Chapter 3
Of Brothers and Fathers
Estel lay on his bed, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the shadows that moved across his ceiling, as the trees shifted in the wind outside. The silence of night surrounded him, and the warmth issuing from his blanket was almost lulling, but the boy could not find the peace within himself to sleep.
He had always known deep inside that Elladan and Elrohir were not actually related to him, and he had always been sure that Elrond was not his real father, but had they not always treated him as if he were family? Yes, they were elves, and he was not, but were they not still family? His mother was not Elladan and Elrohir's mother, and they rarely visited her, so who was their real mother? Questions raced through Estel's mind, but he could find no answers to any of them.
His biological father must be dead, but why had his mother brought Cuiladan and him here? Why did Elrond actually treat him like a father? If Cuiladan was the heir to the throne of Gondor, what did that make him?
A son of kings, a little voice in his head told him. With blood that is rich with that of the Westernesse.
He had read about the Westernesse. He knew the history of Isildur and Elendil and the fall of Sauron in the end of the Second Age, and he had learned about the sinking of Numenor into the vast seas and the faithful men sailing to Middle-Earth. He knew all of the old sayings, but all of them seemed like giant figures, buried deep in the folds of history, legendary and mysterious.
He, Estel, of Rivendell, could not possibly have any relation to them. He, barely nineteen and out of childhood, clumsy as a cripple and still without the beard of a man, could not possibly have such great men as his ancestors. Their blood must have been lost in him, for he felt neither noble nor great; he felt lost and confused, in deep water when he could not swim.
And ada—no, Elrond—wants me to accompany Cuiladan, Elladan, and Elrohir to Wilderland and beyond! he remembered, but the thought no longer registered the same excitement as it had before. Perhaps it was because he now knew why Elrond had treated him the way he had.
He was sheltered all of his young life because others would have found it easy to kill him when he was a child. He had never been told his true origin because he may let the information leak, and those who opposed the return of the king to Gondor would have assassinated him and Cuiladan. Now that he had reached his coming of age, Elrond wanted him to ride out with his brothers and prove his worth. He wanted to see if Estel had the blood of the Numenoreans in him.
Panic rose up in the boy's mind, as he realized this. What if he made a fool of himself and got killed? Worse, what if he made a fool of himself and killed someone out of stupidity?
He sat up in bed, throwing the covers off of himself, breathing hard in the dark, eyes wide. He could leave now, and never come back. That way, he could leave his title and everything he learned about his bloodline behind, and wander in the wilderness… but what would his family think of him then?
A coward, they would say, no doubt. No, there was no way he could get away with that. Besides, he was not a woodman and he would not know how to survive on his own. Cuiladan and the others would easily be able to track him down, and he would never be able to face anyone ever again.
Biting his lip, he sank back into the soft folds of his bed again, and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. He had no other choice but to go on the journey, though he was still confused as what he was to do.
Oh Valar, he prayed quietly. Of all the people in this world, why me?
The days to the morning when Estel had to set out with his brothers flashed by so quickly, the boy did not know where they went. His memory blurred, and the days and nights seemed to melt together. All he knew was that he found himself with a pack in hand, a bare-backed mare in his care, and a blood-red blemish developing on his chin, as the cool morning breezes blew through his hair.
Of all the days to get a blemish! his mind cried in frustration, and wiped furiously at his hairless chin, but only succeeding in hurting himself. It was strange what the mind focused on during life-changing situations such as these. It was like the time he had broken his leg. As Elrond set it for him, he had not felt any pain, for his mind had been dwelling in the deep reaches of the wells of time.
Estel knew that his mind was digressing, and tried to focus on the present. He knew why he had to go, of course. Elrond had already explained it to him. His brothers had not finished their task of eliminating the land between Lórien and Mirkwood of Orcs, and with a few others from Rivendell and the Lórien and Mirkwood warriors, they would try again. The last time had only caused the deaths of countless elves, but this time, they were determined to wipe out the hated race from between the two forests.
"Estel…" a soft voice resounded from behind him, and he turned, recognizing its noble, yet mellow tone. Elrond looked back at him, his face unyielding to any expression, but in his eyes, the boy saw the pride, hurt, tenderness, and ultimately, love, mixed together. He was dressed in the formal attire of Rivendell, dark earthy colors sewn in velvet, swathing his lithe form. It was only proper for one who would send all of his sons on a quest that may yield no return.
A lump formed in the boy's throat, and he realized that he had not spoken to his foster father since the day that Cuiladan had told him about his true origins. Even now, he could not find words to express his anger, his hurt, but mostly, his love. Men of his house were not to show emotion. They were not to show their innermost feelings. It was easy for elves, and it should have been easy for him, one who had their blood and was raised by them. Still, he felt the lump grow bigger, and he had to swallow.
The horse at his side nickered softly. He did not pay her any attention.
"Estel," the elf repeated, his eyes intent. "This is for you. May you use it well." The boy looked questioningly at him, and he managed a smile, small but present, giving Estel a glimmer of comfort. "I never gave you a coming of age gift," he said steadily. "And this is for you." He thrust a lumpy but light package into the boy's hands. Estel looked down, then up to thank his foster father, but he was gone. Even at his age, the agility of elves still amazed him.
Startled and injured, the boy piled the package onto his mare, along with his other meager supplies.
