Chapter Four
The Third Age
~ Lord Elrond Peredhel ~
I looked up with concern as Glorfindel burst in the room. It was unlike the Balrog-slayer to look so worried; he had so many years under his belt that rarely did anything startle or worry him anymore.
"Mithrandir's here," he said, forestalling my questions. "He came on the back of Gwaihir . . . and apparently they picked up someone else along the way."
Gwaihir? Why would Mithrandir come on the back of an eagle? Mithrandir had often been a guest of Imladris, and had come during unusual times with unusual methods of travel and with unusual messages of varying alarm and surprise, but never before had he come on the back of an eagle.
When we reached the hall, I stopped short in surprise. Mithrandir looked . . . beaten. He was injured, and there was an air of infinite sadness around the Istari. At first I was concerned for his emotional well-being, but then I realized that the sadness had to do with the figure he was cradling.
I hurried over. "Mithrandir, what – " I trailed off as I got a better look at the figure. It was a young woman with long dark brown hair and closed eyes. She looked normal, but at closer inspection I realized that this was not so. Her breathing was too erratic, and blood stained her clothes. She looked much too thin for even a child, and she was no child.
"Quickly, come," I urged.
~ Mithrandir ~
Elrond nodded sadly, stroking the young one's hair. One of the servants had helped to bathe and change the child, and now we could see that she was startlingly young. But even with all the dirt and blood gone, bruises still marred her delicate form.
"How did you find her, Mithrandir?" Elrond asked.
I frowned. "It was . . . strange. For a few moments, I thought my eyes were deceiving me – a white bird, struggling to fly? Then, when I got closer and took her out of the air, she . . . she wasn't a bird any longer. Just a girl, just as you saw."
Just like Elwing's fate, I thought suddenly as I finished. Yes, indeed, the girl did remind me of the Lady Elwing.
"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think she was one of the Dúnedain," Glorfindel said suddenly, breaking the silence. "She looks a lot like Aragorn, only she's . . . different."
I ran a critical eye over her. Yes, Glorfindel was right. The long dark brown hair was similar in shade to Aragorn's, as were her grey-blue eyes. That she had Elvish blood was not in question.
Elrond looked thoughtful. "I would think so too, Glorfindel, but no Dúnadan would sell their child as a slave," he said. "And my sons have reported no missing children from the Dúnedain for many years."
Who are you, little one? I thought.
Glorfindel stretched. "Well, this certainly has been an exciting night," he remarked tiredly. "I'm off in search of dinner and sleep. Coming, Mithrandir?"
I was about to reply when suddenly the girl shrieked.
~ Estel ~
He hit me again. I shrieked in pain, rolling away, trying desperately to evade the blows he was showering on me. Each movement was met with pain, and I couldn't see.
Hands suddenly captured me in a strong grip, and I struggled. "No! No, please! Please, stop!" I cried, not expecting mercy yet pleading for it all the same.
A strong, calm voice suddenly pierced through the darkness like a burst of light. "Calm down, and awaken, young one. You are in no danger. No one will harm you."
My eyes snapped open, and I pulled away from the voice, scared. "Who – Who are you?" I stuttered, pulling away from the person. He carried an air of nobility around him, as did the other two. This one had dark brown hair that was longer than I had ever seen on a male. Serious grey eyes looked calmly at me.
One by the door possessed the same air, but he had long blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed filled with fire – the kind of fire that can both excite and burn. He scared me, in a way. He seemed as if . . . as if he'd looked death straight in the face and lived to tell the tale.
The last person was an old man dressed in grey, with long white hair and an equally long beard. His air was older than the others, and seemed slightly wiser than the others.
"How do you feel?" the dark-haired one asked gently. I felt slightly safer around him, for some reason that I could not fathom.
I returned my attention to him, startled. No one had ever asked me that before. "Fine, I suppose," I said slowly.
The blonde-haired one snorted. "If you feel fine after being beaten up that badly, I'd hate to see what would be left of you when you felt bad," he said sarcastically, but mirth danced in his blue eyes.
"Do not tease her, Glorfindel," the dark-haired one scolded lightly. "Valar knows what she's gone through."
He turned back to me. "What's your name, little one?" he asked, his tone as gentle as before.
"Estel," I answered shyly.
"Well, Estel, get some sleep," he said gently. When I did not comply immediately, he repeated, "No one will harm you."
Something about him made me trust him, and I sank back down to sleep.
~ Elrond ~
That night I went back to check on Estel. To my relief, the young one was sleeping soundly, curled up in the bed. The moonlight highlighted her young face, and it gleamed in the coils of her dark brown hair.
I found myself being forcibly reminded of my Estel – Aragorn. Both were young when they came to me, both in dire need of their own name, and both . . . Both in need of a father, I finished. I brushed my fingers lightly over her forehead before turning to leave.
Estel suddenly rolled over, and something dropped onto the floor. I leaned down to pick it up. It was a silver brooch in the shape of an eagle with a bright green stone inlaid in it. My eyes widened. The Elessar.
The Elessar had belonged first to Galadriel, who had then given it to Celebrían. Last I knew, Arwen had returned it to Galadriel at her last stay. So how would a human come by it? Estel was not of Lothlórien; she wasn't even an Elf. Why would Galadriel gift such a powerful talisman to a human with no connection to the Elves?