Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
*****
Elrond spotted him at once, a loose tail of black hair against the white landscape, shaking shoulders curled inwards for warmth or pain or shame, with Estel it was often difficult to tell. The fabric of his tunic clung to his back, soaked with sweat or snow. Estel always had hated to wear purple, and Elrond could not help but wonder if the stains and tears he saw were accidental.
"'Tis a nice day, is it not?" Elrond asked lightly, sitting beside his son. He sank into the snow, aware of the cold but, being elven, not troubled by it. Estel made no reply but savagely watched his breath form clouds. The mortal boy reached down with his right hand and fought to loosen the ties on his shoes. "Again, Estel?" Elrond chided gently.
"Not on purpose!" Estel answered defensively, then blood rushed to his cheeks and he mumbled, "but yes."
"Let me see it."
Estel needed no instruction, but turned his left shoulder towards the healer and closed his eyes. He convulsed more at the sound of the crack than the feeling, but his vision began to clear and with one final shudder he sat still. That shoulder had been knocked out of place so many times before, Estel felt the pain but it no longer overtook him. "Is it three times now, Ada?" he asked.
"Four. And let us hope there will be no fifth! Now," he went on, taking up the unfinished job of unlacing Estel's shoes, noticing the way Estel's trousers slid three inches up his shins to reveal purple bruises and red welts from his constant tumbles, "have you had a fight with Legolas and been pushed, tripped over your own feet, fallen victim to the ice or--" he tapped Estel on the forehead with the free shoes "--have you simply neglected sense and gone running about in sandals?"
With a shrug, Estel answered, "I guess maybe I should not have run in sandals. Maybe especially not in the middle of winter." He then quickly added, "And maybe I hurt my ankle running, and maybe I hit my head on my way down."
"Well then," Elrond answered, scooping up a handful of snow and filling Estel's hands with it, "you should just maybe hold this over that yellow bruise that is just maybe forming over your eye, and just maybe we should go inside so I can just maybe take a look at that ankle, and you do not catch your death of cold." He hopped up and made his way up to the door. Until Elrond's hand rested on the door handle, though, he did not realize that Estel remained on the steps.
As Elrond watched Estel sunk his uncovered foot into the snow. Alarmed, Elrond returned to his seat beside Estel and pulled his foot out of the snow. By this time the boy had turned his shoulders further inwards and gripped his elbows, turning protectively inside of himself. "What is it, Estel?" Elrond asked. "What's wrong?"
A tear slid down Estel's cheek and he felt awkward for it, for the funny way his tears streaked in erratical patterns down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. He cried because he was strange and because he did not belong, and he cried harder because he could not stop crying. "I am," he answered at last, the words burning his throat. "I am what's wrong. My ears are round, all right? When the snow falls I trip on the slippery stuff and over my own feet. I'm too big, don't even fit into most of my clothes, and that isn't stopping, is it? I can't do anything right. I did not mean to run in sandals, it just happened. There was all this energy trapped up inside of me wanting to get out and I couldn't sit still...and there is an empty practice book in the library. I wanted to throw it on the fire because I could not sit still and the book was taunting me, like. So I ran.
"I know I am wrong." When he looked up his eyes were rimmed with red. "I know leaving my work undone is wrong, I know that running in sandals in the middle of winter is wrong, I know it now and I knew it when I was doing all of it...You do not have to tell me, all right?"
Elrond measured his words carefully. It seemed a constant struggle with Estel, and the most important thing was to let him know that he was loved. How long would he have that luxury, love? Elrond put an arm around Estel's shoulders, admittedly to warm him as well as support him. "You know, Estel...you do not always have to be good. It matters more to live your life than to behave. Did you never question why you do this thing, behave well? Who makes it right or wrong?"
Estel shrugged. "You do."
"What if I said you could make your own right and wrong? In fact, I believe you already have. Take all your love and respect and experience, and decide for yourself what is the proper choice." Elrond did not speak carelessly, and to very few would he have even considered to propose such a thing, but in Estel's integrity he had great faith. Though the boy could be headstrong and impatience, this faith was not misplaced.
"I can do that?" Estel asked, amazed.
"You could have done it all along, and I believe you have. Remember when you trampled all of Erestor's flowers, or trimmed the mane of Glorfindel's favourite horse? What about the time you saved that dog from drowning? Those were all your choices. You have been governing yourself all your life, and you someday you will be a fine man, strong and true. It is little wonder you are so loved, Estel."
Estel could think of nothing to say. The tears welling in his eyes were not those of sorrow. He looked to the west and shielded his eyes against the setting sun.
Elrond waited a while, then he said, "You have a choice now, Estel. You can sit out here for a while longer, or you can come inside with me." He stood and offered his hand.
The sun melted quickly below the lip of the valley, a golden disk sinking until only its last few rays remained. Then those, too, faded, but a pale glow remained, not that of the moon but something Estel could not explain: perhaps the pure snow or the sky's fading memory.
The boy stood to his full height, icy pangs shooting through his bare foot, and felt the chill wind blow over him. It brought not cold but comfort. He felt right. Estel knew then that he needed never move, that he could live here, with nature and the elements, for the rest of his life. He knew that the hold of nature on his heart could not be loosened.
Then he turned to the elven lord, who watched him still, took his outstretched hand and went inside.
*****
The End
Author's note: Because I do not write multi-chaptered stories, I answer reviews via e-mail. If you have any questions please review leaving your e- mail.
