Title: Buried 5/8
Chapter 5The rain washed the tears and dirt from Estel's face. Eventually, it woke him, though his mind fought hard to remain in sweet oblivion. Estel remembered everything that had happened and regarded himself with dull hopelessness. Were those his real brothers? Did it matter? Whether real or not, did they not say what Estel had always feared to be true?
One part of him struggled with the despair that seemed to smother the very life in his body. Think, Estel! Remember! He had seen his brothers with birds that had broken wings, with frightened children, with badgers caught in torturous traps. They were not cruel! Even if they hated him they would never have expressed such viciousness. They would not have treated an Orc so! They were not real….
Estel opened his eyes. Perhaps. Maybe. That hand in his hair had hurt. He began to sit up, being careful not to set off the nausea or shaking again. He felt a little better. Though the rain made him colder, it also seemed to wash away some of the cloudiness in his mind. He managed to get to his knees.
However, the poppy syrup was not ready to leave his body in peace. Estel did not know that the sickness he was experiencing was his body demanding the potion that had kept him sedated for so long. Inevitably, the pain, trembling, chills, and nausea quickly returned. To that dreadful list was added a burning fever. The cramps tried to tie his body in knots. He groaned pitifully and then was ashamed of his weakness. The nausea had returned redoubled, and this time what he expelled was streaked with scarlet. Blood vessels in his throat had ruptured during the extreme paroxysms. He began to wonder if the (false?) Elladan and Elrohir were about to get their wish. Surely he could not survive in this state much longer. And then Elrond stood before him.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Legolas swore in a steady stream of invective. His voice was not angry, rather a sort of imprecation, though the words were far different from the prayers he had learned at his mother's knee. He was criss-crossing his way across the gravel bed on foot for the third time. Rain dripped steadily from his brow and blurred his vision. He repeatedly swept water and hair from his face with one hand. It was hopeless. There was simply no trace left to be found. No traces except his own, he thought savagely.
At that moment he heard galloping hooves. He cocked his head and tried to block out the rain and other noises. Yes! It was Sadoreth! The horse from Harad had distinctive gaits. He whistled shrilly and the black horse crashed through some brush at the edges of the gravel bed. Unfortunately, Estel was not on him. Legolas tried to approach his friend's horse but Sadoreth, though vaguely pleased to have encountered the elf who was often with his Chosen, was too distraught to be handled. He shied violently and his eyes rolled white.
Legolas murmured soothingly to Sadoreth. The horse's ears flicked forward and back and his crest lowered a bit. He listened to the familiar voice. This one was the only being besides Estel to ever sit on his back. The only other one he allowed on his back. Both ears came forward and he finally stepped toward the elf.
Legolas' hand crept up the neck and caressed the silken cheek and velvet muzzle. "Where is Estel, black one, where is your Chosen?"
The horse simply stood and endured the elf's touch. Legolas sighed and spoke sternly. "Do not ever tell him about this! He has these nonsensical ideas about elves versus humans. What I am about to do will not help that situation."
The elf pulled the horse's head around so that they faced each other. Then he breathed into the fine, black nostrils before him. He told the horse that he needed to find Estel. He placed both hands at the sides of the elegant head and pictured Estel's face clearly in his mind.
The horse snorted and began to paw the ground. Legolas signaled his own horse to follow and sprang upon Sadoreth's back. The horse wheeled and gravel flew as together they started in the direction of his Chosen.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Estel shivered and retched again. One Elrond scornfully derided his physical weakness. "Sniveling engwar! Wallowing in your own vomit! Crawling like a beaten dog, whimpering and whining."
"Ada, help me!" Estel gasped, struggling to reach a shaking hand toward his father. The stern figure swept his robes' skirts distastefully away from his son.
The other Elrond was worse.
That one stooped and patted his son's hair perfunctorily. "Such a shame. Years wasted in raising a light-weight. You cannot help it, of course. We tried, all of us, but look at the material we had to work with. Estel! Hah! We should have named you Kaulo. You are weak, cowardly; a slaveling when we needed a king."
Estel tried to ignore them, but their words bit deeply. He drew his hands along the stony ground and put his palms on either side of his ribs. He pushed with all his might. His head moved upward a few inches, then his chest. His arms were shaking; his gasping breath whistling harshly. The first Elrond laughed heartily at the sight, as though it was the funniest thing seen in a long, long life. The other Elrond clucked his tongue sadly. The two finally walked off, arm in arm. Estel looked after them in disbelieving sorrow.
Estel's arms gave out and his head hit the ground hard. Two familiar boots entered his field of vision and stopped within inches of his face.
"No," he whispered in utter despair, "Not you. Please, not you."
The owner of the boots sank gracefully onto his heels before Estel's face. He spoke conversationally, but his words were carefully placed darts that pierced the struggling heart.
"Did you know that I am paid to be your friend? Not in gold—my father has enough of that and to spare! But there are some things gold cannot obtain. Admittance to the libraries of Imladris, for instance. I have no intention of remaining a provincial Silvan all my life. Our 'friendship' gives me intimate acquaintance with the great elves from former times, those who manipulate the lesser beings of Middle Earth like chess pieces. Oh, I am sorry; you are one of those pieces are you not?"
Estel whimpered. This was worse than all the rest. "Legolas, please, do not say these things. You are my friend. You said so!" He repeated desolately, "You said so…"
"Foolish human. You are old enough not to believe in fairy stories. Elrond recently told you who you are. So all these years you were really Aragorn, not Estel…Estel is a lie. It was necessary that you believed you were loved; you were a tiny child, after all. But you are no longer a child, and we need no longer pretend."
The pain caused by his beautiful friend's words made a mockery of all his body had put him through. The loving tones with destructive intent smoothly slid a dagger's point into the boy's ardent soul. He did not struggle as his heart slowed and faltered. He seemed to watch from a distance as his heart began, not to break, as the poets said, but to tear. To tear in long, shining, bloody strands, each with some cruelty written upon it with white-hot runes. Ripping very, very slowly, one at a time, stinging and burning, until they fell, to lie in the grey ashes of death.
The bludgeoned boy summoned the strength to whisper a small triumph, "It seems I do have some elf-like qualities after all, for I am fading, Legolas."
The elf laughed softly and musically. "Then fade, my friend. I believe that I am now sufficiently a part of Elrond's 'family' that I need not fear being turned away. I will weep most distressfully over your grave."
Legolas drew one finger tip slowly along the line of Estel's jaw, then moved it higher to catch a tear as it fell from the sorrowing eyes. He tasted the tear and smiled.
"So much pain. But you have already begun the remedy –"
Suddenly Estel's body felt even greater pain as it was roughly handled. The elf shimmered before Estel's eyes and disappeared. He heard the same voice, but it was not smooth and cutting like a scalpel. It was urgent and frightened. Then he fell again into the darkness, his mind shuddering away from the pain of both body and spirit.
"Estel, you must stay with me. Estel! Ai! Illuvitar, help me! What is wrong with him!"
Legolas had flung himself across the dry streambed that held his young friend's nearly lifeless body. He saw the signs of grave illness but did not know the cause. Finding no physical injury, he risked hauling the boy up in his arms and carrying him to his horse.
Sadoreth crowded Legolas and pushed his nose against the limp form in the elf''s arms.
"No, Sadoreth! You have done well, but you must let me take him. You cannot carry us both, great though your courage may be."
He put Estel upon his own horse and mounted behind him. They started back to the palace at a dead run, only the elf's superb balance and strength keeping them both in place. Sadoreth ran alongside.
End chapter 5
Engwar – 'the sickly', mankind
Kaulo – great burden, affliction