Disclaimer: The "growing up imperfect in a perfect world" was greatly inspired by Cassia and Siobhan's Story "Vilya"
Chapter 8 Winter
Elladan sat at the window staring out into the beautiful snow-covered landscape. They had returned to the palace only a few days ago after moths of searching for Estel and it was nice to be indoors once again, but he almost didn't notice. His thoughts were constantly going to his youngest brother.
He hated to think about Estel alone in the snow. What if he was still out there? What if he lay somewhere in the snow unable to find shelter or warmth anywhere? What if he was not alive when the snow cleared and they were able to set out again? No! He refused to believe that. It simply could not be true!
At first when Legolas had said that they would have to return to Mirkwood, the twins had been reluctant to go.
"We'll find him tomorrow," they had said.
Oh yes, tomorrow´. Tomorrow with all its promises.
Each night before they slept, they always took comfort in that thought: Tomorrow, tomorrow we'll find him.´ But they never did.
But still it had been so hard to leave, for what if this tomorrow was different, what if this tomorrow would be the day?
Elladan supposed he'd never know, and it was probably better that way. He could not bear it, if they had truly left one day too early, then it was best not to know.
It had been the right time to return though, if not too late actually. They had nearly been trapped by the snow before they got here. Elladan did not like to think about that, for even though the cold did not bother elves as much as humans, it still could have been fatal for them. Their clothes and other gear were not designed for winter use.
He sighed and looked out at the snow again. "Please," he whispered to the snowflakes "Please spare my brother. That's all I ask." A single tear escaped his eye and fell onto the windowsill, where it lay glistening in the winter light.
These past months had been so long for him. He felt so alone, so cold inside. It had been close to midsummer when he had been placed here. He had been out several times since then, but somehow it didn't feel real to him.
Elves were not cruel creatures; they treated all beings well - even if they did not deserve it.
But in his eyes the woods didn't hold the beauty he would once have seen there. The walks in the woods had not been the only times he had been taken above ground; several times he had been brought to Thranduil's hall. The elven king did not like to hold a man who had not yet been found guilty, for even though all evidence pointed his direction, it was impossible to know anything for certain before the man had defended himself or admitted guilt, but neither was the case.
Thranduil had tried to get the man to talk several times, before he would be forced to officially close the case, but Estel always remained quiet, refusing to say anything except that he was innocent, not always quite remembering anything else and each time Thranduil had been forced to put him back in the cell.
It had been difficult to stay inside himself, though; to allow no feelings in. It took so much energy, energy that in the end, the man no longer had. He was forced to remember, even though he tried not to.
The months passed. Summer turned to autumn, autumn turned to winter, and with it came colder weather and stronger winds. But the changing of the seasons didn't bring Aragorn any solace, only pain.
The chill of the cell now matched the chill of his heart. It was not exactly cold down here, but the air had turned from warm to a little chilly, especially when it was dark outside.
The sun seldom reached down to him anymore, and when it did, it was only for such a short time. Through the small window, which wasn't really a window but rather a hole in the wall with bars, Estel could smell the snow on the air and when he stood on his toes he could see some of it hit the ground.
The snow was perfect; like the elves he mused, each snowflake different from the other, but all were perfect in their own right.
I am but a stray splash of dirt among all that perfect white. Who would ever want me? I'm a blemish to their beauty, their flawlessness, he thought sadly.
It was hard growing up imperfect in a perfect world, and Estel felt the full brunt of that now.
Seven months had passed.
Seven months of not knowing, of worrying, of hurting.
Elrond was in his study, trying desperately to read the papers before him. He had been trying to do this for more days than he cared to count, but somehow the contents of the letters did not sink in - he read each word but his mind was elsewhere and they made no sense. He sighed and Erestor looked up at him questioningly.
When he had started falling behind, Erestor had offered to help him sort through the mail. Erestor's help had kept the papers at a more manageable level.
"Are you unwell, My Lord, " Erestor asked, not because he was in doubt, but because he knew something was wrong. The last time he had seen Elrond like this was when Celebrian had sailed. However that was many centuries ago and the councillor doubted very much that it was the pain of her passing that was once again hurting Elrond. No, this time it was something else and Erestor had a pretty good idea what it was.
Elrond didn't answer his friend and councillor's question, but the look in his eyes said it all. Erestor rose from his desk, which had been placed in Elrond's study when Erestor had started aiding him full time.
He wanted to help Elrond, but he didn't know how to approach it. He simply couldn't bear to see him just sitting there, despair so evident in his eyes. In the end he settled for a comforting hand on Elrond's shoulder, he didn't know what else to do, but he hoped this would be enough.
Elrond didn't say anything right now, but some day he would thank Erestor for all he had done for him. Right now he just didn't have the strength to do it.
TBC