*****
Elrond spotted him at once, a loose tail of black hair against the white landscape, shaking shoulders curled inwards for warmth or pain or shame, with Estel it was often difficult to tell. The fabric of his tunic clung to his back, soaked with sweat or snow. Estel always had hated to wear purple, and Elrond could not help but wonder if the stains and tears he saw were accidental.
"'Tis a nice day, is it not?" Elrond asked lightly, sitting beside his son. He sank into the snow, aware of the cold but, being elven, not troubled by it. Estel made no reply but savagely watched his breath form clouds. The mortal boy reached down with his right hand and fought to loosen the ties on his shoes. "Again, Estel?" Elrond chided gently.
"Not on purpose!" Estel answered defensively, then blood rushed to his cheeks and he mumbled, "but yes."
"Let me see it."
Estel needed no instruction, but turned his left shoulder towards the healer and closed his eyes. He convulsed more at the sound of the crack than the feeling, but his vision began to clear and with one final shudder he sat still. That shoulder had been knocked out of place so many times before, Estel felt the pain but it no longer overtook him. "Is it three times now, Ada?" he asked.
"Four. And let us hope there will be no fifth! Now," he went on, taking up the unfinished job of unlacing Estel's shoes, noticing the way Estel's trousers slid three inches up his shins to reveal purple bruises and red welts from his constant tumbles, "have you had a fight with Legolas and been pushed, tripped over your own feet, fallen victim to the ice or--" he tapped Estel on the forehead with the free shoes "--have you simply neglected sense and gone running about in sandals?"
With a shrug, Estel answered, "I guess maybe I should not have run in sandals. Maybe especially not in the middle of winter." He then quickly added, "And maybe I hurt my ankle running, and maybe I hit my head on my way down."
"Well then," Elrond answered, scooping up a handful of snow and filling Estel's hands with it, "you should just maybe hold this over that yellow bruise that is just maybe forming over your eye, and just maybe we should go inside so I can just maybe take a look at that ankle, and you do not catch your death of cold." He hopped up and made his way up to the door. Until Elrond's hand rested on the door handle, though, he did not realize that Estel remained on the steps.
As Elrond watched Estel sunk his uncovered foot into the snow. Alarmed, Elrond returned to his seat beside Estel and pulled his foot out of the snow. By this time the boy had turned his shoulders further inwards and gripped his elbows, turning protectively inside of himself. "What is it, Estel?" Elrond asked. "What's wrong?"
A tear slid down Estel's cheek and he felt awkward for it, for the funny way his tears streaked in erratical patterns down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. He cried because he was strange and because he did not belong, and he cried harder because he could not stop crying. "I am," he answered at last, the words burning his throat. "I am what's wrong. My ears are round, all right? When the snow falls I trip on the slippery stuff and over my own feet. I'm too big, don't even fit into most of my clothes, and that isn't stopping, is it? I can't do anything right. I did not mean to run in sandals, it just happened. There was all this energy trapped up inside of me wanting to get out and I couldn't sit still...and there is an empty practice book in the library. I wanted to throw it on the fire because I could not sit still and the book was taunting me, like. So I ran.
"I know I am wrong." When he looked up his eyes were rimmed with red. "I know leaving my work undone is wrong, I know that running in sandals in the middle of winter is wrong, I know it now and I knew it when I was doing all of it...You do not have to tell me, all right?"
Elrond measured his words carefully. It seemed a constant struggle with Estel, and the most important thing was to let him know that he was loved. How long would he have that luxury, love? Elrond put an arm around Estel's shoulders, admittedly to warm him as well as support him. "You know, Estel...you do not always have to be good. It matters more to live your life than to behave. Did you never question why you do this thing, behave well? Who makes it right or wrong?"
Estel shrugged. "You do."
"What if I said you could make your own right and wrong? In fact, I believe you already have. Take all your love and respect and experience, and decide for yourself what is the proper choice." Elrond did not speak carelessly, and to very few would he have even considered to propose such a thing, but in Estel's integrity he had great faith. Though the boy could be headstrong and impatience, this faith was not misplaced.
"I can do that?" Estel asked, amazed.
"You could have done it all along, and I believe you have. Remember when you trampled all of Erestor's flowers, or trimmed the mane of Glorfindel's favourite horse? What about the time you saved that dog from drowning? Those were all your choices. You have been governing yourself all your life, and you someday you will be a fine man, strong and true. It is little wonder you are so loved, Estel."
Estel could think of nothing to say. The tears welling in his eyes were not those of sorrow. He looked to the west and shielded his eyes against the setting sun.
Elrond waited a while, then he said, "You have a choice now, Estel. You can sit out here for a while longer, or you can come inside with me." He stood and offered his hand.
The sun melted quickly below the lip of the valley, a golden disk sinking until only its last few rays remained. Then those, too, faded, but a pale glow remained, not that of the moon but something Estel could not explain: perhaps the pure snow or the sky's fading memory.
The boy stood to his full height, icy pangs shooting through his bare foot, and felt the chill wind blow over him. It brought not cold but comfort. He felt right. Estel knew then that he needed never move, that he could live here, with nature and the elements, for the rest of his life. He knew that the hold of nature on his heart could not be loosened.
Then he turned to the elven lord, who watched him still, took his outstretched hand and went inside.
*****
The End
Author's note: Because I do not write multi-chaptered stories, I answer reviews via e-mail. If you have any questions please review leaving your e- mail.