2547
BS
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Wednesday, July 21, 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: More drama. And AU-ness.
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter seven

Lazy days were his favorites, Estel reflected as he rolled on his bed and stretched languidly in the sunlight. The twenty-two-year-old sighed and punched his pillow underneath his head. The sun had been up for two hours, but he was still in his night clothes. A book was propped on his chest and thighs, and he turned pages with his right hand whenever needed. The book was written in some ancient language, and it detailed the life of an insignificant maid in the house of Fingolfin, and all the scandals she had been privy to. He read a passage and flushed red with the implications. He was pleased that he could read well enough to understand most of the books in the library. They had taught him much, and had proven to be a useful outlet for him to learn culture.

He saw a shadow pass between his bed and window, then felt a heavy weight sit on his bed. Svelte hands lifted the book from him and carried it away. He glanced up and saw Arwen skimming the text, her eyes growing wider with every sentence. A pink tinge to her cheeks, she leveled a scolding glare in his direction. "Estel! This is hardly appropriate material for someone your age!" Her eyes were full of mirth as she said it, so he ignored her.

"It is my birthday, Arwen," he said at length. He had learned over the years to speak softly. Gone were the days he would shout obliviously.

"Yes," she said. He wished that he could close his eyes and ignore her, but that would just make her angry. Instead, he watched her words with feigned interest. "It is because it is your birthday that you should not sleep late into the day. Come, we have much planned."

He groaned. "I am too old to have these celebrations."

She stared at him, genuinely bewildered. "Old?" She shook her head with delectation. "Ah, Little Brother, you are not old!" She grabbed his hands and pulled him upright. "You are young, yet!" She dragged him to his feet, and kissed him on the cheek. "Come, there is much to be done. Dress, and join us for lunch." She picked up the book he had been reading from its spot on the floor. "I will take this back to the library, where it will not distract you." She walked out of the room with a great flourish, book held against her chest. On impulse, he followed her silently. He stuck his head into the corridor in time to see her walk into her room and walk out -- without the book. He giggled and she turned to see him. Face red, she shouted something at him that he could not find a word for, and stalked down the hall.

Alone in his room, he stripped his shirt and leggings away. He browsed for clothing and settled on cerulean raiment. He braided his hair in a simple plait, and shod his feet in blue slippers. He left the room and went directly to the kitchen. He picked up a piece of fruit and then ate it as he sought out his family. They were sitting at a table, waiting for him. He took his spot opposite Elrond. Arwen sat on his right, Elladan on his left. Elrohir sat next to his twin, and Glorfindel sat on Elrond's other side. They greeted him and began eating.

"What do you have planned for your birthday?" Elrond asked as he selected a piece of bread and smeared creamy butter over it. He was looking apprehensive and rubbed his thumb over the little band of gold on his right index finger.

He sighed melodramatically. "Father, I had intended to delight in the simple pleasures of life. A day of watching butterflies on flower blossoms, swimming in the waters and letting them breathe new life into me. I shall watch the mountains under the crepuscular sky, and stare into the heavens above me. The dome of stars shall be like jewels on the rich raiment of the cloak of the night. The vault of heaven shall open before me, and I shall hear the words of the song of --" He stopped as he saw his family had stopped eating and was watching him.

"I see someone has been reading Maglor, again." He saw Glorfindel say.

"Drunken Maglor, you mean," his father said and ate his bread. His siblings were staring at him aghast.

He blushed slightly and said, "In truth, Father, I feel that it is no longer appropriate to make such a fuss over this."

"Nonsense," his father said. "Your life has just yet begun. Were you an Elf, you would celebrate your begetting day for many years yet to come." The expression in his eyes said that this was the final word in the matter. We will celebrate this until I chose not to do so. He stopped himself from bringing up the point that this wasn't his begetting day and that he was not an Elf.

He felt a kick under the table and turned to his left. Elladan and Elrohir were looking at him with their eyes twinkling. "We are aware of your epicurean tendencies, Brother," Elladan said. Estel mentally groaned. "We have made arrangements with the cooks, and you will not be disappointed." Anything further they might have said, he did not see, for he shut his eyes tightly. He opened them again and peeked at the table. Arwen was smiling broadly at him, Elladan and Elrohir were picking grapes from the bottom of an ornately-carved fruit bowl, and his father and Glorfindel were conversing privately at the other side of the table. Estel drank from his glass of miruvor -- funny, it tasted like water.

It had been a good day, Estel thought as he changed for the grand supper his brothers had promised him. Arwen had sewn a claret brocade vest for him, and he had promised her that he would wear it for the dinner. It spoke of excellent needlework, the golden threads creating an exquisite design along the border and back. His brothers presented him with a book of bawdy historical incidents that they had found on a trip to Lake-town. Elrond looked ashamed when they presented it to him. There were various other trinkets that members of the house had bestowed upon him, and he had been touched by each one. Elrond had told him that he would give him a gift after the feast, and he had spent the day wondering what it could be.

For a polished appearance, he shaved before the dinner. He was not fond of the task. He had started growing a beard five years ago, and Elrond had given him a book about the differences between Men and Elves. He had told him that it would be easier for Estel to read that than Elrond try to explain. An hour after Elrond's visit, Glorfindel -- who had been distant to Estel when he was younger, but was slowly growing close to the man -- had brought a sharp razor to him. Estel had quickly determined that Elves were useless when it came to shaving facial hair, and stopped asking for advice. He splashed soapy water on his face and patted it dry with a towel. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and was satisfied that he wasn't bleeding anywhere. He combed through his hair and braided it again. The braid slapped against his upper back as he walked back to the bed. He carefully donned his vest and admired the way it fitted. He laced his breeches and sat on the bed as he tugged on his ceremonial boots. He felt something cold hit his foot. He jerked for a moment, then remembered the little gold coins that he kept there. He felt guilty that he had forgotten about them. They were symbols of his strength and ability to overcome adversity.

