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BS
Monday, July 19, 2004
Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Disclaimer: 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-
Warnings: Yet more drama and AU-ness.
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter five

Her father was brooding again, Arwen saw. He was poring over some ancient text, scribbling illegible notes with his right hand and turning pages with his left. It had been eleven years since he had clumped the boy Estel into the same category as his own children and renamed him. Her father was looking melancholy and she felt bad for him. It really wasn't his fault that Estel had ran away. She could remember that time clearly. She had risen the morning after her father's departure and waited in the kitchen for the boy. He didn't arrive, so she left for the council meeting, certain that he was sleeping late. He still hadn't shown himself by noon, and she went to his room to find it locked. Deciding to give him some space -- he had been terribly upset when Elrond had left without him -- she hadn't become worried until that night when his seat was empty at the dinner table. She unlocked his room, then ran from the door, shouting for people to help her search for the child. His blanket was gone, and she noticed several pairs of missing clothing.

All of the Last Homely House had turned out to look for Estel, and combed over the valley in their search. It had been futile, and riders were sent in eight directions to look for him. Most of their trackers had gone in the party to Mirkwood, and there had been a risk of less-experienced, younger Elves missing something. Slowly, they had thoroughly searched the surrounding woods and roads, but had found nothing. The two elves sent to the east had come upon Elrond ten days into the search and had explained the situation to dismayed Elladan and Elrohir, then to Elrond himself. The party had sent a messenger to Mirkwood, citing a family crisis, then had returned home. Arwen, not being an experienced tracker or even a good rider, had waited in Rivendell with the hope that Estel would return on his own.

He had not, and days turned into weeks, and then into months without him being found. She sighed loudly and sipped her miruvor, letting the taste wash around her mouth before swallowing. "It was an accident," she said abruptly.

He stopped writing and slowly shifted his eyes from the text to her face. He kept his head bowed, and the overall effect was one of incredulity. "Arwen," he said. "It is not an accident when one loses the heir of Mankind, as it were, the boy who should have been king." He looked at her in a long stare. "It is a tragedy at best, and an act of gross negligence in reality." He turned back to the book. "Speak no more of it."

She exhaled in annoyance. "I only spoke because you seem so despondent. Festering here will accomplish nothing." She regretted her words as soon as she spoke them, and darted from the door immediately. She shut it behind her and gasped as she saw a tall Elf standing before her. He bowed low when he caught her attention and she smiled broadly. He was not an Elf that she recognized -- probably from Mirkwood where she traveled little. "Greetings, sir," she said. "Do you have business with Lord Elrond?"

He nodded politely. She stepped aside and allowed him through. She was almost to the stairs when the door to her father's study snapped off its hinges and her father ran from the room in a rush. He grabbed her wrist as he sped past her and she nearly stumbled down the stairs to keep up with him. She hazarded a look behind her and saw the Elf standing calmly in the room, a small smile on his face. He led her past the confused servants and advisors, and out through the ornate doors of the Last Homely House.

"Father?" she questioned as she ran behind him. "Where are we going?"

He ignored her as though he didn't hear her, then said, "To Bree."

Bree? The little town at the intersection of the East-West Road and the Greenway? "Why?" Her tone was genuinely baffled. There was nothing in Bree but wolves and the occasional Ranger.

They arrived at the stable and she saw her brothers there. They had been grooming their horses and looked up, quizzical, when they entered the stable. Her father continued on, oblivious. "Because, Arwen, that is where Estel is, and we are going to go get him." She felt her breath catch in her throat. Her brothers were staring at their father in shock. Elrond stopped and looked at her, then his sons. "Are you not accompanying me?"

They asked no questions, only saddled their horses and helped Arwen on her own. Two elves appeared next to them, as though by sorcery, and led a pack pony laden with food and supplies along side them. They started immediately. If they rode hard, Bree was seventeen days away. She wasn't fond of long trips, but wanted to see the boy alive and well with her own eyes. She missed the sweet child who sat with her in the library and joined her for breakfast. She didn't have the same memories of him that her brothers had -- before his accident when he was carefree -- but she cherished her own memories of the lad. She blamed herself for letting him get as far away as he did. If she had recognized his absence the first morning, then he would not have been able to elude them.

They rode all of the night and until the noon of the next day. They stopped and let the horses rest while eating fresh fruit and drinking miruvor. Arwen had been on the road there before, but it had been many years and everything seemed alien to her. The banks around the road were covered with leafy green vegetation. There were hills and forests where she remembered none before. They waited until nightfall before riding again. This pattern was followed for several days. Progress seemed unbearably slow. Several times, she questioned her father to what the Elf had told him in Rivendell, or who the Elf was, but he answered her not. The forests gave way to unnoticeable grass lands, then back to trees as the days stretched onward. Amon Sûl loomed in front of them, then they left it behind.

They stopped on the road that night, only because necessity mandated it. Arwen was too anxious to eat; she nibbled on a slice of dried apple, the taste bland in her mouth. They would be in Bree in two days. There, she hoped that Estel would be well, and happy to see them. They had missed him terribly, but she was forced to wonder if the human child even wanted to return home. She wished that he hadn't ran away. He had never expressed being unhappy with living in the valley. She had always known him to be a reserved child, but her brothers told her that this was not the case. Before the loss of his hearing, he had been unapologetically underfoot, stealing sweets from the kitchen, playing wildly in places that young children should not be playing. His tragic accident left him with little to do, and a severe disability on life. Acrimoniously, her brothers told him that the people of Rivendell had found him more likeable as a deaf child. One drunken citizen went so far as to thank the sons of Elrond for deafening him. Their father had not held them responsible for the savage beating that had followed.

