then positioned himself behind the bed, looking over Estel's shoulder. "Estel," Elladan said, "will you please just look at these?" He handed over the portfolio, which Estel took with question and with shaking hands.
Slowly he opened the musty-smelling, slightly crack leather, and a gasp escaped his lips. He knew at once who the first picture was of; the charcoal on the parchment was not even slightly smudged, a sign of the artist's practice. In the picture, a small child was curled up, asleep, in a basket of laundry. Estel smiled as a tear slid down his cheek. It was him.
*****
Estel tried. He tried hard, and did his very best, but to no avail. With every solution he could think of, Estel made an attempt, a handful of last shots at quitting his self-abusive habits.
The first thing Estel thought of was water. Of course, this began with him simply not hurting himself. When things got to be too much, he slipped away in the middle of the night, armed with a towel, and made his way down to a nearby river. Once there, he stripped off his clothes and jumped into the cold, cold water.
The first time he tried this, Estel stood for ten minutes on the banks of the river, watching the waters. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his leg with his toes. Fear crept into him, his chest tightening into a knot. Finally he gathered all his courage and made himself run forward and jump, trying to yell but finding himself unable to because of his intense fear. The shock of the temperature change was good for Estel. He wanted to shout as he swam a few quick laps, but managed to keep his silence.
Shivering again on the banks, Estel toweled himself dry. He jumped from foot to foot as he slid back into his clothes, then made his way back to his bed, wishing he had thought to bring shoes. The moon was clear that night, and in its bright light Estel had an easy job of finding his way home.
On his next trip, Estel remembered shoes but forgot a towel. Worst of all, his absence was noticed: when he returned to his window, intending to climb through just as he had the time before, he found it closed. It was easy enough to enter the house through a door, but now, Estel knew, he was in for it. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside. . .
No one needed to call Estel for him to know where to go. He could see his father sitting at the table in the dining hall. Standing before the Elven Lord, dripping wet, shoes squelching with every step he took, Estel choked out, "G-good evening, Ada."
"Where were you?" Elrond asked at once, seething yet containing his anger.
"I was at the river--"
"Doing what?"
"Ah. . .swimming?" Estel ventured. After all, how else would he be so wet, and it was the truth. After that night, Estel was not allowed out of his room after he went to bed, for any reason. This was a rule he followed, because he knew that if he did not he would be locked in. Somehow, Estel knew, he would have to think up a new solution.
*****
"The next one, I think you'll like it. . ." Elladan began, turning the parchment to show a picture of the same boy, only smaller now, trying very hard to get up a flight of stairs, despite the fact that a single stair dwarfed him. Estel saw his life in those pictures. He saw his merriment at the merciless tickling of his brothers. He saw himself in tears with skinned knees and elbows. Why had Elladan chosen to draw that? Estel was glad he had chosen it. That drawing was just as important as the one of a boy grinning hugely as he stood on his hands, as the boy asleep in the morning, as the boy pale-faced but dry-eyed at his first sparring injury.
*****
Estel began closing his eyes. He would imagine he was someplace else, someplace happier, easier, calmer. Never having left Imladris, Estel had some trouble with this. Often he remembered the time he and Elladan had watched the sun set. Sometimes he thought of running through the forest, but never having actually done this and noticed his surroundings, that was not an easy task.
About this time, Estel began creating his own fantasy world. There were plenty of people in it, but they were all the same. Everyone was kind and gentle, and there was no fighting or teasing, no one put anyone else down. Two days passed before Estel realized the complete and utter impossibility of this world, and it depressed him so much that he left the world behind, never thought about it again, and promptly forgot it.
Places failed Estel. The number of gashes on his legs was increasing steadily. Soon he would begin on his arms, he knew, because he could not go on without the knife. The release of slitting his own flesh was so immense, the focused pain felt so good--! Estel knew he could not stop, but he tried anyway. He challenged himself to stop.
*****
"But you still did not answer my question," Estel said, trying hard not to cry again. "Why, Elladan? Why all these pictures?"
"Because, Estel. Because of you."
*****
Then something amazing happened: Estel did it. He stopped hurting himself. It did not take sneaking out for a midnight swim or imagining himself to be someplace else. All it took for Estel to stop abusing himself was that fateful emotion which makes us all human: guilt.
Estel did not even tell anyone what he was doing. The sight alone of those he loved was enough to make him sick with guilt and hatred for what he had done. Why it was that this had never happened before Estel could not say, but one morning at breakfast he could not eat for these emotions. After that, Estel stopped. He laid down his knife and stopped using it against himself.
*****
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Author's note: That wasn't the ending. . .more coming soon.
Saera: That much I got, but what bunnies?
Nihtfyr: The voice is. . .did you ever read I Never Promised You a Rose Garden? The voice is more or less Anterrabae in I Never Promised You A Rose Garden. If you haven't read that, then say so and I'll explain next chapter. Gone mad? One might argue so much, but then the definition of insanity is very, very shaky. Well, if people like Mary-Sues, it's all well and good for them, and those of us not liking them can simply not read them.
Anonymous: Thank you. For sharing that, and for having the strength to get through it. Really, you are amazing. It is good to know that you are above all of that now.
