Written for the prompt: celebration (from the OAA Yahoo list)
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Celebration
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"I am not sure that is a good idea, Estel. I did that once, and I still have not heard the end of it — and it has been 1400 years!"
"I do not think I can help you, my son. Erestor is not very...that is...you know how much we all care for him, but you also know that he does not like some of the things that you like."
"No, little brother, for the simple reason that I do not care to be flayed alive, and to have my hide hanging on his wall, right next to the sword he used at the Last Alliance!"
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For Erestor, it had been one of those days. It had begun with explaining to Talinir the meaning of the new trade agreement – five times. (While he granted that elves do not age very much physically, nothing could convince him that senility didn't strike on a regular basis.) Next, two crises — one in the kitchen and one in the formal garden — required the personal attention of Elrond, so of course the elven ruler found a reason why Erestor should attend to them. To cap off the day, he had fended off the amorous attentions of an elleth who had apparently decided a description of her dream ellon included ascetic, caustic, and funereal. It was with an audible sigh of relief that he put his hand on his door-pull to retire for an evening of privacy and quiet.
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Estel had also had a difficult day. It had begun when his loved ones had refused to help him with a special project. It moved on to include precipitating a crisis in the kitchen and the formal garden, and — due to the aforementioned difficulty in obtaining cooperation — forced him to pilfer the stores for necessary materials. Nonetheless, he persevered, and now waited breathlessly for what seemed like hours.
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The door silently opened, and Erestor thankfully entered his quarters, his eyes drooping closed in fatigue. Thus it was that the first intimation that all was not as he left it was an almost cloyingly sweet smell of flowers. His eyes snapped open just as a voice shrieked, "SURPRISE!!"
Then a rare event occurred: Erestor's jaw dropped in stunned amazement. His room was, well, festooned implies some sort of organization, so perhaps the word he was looking for was...no, there simply were no words. The chaos he gazed upon was akin to ordinary disorder in the same way a petty thief is akin to Sauron. Sadly wilting flowers lay on every available surface. Ribbons in every possible color stretched from drawer pulls to chair arms, from table legs to lamp stands. The room was crisscrossed with enough glittering string and small paper hoops to circle the Last Homely House twice. In the midst of the shambles a small human boy was leaping up and down, crying, "Happy Begetting Day, Erestor!"
The little vein in Erestor's temple throbbed in rhythm with Estel's gleeful bouncing. After a few moments of thunderstruck rigidity, Erestor moved, and moved quickly. He took two swift strides and placed one hand on Estel's shoulder, anchoring him firmly to the ground. He struggled to express himself. "You – what – why – Estel!"
The boy gazed up into Erestor's dumbfounded face, delighted that his friend was speechless. "I knew you would love it! Everyone said you never have a party for your Begetting Day. They said you would not want me to celebrate your special day with you, but I knew that was just silly!"
Erestor tried again. "You – you did all this? Alone?" Surely a horde of barbarians had been required!
"I did! I started to make the paper chains two days ago, and it was hard to keep everyone from finding out."
"I can imagine." Erestor stepped to his desk and lifted a drooping lily. The flowers were not in vases, but lay in small, wilting bunches. Everywhere. Erestor mused with detached thoughtfulness, "This explains why the Chief Gardener was in an uproar. Amazing that he wasn't discovered."
Estel knew that Erestor did not jump around, or even laugh out loud very often, but Estel was starting to wonder if Erestor liked his surprise. Perhaps it was time to unveil the piece de resistance. He grabbed the unresisting hand of the councilor, and led him to a small table at the side of the room. On it sat a large, flat cake that bore a curious blurred inscription: "Happy AnBegetting Daysary, Erestoriel". Estel rubbed his chin, still not entirely pleased with his efforts. "I am sorry I could not get all of the other letters off."
"Another mystery solved. And here I thought the cook was hallucinating."
