(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)
If I had to tell Papa how I was feeling, I would tell him that I don't feel scared. Not exactly scared. It's too interesting to make me just scared.
This is what I have been looking forward to for weeks now, though I didn't know it was. The bad things that have been happening to me, I can have them all put right. I don't know how. I know what will happen but I don't know how it will make me better.
I have lots of other things I need to tell Papa about and ask him about. But I am not allowed to see him, not for another three days. It's a long time.
When I first went into the old man's place, it was very dark inside, and warm. He was sitting on a little, old chair, and he had a man near him to help him. He looked at me for a long time, then he took hold of my hand and made a mark on the palm. It tingled and I shook my hand, and he laughed! I didn't understand why but I laughed too.
"It does not hurt, then?" he said, and his voice was really old and sounded as though it came from a long way away.
I shook my head. "No. It just feels funny. What did you do?"
"It was a test. Can you take some more of my tests?" He leaned forward and looked me right in the eye, but he didn't make me afraid of him. He reminds me a bit of Gandalf.
"Yes."
"Draw me something. Anything. The first thing that comes into your mind. There, on the table, paper and a piece of charcoal. It will make a good picture. Clear your mind and just draw me something."
I went and sat at the table. There was a big mug of water there and I was thirsty so I had some of it, then I looked at the paper and sort of tried to see something on it. I did and then it was like tracing what I saw. I don't know if I was a long time drawing but the old man watched me all the time.
When I had finished I took my picture over to him.
"Ah – Estel? Is that what you are called?"
"Yes. It means hope," I tell him, wanting him to know that my name means something. I don't know why but it seemed important for him to know.
"Hope. Yes. Now, this picture. Tell me about where it comes from, up here in your head. Is it a picture there, or is it words that tell you what to draw?" He holds his hand over my head without touching it.
I have to think very hard about that. It's not in my head, not in the way he says. "I think it isn't in my head, not like thinking is in my head. It comes from somewhere in me but I don't know where. I don't think I even know what it is I am drawing. The lines seem to come by themselves. I let my hand do it, and it seems to know what to do. But that only works sometimes."
The old man leans back and smiles at me. He looks young in that minute, and I feel happy to be trusting him to straighten me out inside. I think I have grown a little crooked, I think that's what it is.
"You are growing too fast, young Estel. Some parts of you are outstripping others, and we need to tame them and bring them back under your control. Then your gifts will, over time and with help, be of service to others. Are you willing to try the way of your people? It is a hard way. Some fail. But there have been others who have succeeded and have been of great help to their people. You must say what you wish to do. We can wait another year, I judge, though I did not think we could. But it would be better now."
"Then let it be now! I want to help other people! Will I be able to heal people?" I can see myself helping Papa, going to the poor people who come to us and laying hands on them and healing them.
The old man laughs now. "Come, child. Do not get such grand ideas. In time, a long while from now, you could assist in the healing of others. But that is a long way in the future, I think. Do not believe yourself to be some kind of great magician. That power is reserved for wizards, is it not, Gandalf?"
I look up, and there is Gandalf. I had not noticed him at all! It is like magic! He is not wearing his cloak or his hat and his white hair is bright in the sunshine and he is smiling at me too.
"Hmmmm. Well, if you say so. Now, Estel – are you sure this is the right choice? You will have to travel it alone. We cannot help you. We can be in the same place but you must not speak to us or look to us for guidance."
"Is that why Papa cannot help? Would he be always talking to me?"
Gandalf makes an odd noise in his throat and I look at him, to see what is wrong.
The old man smiles gently. "That is exactly it, child. Exactly. He is always talking and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from asking how you were every few moments. No, your Papa needs to remain still and recover from his wound, not be with you. He cannot help you along the path. No one can."
I suddenly see a narrow path in my mind, one with a steep drop on one side and a sheer cliff on the other. I am making my way along it. It's the picture I drew.
"I can do it, really, I can. Just tell me what I need to do and it'll be all right. It will." I know I'm talking too much but I feel excited now, not scared any more. "When do we start?"
