Title: The Long Way Home, Chapter 3 (betaed)

Author: Sorsha711
Fandom/Pairing: Erestor/OFC, others implied
Rating: R
Warning: AU (Story set in Imladris 133 years after ROTK); Het.
Feedback: Constructive feedback appreciated.
Archive: AFF; FF
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Lady Victoria for betaing this fic.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Prof. Tolkien. Just because they come alive in my imagination doesn't make them mine. Sigh!
Summary: Erestor reflects on his life and loves as he completes his final duties as Imladris' Chief Counsellor --- a prequel to In the Garden

Chapter 3 --- Of Love and War

Erestor took his time lighting a torch to carry with him into the vast gallery. He had not been into the shrine of sorts, that Elrond had built at the dawn of the Third Age to honour his ancestors, since the last time he had accompanied his lord there. That had been in the final days before the peredhel left Imladris for the last time.

On that day, he joined Elrond to review and approve the final mural the elf lord had commissioned to complete the telling of the story. Glorfindel had stood to one side, worried the image would not fulfil the expectations of their friend and leader. He need not have worried, it had been brilliant.

Moving slowly along the right side, Erestor studied the images captured on the walls of the gallery, the statues that commemorated important figures in Elrond's life. Many artists had, over the millennia, contributed to the collection that depicted the history of the Eldar in Middle-earth in all their majesty and tragedy --- the scenes of the awaking at Cuiviénen, the Great Journey, the founding of Doriath… the return of the Noldor through the horrors of the grinding ice and the epic struggles that had claimed their mighty kings. The ancient kingdoms of old glowed with the splendour they had held… echoed with the horrors of their doom.

Across the way, the wall celebrated the glories of the three original houses of the Secondborn with honour and pride. These images inexorably flowed toward the battlefields of the War of Wraith to the founding of Númenor to the capture of Sauron… to the destruction of the mighty island nation of the Edain. The angry seas had not settled before Gondor and Arnor rose to begin the line anew, leading to… Isildur and the Army of the Last Alliance. The rangers of the Dúnedain held pride of place, guarding the byways of the north until it was time… Estel… Aragorn… Elessar… Arwen and a final new beginning.

Looking to the middle of the room, the counsellor studied the two statues that gazed back in his direction. The marble came as close to expressing the boundless energy and drive that had, in Erestor's imagination, driven the restless spirit that was Eärendil… as much as mere stone could hope. The breathtaking beauty of the elleth at the mariner's side never failed to capture his attention or remind him of the unreasoning crush he had held as a child for the image of his lord's mother. The couple stared straight ahead, their hands entwined and their eyes fixed on the future. They stared at the wall that completed the gallery on the far end of the room.

Looking back to his right, Erestor studied the image before him. It had been no idle inspiration that had led Elrond to include his own portrait beside the waterfalls of Imladris, juxtaposed to his twin on the far left wall. Their images flanked their parents and spoke to the eternal separation of the peredhil clan… the twins most especially.

Walking with deliberate strides to the far end of the gallery, he gazed up at the image he had not seen since that day over a hundred years earlier, when Elrond had viewed the completed mural. Estel and Arwen stood smiling serenely back at him, their beauty flawlessly captured, their love for each other and the whole of Middle-earth sparking in their eyes, and the joyful acceptance of their destiny clear for all to see.

He had often wondered as a child at the precise spacing Elrond had maintained in the march of history along the smooth plaster walls. It had not been until he had stood beside his sworn brother that day that the full measure of Elrond's foresight was revealed. His brother had known… known for millennia what would happen and yet, he had been true to the will of the One, even as his own heart was shattered.

Dropping his eyes to the sword that hung beside the smiling couple, he reached out to touch its cool surface. It seemed to throb with energy… as if it knew what was about to happen. Reflecting on its history, a part of he was prepared to believe it did. Sighing, Erestor slid his hand into the inner pocket of his robes and removed a small pouch made of the finest blue silk.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the drawstring and let the weight of the mithril fall into his hand. Glancing back up at the painting of the niece of his heart, Erestor said a silent prayer in her memory as he honoured her last request, one made in the hours before her death in Cerin Amroth. The light of his torch caught at the details of the exquisitely crafted necklace as it nestled against Andúril before he turned away and strode from the gallery for the last time.

-----

Dousing the torch in a rain barrel by the doorway leaning onto a small patio, Erestor took a deep cleansing breath to free his mind of the images the Hall of Memory always evoked. /I should not have waited so long to fulfil my promise to Arwen, but I could not bring myself to go sooner. An unreasoning part of my heart wanted to keep the necklace and take it to Elrond, even if I could not bring him his daughter. Still, it was not mine to take or my choice as to where it should go. Perhaps, Arwen understood better. Taking it to Elrond would have only reopened the wound…though it is doubtful it has ever closed./

Walking over to the edge of the patio to look down a winding path into the gardens, he was struck by how often he had stood in this very spot over the many millennia of his life. He had taken to coming to this isolated patio after his return from Mordor. His service in the Army of the Last Alliance had left him scarred and emotionally withdrawn. He had seen too many of his friends, his kin… his king, die violent deaths only to have their sacrifice squandered by the weakness of Isildur to return unscathed.

Caught in a wave of memory, Erestor let his thoughts drift back to those days. He had returned determined to resume his duties as Chief Counsellor as if nothing had happened. His mother had held the post in his absence, the added workload a welcome distraction from her worry over the safety of her loved ones. His return had freed her to concentrate on helping her husband, his father, recover from a serious wound he had sustained during the last battle.

Erestor had thrown himself full-bore into the management of the realm's affairs. Elrond had been lost in his grief and guilt over his foster father's death, Isildur's treachery, and his own father's injury. The burdens that came with being the expected heir to the king had added to his friend's misery and Erestor had gladly taken on as many as he could to relieve Elrond of their weight. He had buried himself in his office and seldom lifted his head to see what was happening beyond its doors.

