Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.
(Another bridge – but we're getting there!)
It is good to be home. The Last Homely House, it is called, though that is not true, for there are many homely places to the south. Yet this afternoon, as we approach, I feel it is so – a homely place, a welcoming one, the door wide open and my household greeting us.
Estel does not seem to know who to turn to first. He runs from one to another, and he gives something to each of them, some twig or leaf or stone he has collected on the way. Some speak to him, some hug him, some listen solemnly while he tells them something he has learned. It is a great joy to me to see him as he once was, carefree and eager for life.
The journey has been difficult. Elladan knows that and comes to my aid, standing where he can be of help if needed. But there is light in my heart as I watch Estel run freely at last.
If only his mother were here to share his pleasure. If only my wife, my dearest partner, were here to see him, my last son.
"Papa!" he calls. "May I see my tree now?"
"Not yet. You must stable your pony first, then we shall eat. And you, young man, you need a bath." I let the corner of my mouth quirk just a little. He screws up his face, a deep frown between his brows. He is trying to decide, I think, whether to protest or to laugh.
Then he surprises me. He bows deeply, and says, "Yes, my lord. I would not wish to offend you." He stands upright, takes the lead rein and tells his pony, loudly, "Papa says I'm smelly again. I've had enough baths for a whole lifetime and I'm still smelly!"
I hear my twin sons laughing as they lead their own horses and mine away. The sunlight streams into the courtyard and the trees, now in the newest leaf, protect my house from the still-cool breeze. Perhaps we may be granted this summer in safety, that he might be taught so much that he needs to know.
I dismiss the household, who return, talking of Estel – he has grown, they say. He has his colour back, one notes, and his eyes are bright one more, says another. They are right.
I rest in my room for an hour or so, thinking and drafting a plan for Estel's education. Then I hear his light footsteps outside the door, and a knock.
"Come, Estel," I call, and he is there, his clothes changed and hands and face washed.
"May I see my tree now, Papa?"
His request puzzles me. He is free to go where he likes, within some bounds. Then I see in his expression what he wants.
"I shall come with you, if I may," I say, reaching for a book on my desk. It is his record book, with his careful, delicate drawings in it. I take a pencil and give it to him. He smiles, takes the book and then looks at me very seriously.
"You need lots of fresh air," he says. "You've been ill."
I smile, and take his hand. "Then we will have as much fresh air as we can this summer, Estel. Would you like me to fashion you a place where you can swim safely? And I shall make you a flet in the tall tree which looks towards the mountains."
His eyes grow wide. "I can see it, Papa!" he says suddenly. "I can see the view from that tree in my head!"
And I can too. I climbed that tree when first I came to this place and claimed it as my own. A new world it was then, and it is again for the boy who pulls me a little impatiently out into the garden.
Inside the glasshouse it is already hot. The gardener is opening the windows to let in the cooler air. Estel takes off his jacket and hands it to me. I take it automatically and then smile at myself. He needs to be taught to carry his own coat, but not today.
He runs ahead of me and then stops, one hand out, reaching towards the slender sapling that is growing in a large clay pot.
"It is growing well, Papa – look! All the leaf buds have opened, except – oh, this little one here."
I move to stand behind him. He is gently touching the brown casing that keeps one leaf contained and safe inside it.
"Be careful, Estel. It must be left to open in its own time," I tell him. "Have you watered it this morning?" I ask the gardener.
"No, my lord. That was my next task. Here, this water has been warming in the sun. I have been careful not to give the new tree a shock."
A pitcher of water is handed over and Estel carefully sets down his book and pencil to take hold of it. He looks for guidance.
"On the roots," the gardener prompts. Estel pours the water slowly, waiting for it to soak away before pouring some more.
"Will it stay in here all summer?" he asks, running his finger down the rib of one leaf.
"Oh no. It will be too hot in here. It will be planted out in the garden in a month, and I will tend it there. A place will be chosen for it, a sheltered space, for it is slow to get a foothold in the earth."
Estel nods. "I want to stay and draw it, Papa," he says. "Is that all right? Are you feeling tired?"
I am dismissed, most kindly, and I place my hand on his shoulder. "Stay as long as you wish, Estel. When you return, show me what you have drawn."
He nods. His hand already traces the shapes of the first branch, then conveys it to the white page. He is happy and I leave him there.
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Back in the house, I know that what I must do next will not be so happy. Already my twin sons have begun to plan their next foray into the wild. There is much for them to do and they will leave in the morning. We spend time together, looking at maps and information gathered this winter, and plan their journey.
"We must travel north," Elladan says, then points to the map. "Here – that is I where I believe we shall find what we are seeking."
"Yes," his brother concurs immediately, as if in the same breath. "And we must lose no time. Though I wish to stay here this summer. Estel will be older and taller when we return, and we shall not have seen him grow."
There is a moment's silence for that loss, then Elladan asks again after my own health.
"I am recovered," I say. "And I am, it seems, under Estel's care, so all will be well. Legolas will be here in a few days, I believe. Will you meet with Glorfindel?"
"Yes, Father," Elrohir says, re-folding the map carefully and placing it on the shelf. "When we return, he will return with us."
"Then we have happy times to look forward to," I say, clasping each of my sons by the hand. "And I shall keep Estel safe, and he will look after me, and all will be well."
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But the next morning, as Elrohir and Elladan leave, Estel becomes suddenly frightened for them and runs from one to another, until my sons promise him they will return. When he returns to me he is breathless and trembles with sorrow, but he does not cry. They wave, and are gone.
"Come, Estel. Time for your lessons."
"They will come back, won't they, Papa?" he says, his face pale with grief.
"They always have done. They are not gone far and they will be with Glorfindel. He will keep them safe."
"Glorfindel! Will he come back here soon? It is so long since I saw him. I remember him teaching me how to hold his sword, though I could barely get my fingers around it."
"He did?" I did not know of this little adventure. Estel must have been five when Glorfindel was last here. He has been on a long journey and I will be very glad to see him again.
"He held it too," Estel amends quickly. "Oh, now I wish for summer to go, so that I will see everyone again, yet I wish for it to stay so that I can learn to swim like a fish and climb trees like a squirrel. Can you really make me a safe place to swim in the Bruinen? It runs so fast – and it is so cold! Even at midsummer it is cold."
"Yes, Estel, I believe I can. I know of just the place, too, though we may have to clear a channel. Oh – and, child, do not wish this summer away. Time is precious and we must try to make the most of it."
For it is so short, your life, I thought. Even the life of one of your blood is but a blink of an eye in all the long history of time.
I watch him return to the house, note his attempt to walk tall and not give in to his sadness, and I look forward to a long, happy summer. Building a flet. At my age. What was I thinking when I promised him that?