Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof
*****
"How come I'm old enough to go camping but not to go hunting?" six-year-old Aragorn, known better in those days as Estel, wants to know. He looks, imploring, to his foster-brother. "How come I can't do what you and Elladan do?"
Elrohir smiles at the boy. "Hunting is no fun, Estel, but Elladan and I will take you camping because that is fun. Besides, there are serious dangers involved in hunting." He does not add the word "orcs," but he thinks it.
Estel boasts, "I'm going to be the greatest warrior when I'm big. Then you and Elladan will have nothing to be scared of!"
"I believe it," Elrohir answers. "Now come, let me help you pack."
Elladan and Elrohir have slaughtered orcs on two trips in the past six months. Feeling terribly abandoned, Estel pines for them when ever they are gone. Remembering a wooden fort the twins built in their youth, they petitioned their father, who granted them permission to take Estel for one night to the fort. It was not two hours' walk away for the twins, longer for Estel but they would carry him some.
"You really built a house?" Estel asks, trotting to keep up with his brothers.
"Well, not exactly," Elladan replies. "Wait and see!"
The child manages, but just barely. Racing ahead of his brothers, his stocky legs a blur, Estel reaches the fort first. He finds it without trouble, concealed as it is from years of overgrowth. He jumps up and down impatiently as Elladan and Elrohir clear the entrance.
Fifteen years ago, the twins took a trip out to their old fort, just to remember. They tell Estel of that trip later, as the boys huddle around their stone-ringed campfire. "The roof had collapsed, and pounds of debris collected. Rain helped mold grow over the walls."
Estel looks up at the roof, slats of wood through which the stars shine cheerfully. On such a clear night, Elladan and Elrohir took the usual rain-protection, a sheet of oilcloth, off. The floor is better made than the roof, boards packed tightly within a wooden ring. Latticework walls keep wild things at bay--not that wild things are too much of a threat in Imladris.
Because he trusts his brothers with all of his heart, Estel asks them, "Who is my real ada? Where is he now?"
Elladan and Elrohir glance at each other. "Estel, come here," Elladan says, and draws his brother onto his lap, holding the little boy protectively. "Do you remember Snowdrop?" He names the cat who died a few months ago.
"Snowdrop's gone away," he mutters. "She can't come back and play any more."
"That's right, darling. You ada is there, too, with Snowdrop."
"Ada…" Estel remembers the stiff, lifeless cat. He tried to play with her. When Snowdrop would not wake, Estel took her to Ada, and they burned her. Estel was not supposed to watch. Ada told him to go to bed. But Estel wanted to play with Snowdrop. No one knows what he saw. "Ada!"
Estel struggles from Elladan's grasp and bolts out of the fort before the twins can stop him. "Estel, wait!"
Before the twins reach him, Estel stops short, hearing a low growl. He looks around, but can see nothing in the darkness. Then a cloud shifts to reveal the moon, and by her light Estel sees a feral dog. His heart pounds with fear and he steps back. "Elladan! Elrohir!" he screams. The dog lunges, rakes its claws across Estel's chest.
Suddenly fires of pain explode over Estel's skin, flames spreading to consume his entire body and he is burning, there is fire all over him--
With a cry, Elessar woke from his dream. His hand clutched his chest, where the scars from the dog had yet to fade, but the blood spilling over his skin came from his own nails puncturing flesh. His breath came in short gasps. The flames had been so real…
"Estel? Are you all right?"
Conquering his unstable breath, Elessar said quickly, "Arwen, don't--" but too late. She lit the lamp beside their bed and after taking one look at her husband she gasped.
"Estel, what's wrong? What dreams leave you so pale and bloodied?" She knew of nightmares, having herself awoken to blood before. Gentle but commanding fingers felt Elessar's forehead. A sound of tearing fabric, then Arwen held a strip of cloth to the shallow wounds. "Tell me, Estel," she urged him gently.
"Arwen," Elessar said, gulping air as though deprived of this liberty. Suddenly he rose and pulled a tunic over his head, not caring that he had discarded that same tunic the night before--a rose glow betrayed the early morning hour. "I must write to Faramir," he said. "There is something I must do, something outside of Gondor. Explain to Eldarion--"
"Take him with you," Arwen interrupted.
Elessar looked to her, remembering with a start who he spoke to.
"Please take him, Estel. You know how much it will mean. He loves you so, and yet feels you treat him as a child. Have you not seen the wistful wanderlust in his eyes? Allow him accompany you on this errand."