Then, looking around the courtyard, he saw that it seemed as if all of Rivendell had come to say goodbye. The entire space was filled with light and dark elves, their pointed features beautiful in the rising sun. His eyes searched the rows of elves, but did not see Gilraen anywhere among the sea of solemn and graceful elven faces. Certainly she would have come to say farewell to her sons? After all, she may not see either one of them again. So why was she not present? At this thought of never seeing his mother again, Estel shuddered, then felt ashamed.
He, of the House of Elendil, should not be afraid of death or pain. He was supposed to be valiant. He was supposed to be strong. Of all things, he was not supposed to be afraid of never seeing Gilraen again. But, amidst all these thoughts, he could not help but wonder, Where is mother--?
"Ready Estel?" Elladan's cheerful voice made him start from his reverie. "We are almost at the hour of departure. Estel whipped his head around to find that his brothers and the four other elves traveling with them were already on their horses, facing southeast.
They are not really your brothers, his head told him. But it was difficult to stop thinking of Elladan and Elrohir as anything but kin. They had been for his entire life, and no one could except him to just let go.
"Half a minute," he answered, clambering up the side of the mare and adjusting his position upon her back. The mare snorted and tossed her proud, chestnut head, making him lose his grip on her mane. He blushed furiously and dug his heels into the horse's side, forcing her to join the small band before the gates of Rivendell. He pulled her forcefully next to Elrohir, who was next to Elladan, who sidled up next to a stone-faced Cuiladan.
While the two men and guard elves looked either worried or solemn (Estel was sure he was the only one that looked the former), the twins acted as if they could not have been gayer if they had been going on a brisk morning jaunt. As the melodious horns of departure sounded, Estel overheard their quiet jests between snickers and chuckles.
"I still do not understand why they always get the orders of the horns and ranks mixed up," Elladan muttered to his twin. "It is ceremoniously incorrect to announce you first, as they have just done. I am the oldest." The horns continued to play elaborate notes, drowning out Elrohir's laughter, which was a good thing, as Elrond was already looking their way.
"Why are you so worked up?" the other's sarcasm was plain. "After all, no one gets a longer horn call than you." It was true. Being the eldest, Elladan's tune had been playing for the past thirty seconds.
"Father does," his twin pointed out, smiling.
"Well, yes," the other answered. "But Father has not been out of Rivendell for so long, I doubt anyone even remembers his tune."
"I do."
"You do not."
"And how would you know?" Elladan retorted. "I can remember it as clear as yesterday."
"Sadly, you cannot remember yesterday," Elrohir smirked, and sidestepped his horse as Elladan struck out so quickly to cuff his twin, that no one else caught it but Estel.
"I most certainly can!"
"Then what did we have for supper last night?" the other asked, and grinned triumphantly as Elladan hesitated.
"But I really do remember Father's tune," he stated. "It goes something like, do doo do doo dodo doo da dum." Elladan proceeded to hum his father's tone as the gates of Rivendell opened by elvish magic. "And I think it ends with, da da da dum, da da da dum!"
Estel took another look back and saw, suddenly, the snow-white figure of his mother gazing down at them from a balcony. Though dressed in white, she seemed pale and cold in the morning light, removed and serene. Her eyes met his, and Estel was again aware of her sorrow. But, to his surprise, she smiled. One milk-white arm was lifted in farewell, and her dress fluttered in the light zephyr, a small dove in flight, but trapped. Trapped forever in a cage, for the key to her heart had been lost.
Estel held his mother's gaze, hope and sadness both filling his heart, and nodded a farewell. He would come back. He had to.
"No. It's not dum. It's dum! It goes up in the end," Elrohir was arguing.
"No. It goes down," Elladan argued back, and Estel could not help but draw up his cloak around his mouth and cough in order not to laugh out loud. The twins heard this and looked up almost guiltily as they passed the gates into the outer world.
The boy was sure he would feel a change in the air or a stirring of the earth, but he felt as he always did.
But he was out of Rivendell. He had never been outside of the walls of Imladris before! How had Cuiladan felt at his age? His eyes could not take in enough, and he strained to hear everything within range. His hands tightened on his mare's mane and she snorted, but seemed content by being on the road again, where she belonged. So this was the outside world!
As they moved towards the road, a score of elven voices rose in the air, singing a song of farewells and adventures. It was slow and moving, like a river meandering lazily in a hazy afternoon.
Elladan and Elrohir finally shut their mouths as one of the older guards gave them a reproving look. Estel could not help but hide a smirk as the two looked like boys again, blinking innocently upon their horses. However, they realized their duty and led the small procession down the road, the beautiful, haunting notes of the elves calling after them.
Estel glanced at Cuiladan and saw that he was curiously biting his knuckles and turning nearly purple. Obviously, he had overheard the twins as well. It had seemed like an eternity since Estel had heard his brother laugh.
Suddenly, the day seemed brighter. The very air was vibrant with odors, and the larks in the masses of green leaves seemed to sing sweeter than before. Cuiladan was not sulky anymore. His mother had smiled for the first in a long time. He would come back for her. He was leaving Rivendell for the first time! He was a man now, of age, and ready for what lay in store for him in the wide world. The journey did not deem to be as difficult or as ominous now. He was with his brothers—yes, his brothers.
For though they were not all of one birth, Estel knew that he would always have a kinship with Elladan and Elrohir. Though not biologically linked, he, Cuiladan, and the twins were entwined so intimately at the heart, that only brotherhood could define their relationships. And Elrond?
He was ada.
He would always be ada.
The sun shone, and Estel looked farther down the road as he started on his first adventure.
TBC...
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