2222
BS
Monday, July 19, 2004
Monday, July 19, 2004

Disc: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-
Warn: Drama, and ooh . . . angst. AU-ness.
Note: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter three

He continued walking in much the same fashion for seven days out of Rivendell. Each morning he woke to find less and less of his food remaining. Traveling had been rough for Estel. He hadn't counted on rain, and when the downpour started, he had scrambled for shelter under the boughs of large trees. He had set up his silver cup to catch rainwater, for he had yet to find a spring, and the taste had been terrible. It had rained completely the whole night, and the morning sunlight had brought a shimmer to the world. He had been unable to sleep that night, and the next morning was tired. Shortly out of Rivendell he had come to a small forest. The 'Trollshaws,' if he remembered his map correctly. He had strayed from the beaten road, and went looking for berries and came across a small cave. Feeling bold, he entered and was amazed by the vast treasures that lay inside. He grabbed a handful of gold coins and a shimmering necklace, then ran from the cave when he smelled a very foul odor drifting his way. He climbed to the top of a tree and stared down intently as four large creatures entered the cave. They were terrible to look at, and he was too terrified to sleep. He had spent the night watching them and in the morning they had disappeared.

He ran the entire day when the sun appeared. He left the forest behind and the road was soft against his feet from the rain. He stopped only once to eat, and he chewed the apple without tasting it. He was out of water, and didn't know what he would do until he could find more. While stopped, he looked at the necklace and wondered why he had stolen it. Not finding an answer in himself, he thrust it to the bottom of his bag, under his blanket, and then counted the gold coins in his hands. He had never seen coins like them before, with such odd pictures on them and weird writing. Still, gold was gold, and he debated what to do with them. Eventually, he slipped off his shoes and put three gold pieces in each one, then put his feet back inside. It felt different, but it raised the arch of his foot and his skin no longer rubbed against the shoe. That night, he climbed in a tree and slept there, afraid.

The next morning, he awoke to find a clean, floral scent lingering in the air. Below his tree were footprints, moving in a straight line, barely noticeable. He spent that day crawling through the wilds, picking berries from bushes and picking out which were poisonous and which seemed safe to eat. He did not travel much that day, only five miles, but he ate better than he had in days. The berries were moist in his mouth and they took his mind off of his lack of water. He was too frightened to travel at night, so he took shelter under a mass of tree roots. He slept lightly and the next morning walked on the road again. He stopped at the evening to eat and discovered that his wrap of food was empty. He was thirsty -- his throat was dry and his head aching from the lack of fluids. He knew that he would have to do something soon. He didn't know what he could do, though. Still, his resolve strengthened his step and straightened his back against the wind.

Two days later, he had yet to find any water. He was weak and weary. He was nearing collapse when he caught the scent of water. He staggered forward and found the small spring. He drank from it with his hands and swallowed as much as he could with his swollen mouth. He collapsed next to the spring and slept, too exhausted to move away from it. He awoke that afternoon, and felt more rejuvenated than he had in days. He drank again from the spring, and then refilled his canteen to the cork. Then, he spotted an apple tree growing near the spring of water. He stared at it for many minutes before spotting fruit hanging heavily from the middle branches. It was late in the season and he was grateful that the tree had any apples. The higher fruit had been carried away by birds, and the low-hanging apples had been raided by forest animals. He climbed the branches and picked as many apples as he could fit into his upturned shirt and his bag on the ground below. He ate from one as he climbed and his mouth delighted in the taste. Shirt full, he descended and sat underneath the gnarled tree limbs. Many of the apples were half-rotten, and he ate the better parts first and then discarded the bad. He packed several apples into his bag, wrapped tightly with the cloth that had held his food before. He drank more water, this time from his silver cup, and then gathered all of his provisions.

The apple tree shone radiant in the setting sun -- like a gift from the Valar. He turned from it after a moment of quiet awe, then went back to the road. He didn't like traveling at dusk; the sun was directly in his eyes. He stopped after a mile and turned to the side of the road. Dark around him, he climbed into a fir tree and slept the night in an ethereal sleep. In his sleep, he dreamed that he was home and his father was reading aloud from an ancient book in the library. Estel dreamed of sound, and he could hear his father's words spoken clearly. Then his dream shifted and his sister was in Elrond's study, bent over his desk. She was writing on parchment, her face pinched with some emotion that Estel could not name. Then, his dream shifted for a final time and a woman stood against a cliff, her straight ebony hair blowing in the breeze. A dark-colored horse stood at her side, emblems hanging from its saddle in the shape of a white horse against a blue banner. She smiled sadly and then he remembered no more of his dream.