As they rode, she looked for food and water that the little human could have used on his flight. There were a few streams after crossing the Mitheithel, but she didn't know if Estel could have found them without the sound of running water. The land was without a rich supply of food. Estel could not hunt, and unless he strayed far from the road, there was little edible. But, if someone had seen him in Bree, then he had to have crossed the distance with some nourishment. They had crossed the imposing remains of an old apple tree, its blackened limbs extending high to the heavens and low to the earth. It had been split in the middle by lightning, probably, and its tall corpse stood broken in the sky. She felt some emotion rise in her breast when she saw it, but could not place a name to the sensation.

They reached Bree at night. The gate was barred to them, and they had to wait for several long minutes for the gate keeper to rouse himself and allow them entry. He looked at them askance. "What brings Elves here, so late at night?"

No one answered, and then Elrohir said, "It is no concern of yours. We will not be staying long." They walked over the stone roads, looking at the stone buildings. Arwen thought the place quite quaint, although she kept the notion to herself. Her father seemed to be looking for something, his eyes scanning through every sign on each stone building. They wandered through the streets, then his eyes lit on an inn. The Prancing Pony, Arwen noted. He led his horse in that direction, and the other five Elves followed behind. They left the horses with one Elf and the Elrond walked inside. Arwen followed, and saw that her brothers were behind her. Inside the Inn, villagers drank ale from surprisingly clean tankards. There was a wench on the table, singing a raunchy song and tapping her feet to the rhythm. Arwen wrinkled her nose in disgust as the smell hit her, and she upheld every effort not to gag. Beside her, her brothers looked annoyed. The Elf behind them had obviously not been to a human city before, and was looking around the room with wild eyes.

A swarthy man approached them. He had curly dark hair, and wore a stained apron around his front. He said, "What can I do for, ye?" He polished a mug as he spoke, eyes glancing over all of the strangers, then settling on her father.

Elrond spoke, and Arwen had forgotten how rough Westron sounded. "We need rooms and stabling for seven horses." She watched her father transform as he spoke. He could be kind and warm, or even cold with anger, but then, he spoke with a very regal air of indifference. "I would like to speak to the proprietor of this establishment."

The man blinked slowly. "We have two rooms, but the horses aren't a problem." He set his glass down and extended his meaty hand. "The cost is affordable. Half now, half when you leave. I'm Butterbur, owner."

Arwen blinked in surprise. He was the owner? But he was so young! She barely heard as the man ordered a fat hobbit to see to their horses.

Elrond pulled the man to the side. "We are here for a young human. He is thirteen now, light complexion and black hair." Elrond stared intently at the young man. "He has been deaf for several years now. One of my kinsmen sent word that he saw him here, in this very inn." He took an intimidating step toward the lad. "Do you know of whom I speak?"

The Butterbur boy was shaking. Understanding lit his eyes and he nodded vigorously. He pulled away from their party and walked to a door in the back. They followed. The man continued speaking as he walked. "I didn't know the little fellow had any family. He's been here for four years now." He made hand motions as he spoke, although Arwen could decipher no meaning from them. "We sent for the carpenter to make the coffin two days ago," he said. Arwen saw her father stumble and felt her own heart fall in her chest.

"Coffin?" She heard one of her brothers repeat.

"Aye, the poor lad. The fever struck him last week. We had a midwife look at him a few days ago, but she didn't give us any hope." He stopped in front of the stable and Arwen could see her horse being led into a stall. They walked past several stalls, one on each side of her, until coming to a little area in the rear of the building. There was a heap of cloths in a corner, and the Innkeeper motioned to it. Arwen turned to look and could see movements from under the fabric. Her father knelt by the corner and pulled the blankets away from the shivering body underneath them.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the sickly form of Estel. She could barely recognize him. The light highlighted his sunken eyes and soaked hair. His skin was a pallid shade, and seemed entirely too thin. He was wearing some sort of coat over a white and blue shirt. His eyes were closed, and his face shone with sweat.

"Alas, Estel," her father said. He rubbed the boy's face under his hands and staved off the shivering. He picked him up and took the cloak from his shoulders to wrap around the child.

The Innkeeper returned a moment later -- she hadn't even realized he had left -- and handed her an envelope. "His wages," he said. "Take him if you wish, just be sure to get rid of all these sick blankets."

Elrond turned to him. "We are taking him to a room inside. In the morning we will leave."

The Innkeeper sputtered. "You can't do that! I can't have no sick whelps in my Inn!"

Her father leveled him with a look that had brought down the mighty. He carried Estel away from the stable and inside the sweltering Inn. Mr. Butterbur did naught to stop them. Arwen went ahead and unlocked their rooms. She heard a guest say loudly, "What's this? The Boy is still alive?" There was a series of rough cackles. Arwen ignored them and focused on Estel. Her father and brothers brought him into the room, and she held his hand -- his skin was rough -- in hers.

next update: Monday, September 13, 2004