Chapter 2

Secret Identity

Estel's exhilaration did not last, however, for his brother's attitude did not change, and he was sullen and moody all through supper that night. While Elladan and Elrohir related stories of their travels and fights to all that would hear, Cuiladan only sat at his place, occasionally raising his head to listen to the elves sing and take a swig of his wine, but did not touch his food.

Though the twins did not seem to mind Cuiladan, but left him alone, Estel could not help but feel the pervasive grimness that issued forth from every pore of his brother. He would not speak to anyone, and even the Lay of Luthien that night, his favorite of the elven histories, did not cheer him. Estel found it hard to be happy on his birthday when his brother seemed so preoccupied.

Finally, unable to contain it any longer, Estel leaned forward, for he sat parallel to his brother, and asked, "Cuiladan, what is on your mind?"

"Nothing," the man answered gruffly, taking another long draw from his wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Estel raised an eyebrow. His brother had impeccable manners and would never resort to crudeness when they were in such plain view of their father. His outward display of rebellion only belied his inner anger.

"Really, Cuiladan. You have not said a word since this morning," the boy tried to urge it out of his brother. "What is it?"

"I said nothing!" the man stood up so abruptly, the chair he had been sitting in flew backwards and teetered dangerously on its hind legs for a second before crashing back down on all four wooden pegs. Estel flung himself backward, for he had never seen his brother in such a mood.

The entire chamber grew silent, and even the elven minstrels stopped singing as all eyes turned to the man. Elrond's head jerked up, along with everyone else's, and he gave him a long look that Cuiladan returned with equal intensity. They glared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity, while Estel stared, flabbergasted and nonplussed, though he could not do a single thing.

"Cuiladan, sit down," Elladan warned, but his brother took no heed. The twins exchanged a glance, and both rose as well, standing between the seated Elrond and the seething Cuiladan, as if afraid that the latter would jump on the former with rage.

The air hummed with conflict, but Elrond only continued to look at his son and waved a hand, telling the elves to go back to their meal and songs. Very slowly, the music began to play again, though not with the same frivolity, and the conversation went from silence to a slight buzzing.

"Cuiladan," Elrohir warned, and this time, no sarcasm existed in his tone. The man only looked away from his father and glowered back at his brothers as if they had betrayed him.Then, with the same brashness as before, the man flung down his wine vessel and stomped towards the exit, hands clenched at his sides.

"Why are you angry? This is an opportunity, not a curse!" Elladan shouted after him. His twin put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat, but never took his eyes off of the receding figure of the man.

"Oh yes," he muttered, rolling his eyes, and reverting back to his regular manner. "That was definitely a way to encourage him to like his new status."

Estel, still puzzled over his brother's manner, stood back up to go to him, but a look from Elrohir stopped him. Slowly, he sank back into his seat and began to drum his eating utensil against his plate, the cold food not giving him the slightest appeal.

He wanted to follow his brother, but after Cuiladan's stunning exit, he did not dare to anger his father again. He sat through supper, the intoxicating elven music floating through his mind as he pushed his food around his plate, scratching his tragically smooth chin. The twins did not look at him again afterward, but he could feel Elrond's eyes constantly turning towards him as the nigh progressed. Every time this happened, Estel felt as if a spotlight had been turned on him, and squirmed with discomfort.

Elladan and Elrohir told no more stories, and none of the other elves pestered them for any, as the Head Table ate their food in silence. The young man knew that his appetite was already gone, and the histories of Luthien and Beren proved to be no interest to him that night.

When supper ended, Estel had neither filled his belly nor gotten any more out of the trio's adventure. Even his upcoming journey did not seem at all exciting, watching his family feud in this fashion. His own rumbling stomach brought him back to thinking of how gaunt and thin Cuiladan had looked, and knew that his brother must have been extremely angry to give up his meal.

Going down to the kitchen, he proceeded to wrestle some food from the unwilling cook. He got away with a loaf of bread, some butter, a slice of salted pork, and an apple before the cook ran him out of the kitchen. He balanced the food on a clean tray that he found in the dining hall and headed up the stairs.