The next morning marked his fifteenth day of travel. His dream saddened him, and he thought wistfully of home. He wondered what Arwen thought of his disappearance. Surely, they knew that he was gone. Were they looking for him? he wondered. Or was he free to leave any time he wished? He rose with the sun and drank from his canteen. He removed an apple from his bag and ate it while he walked. By noon, he could see a large shadow looming ahead of him. As he walked, he realized it was a large mountain. On the top, he could see shapes reaching into the sky. The peak was imposing, and he shuddered under its watchful presence. He stopped that night and sat in the long shadow of the hill. There was little cover, and no trees that he could climb, so he slept under the lee of a hill. In the long stretches of dark, before sleep came to him, he lay thinking about what he would do once he got to Bree. He would have to buy food, and plenty of it, for his journey north to Fornost. He found himself grateful for taking that treasure. This way, he would not have to sell anything that mattered to him -- anything that he would need.

He awoke before dawn the next morning. He rose and stretched, ate another apple, and swallowed a mouthful of water. The sky was dark with thunderstorms, but he could see thin lines of yellow traced through the clouds where the sun was rising. Rain fell within the hour, a soft mist that covered the land and brought fog heavily onto the road. He bundled his cloak around him, fighting off the chill. He was close to the mountain -- 'Weathertop,' he remembered -- although he could not see it. As he pressed on, the rain grew heavier. He walked stiffly, his shoulder aching and his ribs reminding him of a long-ago pain. He stopped to a sudden halt when he saw hoof prints in the road. The rain was heavy there, so they were undoubtedly fresh. He felt his pulse quicken with this knowledge. For more than two weeks, he had not seen anyone on the road. Now, there were several horsemen right above him. He stopped walking and stared at the prints in the mud. A sudden fear gripped him, told him to get off the road and get away from that area.

Lightning flashed across the sky. He knew that there would be thunder, and was grateful that he could not hear it. A second later, he felt an intense vibration shake through his body. He pulled from the road, and walked over open grasslands. By noon, the fog had lifted and the rain was drenching. He could see little in front of him, and despaired that he had lost his way from the road. He turned unconsciously to the right and came again to the wide road. He stopped suddenly as he felt an odd sensation creep along his skin. He looked up suddenly and caught sight of a dark figure ahead of him. It was a short man on a horse, a hood hiding his features. Beside him were two men on foot. He stopped walking and looked at them for a moment. His heart was beating fast in his chest, and he turned quickly to run the other way. Behind him, three men on horseback waited. He turned to the north and started running. Within seconds, he felt something hard hit his back. He fell onto the muddy earth, and coughed out the filth in his mouth. He rolled onto his back to see the men above him, leering at him. He tried to rise, but one of them held him in place with a large, muddy boot on his thin chest. The man was speaking to him, revealing missing and yellow teeth with each word.

One of the other men hoisted him into the air and spat onto his face as he shouted something to the others. A footman came to his side and ripped the brooch from his cloak. He held it triumphantly in the air and gave a shout. Highwayman, he realized. Estel could not understand what they were saying. He had learned to read lips for things spoken in Sindarin, but these Men did not speak Sindarin. His cloak had torn from the force of the pull, and it fell from his shoulders and onto the ground. The Men saw his pack and cut the rope that attached it to him. They dug through it, sneering at his apples and savagely biting them. They spat chunks of the fruit as they talked among themselves. They threw his blanket aside, discarding it into the mud. They took his silver cup, the bottle of ink, and his short knife. The pen lay broken on the ground. When everything was removed, the shining necklace was revealed and they clutched it greedily. The men then turned to him and took the canteen from the little belt around his waist. They drank from it, then threw it absently to the ground.

Estel was crying, and he hadn't even realized it. The tears fell from his eyes and ran down his cheeks and into his mouth. He tasted blood there and realized he had cut his lips while falling. The men shoved him roughly to the ground, and he felt fierce blows rain onto his back. He felt something burn in his chest, and realized that they were kicking him. Lighting flashed overhead, and he huddled to himself as the blows didn't stop. The rain was harder now, washing him from head to toe. It was a cold rain, and it continued long after his attackers rode away with his belongings. He cried as the rain hit him, stinging the fresh cuts on his back. He lay there for some time, sobbing until he ran out of tears. "I want my father," he said as loudly as he could manage. "I want to go home!"

The rain did not stop, and he was colder than he ever had been in his life. He rose to his knees, and felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He looked at it and saw that it was an angry violet color. Not being able to walk, he crawled around the area, picking up anything that the robbers had left. His chest ached with every breath and he longed to just lie down and sleep until he woke in his bed, warm at home. He could not, he knew, The cloak was soaked, useless until it dried. The blanket was wet, and he tried to fold it, but could not. He stuffed it into his bag and wrapped a piece of his cloak around his wrist as he crawled through the mud. He could feel the gold pieces against his feet, and fresh tears sprang to his eyes. Ahead of him, Weathertop watched the scene in stony silence.

next update: Monday, August 30, 2004