Erestor stilled seemed to be talking to himself more than Estel. The boy began to fear his family had been right. Worst of all, he began to fear Elledan was right. "Are you – you won't skin me, will you? I just wanted to make you happy."
Erestor ground his teeth, and counted. As he gave himself time to formulate a reply that would not devastate Estel's tender heart, he looked around the room once more. His eyes strayed over ribbon and paper, flowers and glitter, but after some moments began to see something besides disarray. He saw grubby little hands, carefully pasting the paper circles together, with a small tongue sticking out in concentration. He saw two short legs staggering beneath the burden of a huge cake. He saw innumerable trips back and forth to the gardens. He saw a formidable task, even for an adult. His anger melted away, and he turned to meet Estel's eyes for the first time since he entered the room. He pulled out a chair from the table and said regally, "Would you care to be seated?"
Estel smiled and scrambled into the offered chair. Erestor took up the sharp knife—there would need to be a discussion about that later—and cut a slice of the sticky, sweet pastry, laying it on the plate provided, and handing it formally to Estel. He served himself another slice, and picked up his fork with an internal sigh; he had never had much of a taste for sweets. He lifted the forkful and ate the cake manfully. Estel was grinning for all he was worth, frosting decorating the corner of his mouth. After Erestor had eaten a few more bites, he set his plate down and beckoned, "Come here." He opened his arms and Estel clambered into his lap. Erestor did not allow such liberties often, usually restricting them to soothing night fears, or those occasions when Estel fell ill. He closed his arms around the boy and Estel snuggled his face into the crook of Erestor's neck. The councilor felt a huge yawn against his throat and smiled. "Are you tired, Estel? I am not surprised; it is late, and you have worked very hard today."
"Mmmm. Maybe I am a little tired."
The two sat companionably together for a time, and then Erestor asked, "Estel, why did you do this for me?"
The boy pulled back a bit, so that he could hold Erestor's gaze with his own. "When I was writing in the journal Elladan gave me, I was putting down everyone's Begetting Days, but I did not know yours. When I asked you, you said such things do not matter to grown-ups, but they do because we always have something special for dinner when it is 'Ro and 'Dan's Begetting Day, and Glorfindel always gets some special wine from Lowen — or someplace like that — and we have cake for me, and presents, too. And last year I made Ada a paperweight and he was very happy, and we do those things because we are glad we are alive and we are glad our family is alive, too, and then I thought that maybe you were not very happy to be here –" Estel stopped to drag in a needed breath, then continued, "but I am so happy you are here that I want to jump and sing and run around. So I thought if you saw that I was glad to have you, you would be glad to have you, too."
Erestor was once again speechless, this time from amazement of another kind. Estel had always seen beneath his harsh exterior to the kinder spirit beneath it, but how had the child known of his despair? For at least a hundred years he had been unable to shake a pervasive melancholy, one so profound he had contemplated sailing many times. Ultimately, even that escape held no attraction, and he felt he merely existed, continuing to eat, to work, to breathe, from habit alone.
"You are happy to have me?" The child was compassionate, after all, and Erestor had simply assumed his heart could not exclude Imladris's official curmudgeon without feeling guilty for doing so.
Estel's arms tightened to a stranglehold. "I love you, 'Restor," he said simply.
Some of Estel's favorite things were all the big, strong, warm arms there were in Imladris, and how well and snugly they could hug little boys. It was true that Erestor hugged him—once in a great while—but his arms had always seemed a little tentative, as though he was not exactly sure how hugging was accomplished. Now those arms closed about Estel almost convulsively. The boy smiled again into Erestor's neck.
Erestor swallowed hard, and forced out, "I am...somewhat fond of you, Estel, as well." The elf allowed his weary soul a moment of sweet, unadulterated warmth and comfort before he rallied himself. "I am unaccustomed to having Begetting Day parties; you must tell me what we do next."
Estel began to wriggle off Erestor's lap. His smile was incandescent as he grasped his plate and thrust it toward Erestor. "We eat more cake!"
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The End