WELL HELLO THERE GENTLE READERS :D I am BACK! And I apologize for the tone of mah first chapter to this one BUT. It is a good idea :D A few warnings...Yes...yes our dear Erestor is very, very, VERY sad and ANGSTY in this one. Also please please please please please if you are triggered by self harm get yourself safe and calm before reading this...because Erestor is an avid self harmer and I do NOT want anyone hurt because of me. So please. make yourselves safe-I'm recovering so if you need to talk shout out to me :) elven_english_ :) :) TOLKIEN OWNS STUFF. WOO. Also I'm fairly sure I got Mel's name spelt right but if I didn't...OOPS. Sorry! I OWN NOTHING.(Except spelling/grammar errors...which I apologize for) NOT EVEN MONEY. SO DON'T SUE. 'Cos these elves-aren't mine! Hmm what else? Um ...yeah, angsty/self harmy (that will get better in the next chapter) OH! ALSO! If the ending upsets you/pisses you guys off TRUST me there's a reason for it m'kay? SO rant and rave, get mad go nuts-but honest, it's not gonna last for long and I have reasons... ENJOY!
"Master I have the reports from the borders of the troll woods" Maelpomen's voice rang out as he all but danced across the floor, to his desk.
Erestor wiped his hand once quickly on his black robe hidden underneath the desk and with a flick of his wrist, brought the baggy sleeve back over his blood stained arm and hand, hiding the letter opener in the folds of the robe in his lap all in less than a second, all in one smooth motion. He held out the same hand to receive the papers from the scribe, taking a perverse sort of pleasure in the fact that nothing showed, nothing anyone would ever know. "Thank you" he said tersely.
He picked up his quill and turned his brown eyes back to his work, though after a moment he became aware of Maelpomen standing in front of him, shuffling his feet, as if he was trying to get his attention. "Yes?" he asked quietly.
"Well, I was wondering if I could have the day off...to..." he trailed off nervously, as if he was afraid of Erestor's response.
Erestor looked up and creased his brows together "why?" he asked, in the cold, flat tone he seemed to have inherently in the whole of his every day speech.
"To..um...prepare...for the...well you know, the um...the feast" the scribe replied carefully, doing his best (and failing) to mask the look of confusion on his face and in his eyes.
Erestor saw the look and all but flinched, he had seen this look on the faces of each and every one of the scribes faces at one point or another. On all of the warriors, most of the junior advisors, most of everyone actually. It reminded him of his subversive, backwards, wrongness, his total un-elvishness, his complete lack of normality. "Of course, go ahead" he said at last, a soft frown tugging on his lips.
He turned his eyes back to his work but he opened his mouth to wish Maelpomen a good time, but the young scribe had took off running as soon as the last syllable had left his lips. "of course you would run, why would you stay? I would hardly, never, not a chance care about your time, I would never want to make you happy or wish you a good time" he murmured to himself, rolled his shoulders, clenched his jaw and threw himself back into his work.
Hours ticked by and each time Erestor began to drift or lose focus of his work he flicked his wounds, picked a scab, scratched his chest with all violence. Berating himself for not having the fortitude for his job, couldn't he focus for more than an hour at a time? What kind of chief councillor was he that he wanted away from his work? That he couldn't focus for an appropriate amount of time.
Flipping to a new letter after this last drift of focus his head snapped back up and his eyes flew open as he heard voices in the hall, drunken voices? He glanced out the window and realized that the first of several feasts was well underway.
Because this was only the first of a series of feasts, and he had already seen to greeting and accommodating the few guests that had arrived he had the luxury of trying to pretend to be good enough at his job.
Gulping he shook himself from his musings because the voices drew closer, ever closer. He leapt to his feet, not wanting his lack of work ethic to be visible to a pair or more of drunken warriors, local or otherwise.
` He crossed the library in four steps and grasped the heavy iron handle, pausing to glance at the Loth Lorien soldiers before he closed the doors sharply.
He released as sigh as he once again felt safe and paused to rest his forehead against the door, revelling in the adrenaline that seemed to course new energy through his ever exhausted more than worthless veins. But held his breath as he heard the voices, that also seemed to have given pause right outside the door.
"Cold as ice mellon nin" one said to the other
"Gods forbid anyone touch his books" the other replied with a laugh
"That's all anyone would want to touch" the first returned laughing even more.
His friend managed in peals of laughter as they started to move off again "Lest you get frostbite down below!"
Erestor sighed and looked at his ink stained hands. It was a repeated narrative, one that he had heard, seen and felt multiple times before. Something he had even perpetuated himself. To be cold meant no one could get close enough, to be icy was to be safe and respected. To be hardened and frozen meant that no one would ever see his flaws. Ice was cracked, cracked by the water that roiled and bubbled underneath , everything inside the ice destroyed its surface, but it glimmered and shone, it was so burning cold that no one ever got close enough to see the disgusting. But sometimes...dear sweet Elebreth it hurt to be so cold, so alone, all the time.
"Fool " he snarled out loud grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking sharply "Get back to your work you unworthy, no one would EVER give you love, because you do NOT need it. Now go and marry yourself to your books" he growled at himself.
When tears sprung unbidden to his eyes from the hair pulling and the emotional anguish, he brandished his damaged arm and drew his nails hard across the flesh "Cease, desist" he ordered himself as blood welled new across his already bloody arm and dripped down his wrist.
"Leave the simpering to the morons who have need of it" he growled and with a short sharp tug of his sleeve down over his wounds, revelling quietly in the way the warm blood seeped against his sleeve and his skin.
With a quiet, disassociated peace he sat down, straightened his back and set himself in redoubled earnest to his work.
He had been working for no more than 10 minutes when he suddenly felt very much as if h e was being watched. He raised his head and narrowed his eyes. He may have been a councillor and he may be the worst councillor and most disgusting twisted form of elf on Arda, but he was still physically an elf.
He inhaled deeply and lifted a brow, repressing the welling terror in his heart he followed the raspberry jam scent and pulled open one of the cupboards in the bottom of a cabinet he used for storing maps-noting that he didn't have to tug against the restraint, that the door was almost half open-and peered inside.
There were several long, slow, agonizing moments during which grey eyes met solid brown when finally the intruder spoke first. "Why were you bleeding 'Ress?" and little Estel's voice near broke with worry and fear as he asked.
Erestor's brown eyes flew wide open and he sat down, hard on the floor. "Ble...Bl..Bleeding?" he stuttered out.
Estel climbed out of the cupboard and with the innocenc of a child, reached out and took his arm, pushing his sleeve up he ran little fingers over the dried blood on his snow white skin. "You got mad and then you pulled your hair and made your arm bleed...why?"he asked in the rambling way so dear in worried children.
And as much as it was painful, hurtful, and upsetting to be discovered by a child...it was a turning point for Erestor. The discovery that would save his life and deliver him to the discovery of joy, of true happiness.