As he passed his mother's room, he heard a garble of Elvish ranting mixed with cursing in the Common Tongue. Stopping, he listened closer, and was shocked to find his brother's voice spouting these profanities. Confusion, then fury coursed through his mind, as he would not all any, even Cuiladan, to speak to his mother that way. Gripping the tray in one hand, he charged in, fuming, and heard racing in his chest. The door was unlocked, in the custom of Rivendell, for elves considered this type of trust as a common courtesy.

"Shut up, Cuiladan!" he cried, his vision blurred with rage; he had never said such a thing to his older brother before. This was the second private meeting that he had burst into, but unlike before, he felt no guilt. "You are not to speak to Mother that way!"

The room was lit by a single candle, and the shadows of the flames danced wildly across his brother's surprised, then angry features as he turned to see Estel.

Neither dared to meet Gilraen's eyes as he snarled back, "I shall speak with Mother however I choose! Stop trying to butt in to my business, you little runt!" With that, he pushed past the boy, making him drop the tray. The door slammed as the tray clattered to the wooden floorboards, scattering its holdings across the room. Tears and an apple rolled, the former down Estel's cheeks and the latter over the ground.

Quickly wiping the shameful salt water with the heel of his hand, Estel turned to his mother. "Naneth, what is wrong with Cuiladan?" he questioned through gritted teeth, his fists clenched at his sides. "He has been that way ever since… since he met with ada this morning!"

Gilraen turned her luminous gray eyes to her second son, her dark tresses framing her translucent skin, and Estel was struck by the sorrow in his mother's features. This feeling always came over him when he looked upon her, but he could never remember her speaking of anything in her past that troubled her. Actually, she never spoke of her past before Cuiladan was born. Estel was never sure whether his curiosity outweighed his guilt of the thought of bringing more sadness into his mother's life or not, so he hand never asked.

"You are too young to understand, my son," she spoke, further frustrating the boy.

Abandoning all decorum, he swept a hand over the nearest dresser, sending the tin washing basin to the floor. "I am always too young to understand, am I not, Naneth?" he cried. "When shall I be of age, then? When I am Cuiladan's age? I shall never be his age!"

His mother stood, tall and proud, like a daughter of kings, a plain white dress enhancing her slight figure, and Estel was instantly sorry. However, a willful notion stood doggedly at the back of his head, and he glared back at Gilraen, his eyes fiery with anger and passion.

Instead of retaliating, Gilraen, only smiled, her eyes sad, and again seated herself on her wooden recliner that always made her seem twice as slight as she really was. "Be patient, Estel," she told him. "You want to grow up too fast. You seek age and wisdom so soon. Beware of what they may yield."

The boy opened his mouth, but could find no fitting answer, and found himself playing with the edges of his leggings and tunic. "I…" he stammered. "It just seems that… that everyone is older and has experienced so much more than me!" His heart was uneasy, and frustration coursed through every limb. "I have never been the first to know anything! I have never been the first to do anything! I… I know I am capable of more! I want a responsibility!"

Gilraen looked into the innocent and determined look in her son's novice eyes, and shook her head slowly. She stood again, and walked over to Estel, taking his hands and looking up at his inexperienced, young face. Though he was now taller than her, she felt so much older and wiser, standing next to him, for his heart was untouched and his soul was pure. He had never seen…

"Do not say such a thing, my son," she warned, her words hard, grating upon his ears. "For responsibility enough shall come to you sooner than you expect." She did not know what compelled her to say those words, but the moment Estel's eyes widened, she knew that it was true.

Mother and son looked into each other's eyes, gazed deep into each other's soul, and Gilraen, though not gifted by the foresight of her mother, had the sensitivity to see, beneath the soft outer cover that Rivendell had wrought for her son, something of his father in his heart. Estel, wise enough at his age, also saw in his mother, something stern and resolute, holding her up, almost as if a determined shoot holding out against a wild tempest. This will drove her, made her step forward each day, forced her to keep going.