Fully dressed, he strode to the great hall and saw people applaud daintily when he entered. There were music and dancing, although he could not hear them. Arwen waved him toward her. She met him halfway across the floor and pulled him into a lively dance. He followed her movements to keep in time with the music. They smiled sweetly at each other, and he was grateful that she was his sister. After Arwen retired to the table, he joined her and they feasted. There were many types of food, and he sampled everything. The people settled down around them -- it was not yet time for singing and dancing. They would eat first, then move to the Hall of Fire. Estel stayed at the table while the guests came and went around him. After the feast, Elrond rose and clasped Estel's shoulder. They walked together out of the room, and he saw that his brothers and sister were following them. Behind them, the rest of the party assembled and readied to leave.

As they walked to the doors, attendants flung them wide and they emptied into a wide passage. The same attendants stumbled over themselves to open the next doors, and they entered the Hall of Fire. Estel saw the empty room and watched as the flickering flames cast shadows on the walls. He felt apprehensive, suddenly, as though something important was going to happen. Elrond steered Estel to his reserved seat, and minstrels broke into song. Now, the dancing began in earnest. As soon as he was seated, an Elf-maiden approached and pulled him into a dance. It was harder to follow her movements than Arwen's, and found himself out of step more than once. Arwen had practiced with him for many weeks, and he could dance decently with her. This maiden didn't seem to mind, though, when he stepped out of rhythm. The dance ended, and another Elf took her place. Much of the night passed this way. His feet were beginning to ache when his last partner wandered away from the dance. Estel walked to the hearth and leaned against one of the adjacent columns.

"Who now shall refill the cup for me?" he whispered. He wasn't aware that he spoke aloud until Erestor, who had been standing nearby, turned and looked at him curiously. Estel shook himself to clear his head.

Long hours passed and Estel found that he was drowsy. The merriment continued around him, but he did not feel well enough to partake in it. He closed his eyes and dozed against the wall. He was startled, though, when Elrond stood next to him and touched his chin. He jumped awake and stared at his father while trying to calm his breathing. "Yes, Father?"

Elrond appeared ethereal in the firelight. Light and shadow danced across his face. He appeared youthful with one flicker of the fire, and ancient with the next. He stood proud and strong, but his eyes were filled with timeless grief. He watched the fire for several long seconds, then turned to Estel. "My son, I have delayed this task for many years when I should not. Now, the time comes when action must be taken." He breathed deeply. Estel could hardly see his words in the dimness of the room. "I must speak with you. This is not a matter to be discussed in this room." He pushed a stray hair away from Estel's eyes. "I will meet you in the morning in my study. We have much to discuss." He stepped away from the hearth. "Sleep well, my son."

Estel felt dread running through him. He looked around the room and noticed that everyone had left. He pondered Elrond's words as he walked languidly back to his own room. His father had been keeping something from him for many years? He thought of what it could be as he walked. Was it relating to his deafness? Or to his 'excursion' in Bree? He climbed the stairs to his room, and sat down on the bed. He was distracted as he unbuttoned his vest. He folded it neatly and stacked it by his door. Someone would be by to wash it in the morning. He put the toe of his right boot against the heel of his left, and pulled backwards. The boot slid off his foot, and he stared at the coin-relief that had been pressed into his foot. He repeated the action with his right boot, and then set them by the bed. He would clean them in the morning, after his meeting with Elrond. He unlaced his leggings and crawled into the bed, nude.

The moon was full that night, and it illuminated the world softly. He lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Unconsciously, he turned toward the window and looked out. The sky was full of light, and he found himself smiling. Eärendil glowed brightly. Without thought, he spoke aloud, ". . . In lofty halls beyond the West . . ." He turned westward and stared at the starry sky. "Beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly." He stopped then, and wondered why he had said such a thing. The words seemed familiar to him. He thought of where he could have heard them before, but knew not. He pulled his thin blanket around his shoulders and thought about his words. Varda. Elbereth. He would have liked to meet her, for she seemed splendid.

Sleep would not come to him this night. He watched the moon move through the night sky, watched the clouds float in front of it, then vanish. As he stared at the moon, he thought he could see an eye. It was made of flames and moved to look in his direction. When it saw him, its pupil widened and the flames seemed to burn brighter. Then, Estel blinked and the eye was gone. He turned onto his side and buried his head in his pillow. He sniffed it, then frowned and sat up in the bed. The fabric smelled of some floral scent that he could not identify. He picked it up and smelled again. Yes, definitely floral. He slid off his bed and picked up his breeches. He put them on -- didn't bother with the laces -- and picked up the pillow. He exited his room and walked down the corridor to Arwen's room. He tapped lightly on the door before entering.

Arwen sat in her chair, reading by candlelight. She looked up at his approach. "Is there something you need, Little Brother?" she asked. Her face was expressionless, but he could detect some sort of amusement in her eyes.

"Your pillow," he said and held the offensive accouterment.

"My pillow?"

"It smells like your shampoo."

She accepted the pillow and sniffed it. "Indeed, my pillow." She motioned to the bed where he saw another fluffy pillow set to the side. He picked it up, smelled it, and sighed in relief. They had been switched in being cleaned. This one smelled of damp earth, of musky masculinity. He held it to his chest and waved goodnight as he left the room. He slept well that night, under the cool gaze of the overhanging stars.

----- next update: Monday, September 27, 2004.