Lady of the Forest: Estel gets male cheerleaders. O. . .k. . .
Writer from Rivendell: Well thank you. Yes, I am twelve. As for tragic or better. . .ups and downs, that's all I'll say.
Knows all too well: Thanks. . .it's good to know it's helping others, because I don't think it is helping her.
Lina Skye: Er. . .I'm sorry. . .I didn't mean to make anybody cry, or hurt anyone or anything.
*****
Elrohir returned bearing a leather portfolio, which he handed to Elladan, then positioned himself behind the bed, looking over Estel's shoulder. "Estel," Elladan said, "will you please just look at these?" He handed over the portfolio, which Estel took with question and with shaking hands.
Slowly he opened the musty-smelling, slightly crack leather, and a gasp escaped his lips. He knew at once who the first picture was of; the charcoal on the parchment was not even slightly smudged, a sign of the artist's practice. In the picture, a small child was curled up, asleep, in a basket of laundry. Estel smiled as a tear slid down his cheek. It was him.
*****
Estel tried. He tried hard, and did his very best, but to no avail. With every solution he could think of, Estel made an attempt, a handful of last shots at quitting his self-abusive habits.
The first thing Estel thought of was water. Of course, this began with him simply not hurting himself. When things got to be too much, he slipped away in the middle of the night, armed with a towel, and made his way down to a nearby river. Once there, he stripped off his clothes and jumped into the cold, cold water.
The first time he tried this, Estel stood for ten minutes on the banks of the river, watching the waters. He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his leg with his toes. Fear crept into him, his chest tightening into a knot. Finally he gathered all his courage and made himself run forward and jump, trying to yell but finding himself unable to because of his intense fear. The shock of the temperature change was good for Estel. He wanted to shout as he swam a few quick laps, but managed to keep his silence.
Shivering again on the banks, Estel toweled himself dry. He jumped from foot to foot as he slid back into his clothes, then made his way back to his bed, wishing he had thought to bring shoes. The moon was clear that night, and in its bright light Estel had an easy job of finding his way home.
On his next trip, Estel remembered shoes but forgot a towel. Worst of all, his absence was noticed: when he returned to his window, intending to climb through just as he had the time before, he found it closed. It was easy enough to enter the house through a door, but now, Estel knew, he was in for it. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside. . .
No one needed to call Estel for him to know where to go. He could see his father sitting at the table in the dining hall. Standing before the Elven Lord, dripping wet, shoes squelching with every step he took, Estel choked out, "G-good evening, Ada."
"Where were you?" Elrond asked at once, seething yet containing his anger.
"I was at the river--"
"Doing what?"
"Ah. . .swimming?" Estel ventured. After all, how else would he be so wet, and it was the truth. After that night, Estel was not allowed out of his room after he went to bed, for any reason. This was a rule he followed, because he knew that if he did not he would be locked in. Somehow, Estel knew, he would have to think up a new solution.
*****
"The next one, I think you'll like it. . ." Elladan began, turning the parchment to show a picture of the same boy, only smaller now, trying very hard to get up a flight of stairs, despite the fact that a single stair dwarfed him. Estel saw his life in those pictures. He saw his merriment at the merciless tickling of his brothers. He saw himself in tears with skinned knees and elbows. Why had Elladan chosen to draw that? Estel was glad he had chosen it. That drawing was just as important as the one of a boy grinning hugely as he stood on his hands, as the boy asleep in the morning, as the boy pale-faced but dry-eyed at his first sparring injury.
*****
Estel began closing his eyes. He would imagine he was someplace else, someplace happier, easier, calmer. Never having left Imladris, Estel had some trouble with this. Often he remembered the time he and Elladan had watched the sun set. Sometimes he thought of running through the forest, but never having actually done this and noticed his surroundings, that was not an easy task.
About this time, Estel began creating his own fantasy world. There were plenty of people in it, but they were all the same. Everyone was kind and gentle, and there was no fighting or teasing, no one put anyone else down. Two days passed before Estel realized the complete and utter impossibility of this world, and it depressed him so much that he left the world behind, never thought about it again, and promptly forgot it.
Places failed Estel. The number of gashes on his legs was increasing steadily. Soon he would begin on his arms, he knew, because he could not go on without the knife. The release of slitting his own flesh was so immense, the focused pain felt so good--! Estel knew he could not stop, but he tried anyway. He challenged himself to stop.
*****
"But you still did not answer my question," Estel said, trying hard not to cry again. "Why, Elladan? Why all these pictures?"
"Because, Estel. Because of you."
*****
Then something amazing happened: Estel did it. He stopped hurting himself. It did not take sneaking out for a midnight swim or imagining himself to be someplace else. All it took for Estel to stop abusing himself was that fateful emotion which makes us all human: guilt.
Estel did not even tell anyone what he was doing. The sight alone of those he loved was enough to make him sick with guilt and hatred for what he had done. Why it was that this had never happened before Estel could not say, but one morning at breakfast he could not eat for these emotions. After that, Estel stopped. He laid down his knife and stopped using it against himself.
*****
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Author's note: That wasn't the ending. . .more coming soon.