Many of their kin had decided the time had come to sail and he was kept busy making arrangements for their passage over the sea. Still others flocked to Imladris seeking her shelter and a place at the court of the Lord of Imladris. Elrond had turned none away and the rooms vacated by one family that sailed were quickly readied for a new one moving to the valley. All were looking to his foster brother for leadership and counsel… for healing… for hope and Erestor had devoted himself to helping Elrond meet his new obligations.

So lost was he in the endless work that seemed to flow into his office like the waters of the Bruinen through the valley, he had lost track of himself. Before he had marched off to war at his father and Elrond's side, he had found great pleasure in the tutoring of his younger brother and Glorfindel's niece. His evenings and many of his midday breaks had been spent in the company of other young elves of the realm. One in particular had captured his attention and he had often lain awake on his dusty bedroll in Mordor imagining his homecoming.

Her name was Gaerfin. Her father had been one of Glorfindel's senior officers and her mother had been a scribe in the small library serving the Healing House. She was tiny, not quite reaching his shoulder, with a stunning mane of copper-red hair. The combination of her unusual hair and striking deep blue eyes had quickly captured his interest. Her ready wit and agile mind had been the final lures to win his heart. They had reached an understanding before he marched that they would announce their betrothal upon his return.

She had been waiting when he marched through the main gate at his lord's side, his father's weakened body held before him on his horse. Their reunion had been brief as the need to help get his father to the Healing House had been his top priority. Helping sort out the arrangements for the troops from Lindon that had followed Elrond to Imladris had been the next. Then there had been the need to go through the records and accounts of the prior seven years to reacquaint himself with the state of affairs in the realm. Next had been… the list of issues that demanded his time had been endless.

What time he had found for more personal matters had left him feeling awkward and unsure. The war had made him doubt himself in ways he never had before. It had made him too away of the consequences of making an error in judgment or a rash decision. At odds with this was a lingering desire to throw all caution to the wind and cease the day. He had seen too many die to fail to understand the fragile nature of life… even for an immortal.

It all left him confused and unwilling to commit to Gaerfin as he had promised. In the end, it had come as no shock… and yet a great shock still, when she had followed her parents to Aman the next summer. This small garden had become his place of retreat in those years, to lick his wounds and draw his mental barriers more firmly around himself to avoid another heartbreak. The roar of the falls was near enough to sooth, but far enough away so as to allow him to think… and think he did.

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Imladris, TA 11

"Erestor? I am sorry to disturb you but… I thought you might enjoy a cup of tea. It is your favourite. I made it for you because you look so weary."

Looking up from his contemplation of the cover of a closed book, Erestor found he had been joined by Glaurlas. "Thank you, Las. You did not need to do this, but I will enjoy the tea all the same."

A relieved smile lit her lovely face. Offering the cup, she proudly informed him, "I added honey as I know you like it in your tea."

Taking a sip, the elf had to struggle not too make a face as the overwhelming taste of honey, far too much honey, assaulted his senses. Forcing a smile to his lips, he nodded his thanks. "I see you did. Thank you. I think I will let it cool a little before I drink more."

Tilting his head, he studied his friend's ward. Glaurlas had grown into a lovely young maiden in the thirty years she had lived in Imladris, though she was still many years from her majority. The shadow of grief had been slow to leave her eyes. It had worried him to see her clinging to the doll he had given her for her first begotting day after her parents' death when they had returned from Mordor eleven years earlier. It had been a relief when she began to leave it in her room in the months after their return. /Having her uncle home again must have been a comfort. She must have lived in terror of losing him too./

"Have you finished the essay Lord Elrond assigned you? It is due in class tomorrow," he commented, referencing the small school they had founded to meet the needs of the valley's youngest inhabitants.

"Aye, I have. I finished it several days ago. The topic was interesting, so it was enjoyable to read the journals he suggested. I particularly enjoyed the ones his great-great grandfather kept. The High King kept such neat and organized records. I was surprised to see how much time he took in overseeing the day-to-day running of his kingdom. I think I had supposed him to have spent most of his time reading reports of Morgoth and planning strategy," she observed.

"I had a similar reaction when he assigned me the same report when I was your age. I asked him why he had given me that assignment. His answer might surprise you, so I will await hearing your thoughts on it," he prompted, smiling at her inquiring look.

Moving to sit beside him on the bench beneath a rose arbour, she asked, "How did you know I planned to ask him that?"

"Because I suspect you found the assignment as unexpected as I did. Let me know what you think of his answer." Seeing her eyes resting on the now cool cup of tea, he forced himself to reach for it and take another sip. "It was very thoughtful of you to bring me tea."

A beaming smile lit her face. "I was happy to do it for you. You work so hard and… I like helping you."

-----

Smiling at the memory, Erestor had to question his lack of insight that day. In retrospect, it was clear that the young elleth had developed a crush on her tutor. It had taken him many years to recognize the signs… and this uncharacteristic oversight had given his family and friends many opportunities to have fun at his expense… and, eventually to meddle. /Meddle! I cannot now say who had the most fun in baiting me… Ada or Elrond? Poor Glorfindel was completely clueless of his niece's relentless attempts to catch my eye and win my heart. Both of us assumed she would marry Mel. It did seem natural…/

Laughing at the memory of the years that followed, he turned to walk toward the family quarters of the Last Homely House, needing to make his final inspection of the suites for any items left behind. A rueful smile clung to his lips as he disappeared into the sprawling complex. /I was as clueless as Glory, so I can hardly say much to him. He now finds those memories as funny as the rest of our family does/

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Gaerfin (Copper-red hair) – Erestor's first love