What has Naneth been through? he found himself wondering, but then, a strong gust of wind blew through the open balcony, and flitted under the curtains, bringing in a myriad of young buds that had not been able to stand the harsh, cold, early spring. The candlelight danced wildly and threatened to go out.

Gilraen wrenched herself from her son, and the magic of the moment was lost, as she walked to the balcony and closed the light doors, her gown trailing over the pinks and purples of the infant flowers. "It is late," her voice went back to her normal, soft, undertone. "You should get to bed. Please clean up the mess you made."

Estel looked down at the ground and color came to his cheeks. "I apologize, Naneth," he mumbled, and cleaned up the mess on the ground, putting the still-edible food back onto the tray. However, still angry, for his mother had answered nothing of his questions, he slunk out of the room without even a "good-night."

His fury turned onto his brother, and he stormed down the hall, the tray still in his hand, and tried the heavy oak door that led to his brother's room. It was locked. Even more offended by this gesture, Estel pounded on the door with all his might, his fist sending sparks of pain up his arm as it connected with the wood. "Cuiladan, you have a lot of explaining to do!" he cried. He did not care that most had already gone to bed, and that Cuiladan could easily win him in an all out fight even though he was taller than him now.

Only silence answered him.

Not at all ready to give up, he pounded again, and even kicked the door for good measure, but only succeeded with acquiring a painfully stubbed toe. "If you do not open the door, I shall kick it down!" he screamed.

Both he and Cuiladan knew that it was an empty threat, for the door was so heavy that even two full-fledged warriors such as Elladan and Elrohir would not have been able to force it open. Despite the needles of pain in his foot, Estel kicked the wood once more with his soft-soled boot, and nearly threw himself at the door.

He wanted his brother to reply. Even if he only screamed back and hit him, he would have felt better than this, yelling at a doorknob.

"I want to know what happened between you and ada!" he cried to the silence, hammering the wood with his fist and foot. "How dare you speak with naneth and ada that way? I want to know! I need to—"

The door swung inward so suddenly that he nearly toppled over. He stumbled, and regained his footing by holding out a hand to steady himself against the wall, and looked forward, staring Cuiladan straight in the face, to show that he was going to take whatever was coming to him like a man. .

"Elrond is not my ada!" the older man cried, a ferocious rage in his eyes. "And he had no right to pretend to have been for all these years! He has no right to tell me all this now!"

"What, by the Valar, are you talking about?" Estel's mouth dropped at this accusation, and he stared, horrified, at his brother.

"I… I…" Cuiladan was panting with all his pent up anger, and his teeth were clenched so he looked like an untamed animal. His brother could see that his hair was standing up in places where he had gripped it in frustration, and his clothes reeked of the alcohol that he had hidden away in his room. His usually handsome face was twisted into the expression of a madman's, and his hollow cheeks only made him look gaunt and underfed.

"I… I am the heir to the throne of Gondor!" he finally cried.

Estel dropped the tray of food for the second time.

TBC...

(Gasp!) I finally had time to update, and reply to reviews! Thanks you guys! I promise I'll keep writing if I don't drown under the workload of my school first.

Maidenhair: You lucky bastard! Grr! I wish I homeschooled!

viggomaniac: Cool! I'm in your C2! Yay! And I think I already e-mailed you about Estel's fate, but don't give it away to anyone! SHH!

Warcrow: Thanks for complimenting me on my writing style. I'm glad you like the name "Cuiladan," even though I totally made it up and I don't think that it's proper... lol... I promise that I will make the story go faster and pick up the pace once all the angst begins, but right now, I'm just getting into the story, so the reader gets the mood.

sielge: Oh yes, the story unfolds... hee hee hee...

Syen: I love your rambling... lol... keep doing it. It's always interesting to read! And that's cool how you can do the twin thing with pimpernelunderthecelticmoon! LOL... and I'm totally flattered by your reviews... (blushes and looks at feet)

Mizamour: Thanks for the review. BTW, you still alive out there? You don't answer my emails and you don't update. Hello? LOL... ;)

surf all day and do the hula: I love typing your name... lol... it's so fun!