"You will begin by helping to gather wood for a fire. Enough wood. A big stack of it. Then we will make a place for the fire and you will light it. The smoke will make you clean. Then we will use the fire to heat great stones. Do you understand?" He looks right into my eyes until I feel as if I can't see anything else. I feel Gandalf move round behind me, then his hand on my shoulder, but all I can see is this old man.
"Yes," I say because I do. Somehow he made me see in my mind what it would be like just with the words he chose.
"You will build a lodge for yourself and for me. The stones will be placed in there, and, because they are hot, they will turn the water we throw on them into steam. You will sweat, Estel. We will have to watch you very closely and give you plenty of water. You will find it will change your view of the world, just a little. Just for a few minutes."
I nod, though this time I am not at all sure what he means. It doesn't sound too bad, and he will be there, this old man with a stern face, who smiles at me now. He must be sure it is going to work. He looks sure. He looks as if he knows to a hair's breadth how long I shall be in this lodge. I think somehow I have the wrong idea about this place. I saw a beaver's lodge once, and the beaver, and he slapped his tail on the water to keep me away. Papa told me they swim under the water and then into the hole that is under the water. I asked him how they kept the water out of the lodge and he said it was the air.
But I have to stop imagining that because the old man is speaking to me and I missed what he said.
"Estel! Concentrate! You will not be able to let your mind wander, not for a moment!"
Is he cross with me? I can't tell. "I was thinking about beavers," I tell him. "They live in lodges."
Gandalf laughs. He turns me round and then he kneels down and he hugs me, really tight, and I can feel him laughing.
Then he lets me go and I stand in front of him. I feel hollow again, because I haven't eaten much and everything I ate before has gone. I feel light and empty.
"Will I get better straight away?" I ask him, feeling as though I want to reach out and hold onto his beard, like I did when I was little. It always made his eyes twinkle like stars.
"I hope so. We don't want you needing to come here for more treatment. I don't think you'll be leaving Rivendell ever again, not if your Papa has anything to say about it. Come now, child – let's see about finding some good, dry wood, shall we?"
When he holds out his hand, I take it, even though I'm nine now and too big really for such things.
It takes us a long time to stack the wood into a big enough pile to satisfy the old man. He comes out of his hut to supervise and he places the first and last logs, which I suppose sort of represents him joining in. While we do that, a couple of men from the camp are digging out a pit – Gandalf tells me it's where the fire is going to be.
Finally, they seem to be happy with the number of logs. Gandalf begins to make a layer of logs in the bottom of the pit the men have made. He helps me put some more logs on, then he puts in some big stones, so that it looks like an oven with big loaves of bread in it.
"Are we going to cook the stones?" I ask Gandalf.
"In a manner of speaking, yes, we are. Now, put this in there. It will make the smoke smell sweet and will make you clean."
He held out some long, droopy stalks of sage and something else, I don't know what. I put them on the fire.
The old man came forward, and he had a bag in his hand. He poured something into my cupped hands and I put that on the fire too.
"Ashes," he says. "From the last fire."
We build another layer of logs and stuff, and more stones, until it makes a pile almost too big for me to see over. Well, almost.
Finally, the old man lights the whole thing. Gandalf gave him the fire somehow – I didn't see where the flame came from. I see him nod to the old man, though, and then things begin to move along really quickly as the flames seek a way through the logs, catching on pieces of bark and running from one really dry bit to another before getting into the heart of the wood. I watch, fascinated by the colours and the movement as the fire takes hold.
"Now – let's get you ready," Gandalf says and he leads me away. "It will be evening before it is ready. You must rest."
Gandalf takes me to the grassy place next to the stream, and I am dazzled by the brightness of sunlight reflecting on the water. There are a couple of blankets there already, and he tells me to lie down, while he sits close and lights his pipe. I am tired but excited and Gandalf speaks to me, about things he has seen and places and long ago times and in the middle of that, I think, I fall asleep, for when I wake, the evening star is bright in the soft purple sky. All around me is the hot, sweet smell of smoke.
"Come, Estel," Gandalf says. "It is time."