"I cannot," Elessar answered. "I will make it up to Eldarion. There is something I must retrieve with all haste."
Worried for his safety, Arwen implored, "Then go with Legolas, only do not go alone. I fear for you in this state."
Seeing the strain his state put her under, Elessar agreed.
**Approximately Three Months Later**
Eldarion, Prince of Gondor, son of one of the greatest heroes of the War of the Ring, one day to be King, sigh and looked out the window behind Faramir. His mind wandered off to distant lands, to Beleriand and the Valinor, places he would never see, but more than anything his mind wandered after his father. 'Where are you?' he thought. 'Why did you leave me?' Again and again Eldarion begged to be taken out of Gondor, taken any place outside of Minas Tirith besides Ithilien, yet his father always denied him. At thirteen years, Eldarion considered himself the most sheltered boy in history.
"Eldarion?"
He blinked and lost his dreams. Faramir smiled gently. "That composition won't write itself."
Knowing he was doing the wrong thing and not caring, Eldarion shot Faramir a look of pure malice. Much to the younger man's chagrin, Faramir's temper held. "I know the feeling," said the prince of Ithilien.
"Don't either," Eldarion shot back.
Faramir reminded Eldarion, "Your father promised to return within the next two days--"
Angry at the mention of his father and the implied mention of the anniversary of his birth, a day he dreaded facing as the mental runt he considered himself, Eldarion leapt to his feet. "It doesn't matter! He never keeps his promises anyway!"
Turning, he fled the room before his tears could form. Faramir rose to follow him, but Arwen, appearing quite of the sudden, stayed him. "Eldarion cannot control this anger, let him sweat it out," she muttered. "You have been very good to him these past months, Faramir. Thank you." The two called each other by their first names, having developed something of a friendship after the War.
"Arwen, may I ask if you know where and why the king has gone?" Faramir asked. "With Gondor in a state of practically unthreatened peace politics remain unaffected, but such things are ephemeral conditions."
"I know nothing more than you," Arwen replied. "Here, let's see to this…"
Not a half-hour later, when Arwen and Faramir together had struggled through a small mountain of paperwork concerning funding petitions from a small guild of alchemists--"When they turn lead to gold, that is when I will fund them," Faramir stated his opinion--Eldarion appeared in the doorway. At his side stood a weather-beaten Elessar. "Go on," he said, nudging his son.
Eldarion, grudging with every word he forced from his lips, apologized. "I am sorry for being short with you earlier."
"Your apology is accepted," Faramir answered. Turning to Elessar, he stood, bowed, and said absolutely nothing, but bit his tongue on a thousand questions and looked expectantly to the king.
*
That evening, Eldarion glowered at his father. "You were told to stay here," Elessar reminded him. It was true: for his rudeness to Faramir and for a rather embarrassing scene having taken place upon Elessar's arrival, Faramir had been confined to his room for the night. Nevertheless he sneaked out to eavesdrop on his parents' conversation earlier.
'Which coming from you is rather ironic,' Eldarion thought, but he said nothing.
Elessar sighed. This was not what he wanted to say to his son. Why did he feel so awkward? Eldarion remained the same, and Elessar…he did not think he had changed. Had he?
"I only--" Eldarion began, then shut his mouth. He knew better than to argue. But Elessar motioned for him to continue, and so Eldarion said, "I wanted to know where you had gone. Father, I am no longer a child. Tell me what you found in Imladris. Tell me why you ran away!"
Eldarion bit his lip and lowered his eyes. There he had gone and said too much. Elessar frowned. "I am sorry you think I ran away, Eldarion."
"Then what did you do?" Eldarion challenged.
"I was raised in Imladris." This announcement silenced Eldarion. He often badgered his father for any story of Elessar's childhood and listened constantly for any careless hint, but for all his efforts learned precious little. His mother withheld few details of her past to compensate, but even she knew that a boy's mother could not replace the absence of his father. Elessar gathered up the bag he earlier had set upon the floor. "In this bag I stored my memories." With swift, sure movements betraying none of his uncertainty Elessar drew open the bag and tipped it, letting its contents spill out. He tried not to show that for many years this bag had been closed, his past sealed safely away.
Eldarion could only stare. So many things, seemingly insignificant, and each a small part of his father! How could he possibly form a question with such numerous half-secrets untold before his eyes?
"You choose, Eldarion."
He did.
*****
To be continued