The signs of destiny.
Erestor found himself in the familiar quiet of the library in Rivendell. The tall wooden shelves, laden with ancient tomes and scrolls, seemed to embrace him in a silent sanctuary. The only sound was the rhythmic scratching of his quill as it moved across the parchment, carefully tracing the elegant characters of Quenya while translating them into the fluidity of Sindarin. It was a methodical, almost meditative task, though not without its challenges: each word demanded precision, each phrase careful deliberation.
After hours of work, Erestor paused, setting the goose quill beside the inkwell. He stretched his back, feeling the tension in his muscles ease slightly, and ran a hand over his eyes to ward off the fatigue. It was then that his gaze fell on the mark on his arm.
With a slow, almost reverent motion, he pushed up the sleeve of his robe, allowing the warm light of the lanterns to illuminate the mark. It was a delicate design, as if traced by the hand of a divine artist: a rose entwined with a lotus flower, embraced by an azalea. The lines shimmered with a faint silvery glow, almost alive, and seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Erestor ran his fingers over the mark, lightly tracing the contours of the intertwined flowers. Each time he looked at it, he felt a mix of emotions: joy, hope, and a deep, lingering melancholy. It was the sign that a child—his soul's child—existed somewhere. A predestined bond, sacred and immutable. Yet that knowledge was also a source of pain: he didn't know where they were, nor their face, their voice, or the sound of their laughter.
"Where are you, my little one?" he whispered, his voice so low it dissipated into the vastness of the empty hall.
The mark had appeared on his arm years ago, on a day Erestor remembered with startling clarity. He had woken at dawn, the golden sunlight filtering through his chamber windows, and the mark was there, etched into his skin like a divine gift. He had felt an explosion of joy in his chest, a sense of completeness he had never known before. But as time passed, that initial happiness had given way to profound sorrow. Each day without his child was an open wound, an absence that no task or company could fill.
Erestor closed his eyes, his thumb still resting on the mark. Despite the pain, he couldn't stop hoping. He hoped that one day he would find them, hold them in his arms, protect them, and guide them. Until then, the wait was a burden he bore in silence.
He knew Elrond had noticed his unrest. The Lord of Rivendell, always observant and caring, had asked him more than once to share his thoughts. But Erestor couldn't. Words weren't enough to explain the void he felt, the hunger of the soul that consumed him. So, he continued his life, dedicating himself to his duties and retreating to the library, where the silence allowed him to grieve without hiding his emotions.
With a sigh, he returned to his work, but Erestor's heart remained elsewhere, lost in a distant dream where he would finally meet his child.
Erestor had spent hours in the library, immersed in ancient tomes and translations that demanded his full attention. The lanterns' light was fading, signaling the late hour, yet he hadn't noticed the passage of time. When Glorfindel appeared in the library doorway, his usual smile paired with a determination that left no room for argument, Erestor barely looked up from his pages.
"It's time to stop, Erestor," Glorfindel said in a firm yet friendly tone, one he used when he knew his friend was pushing himself too hard.
Erestor sighed, reluctantly placing the quill beside the inkwell. "Just a little longer, Glorfindel. I'm finishing an important section."
"'A little longer' will turn into another hour, and you know I'm right," Glorfindel replied, crossing his arms. "I'm not letting you wear yourself out in this library. Come on."
Though annoyed, Erestor knew resisting Glorfindel was futile. He knew his friend too well—the warrior wouldn't relent. With a curt nod and an expression of thinly veiled exasperation, he rose, following Glorfindel out of the library.
He walked slowly, his steps heavier than usual. The accumulated fatigue from long hours of study, coupled with the constant weight of his inner sorrow, bore down on him. Glorfindel, ever cheerful, spoke as they walked, but Erestor only half-listened. His friend's words blurred with the steady beat of his heart, which seemed to quicken inexplicably.
When a sudden wave of dizziness struck him, Erestor stopped, bracing himself against the wall to steady his balance. His vision blurred momentarily, and the world seemed to tilt slightly.
"Erestor?" Glorfindel turned immediately, his tone laden with concern. "What's wrong? You're pale."
"I'm fine," Erestor replied, striving to keep his voice steady. "Just… a little tired. I'd like to return to my room."
Glorfindel studied him for a long moment, his bright eyes filled with uncertainty, but eventually, he nodded. "Alright. I'll walk you back."
Erestor resumed walking but didn't get far. Another wave of dizziness struck him, more intense this time. The floor seemed to shift beneath his feet, and before he could steady himself, he felt his body give out.
"Erestor!"
Glorfindel was quick enough to catch him before he fell. His strong arms supported Erestor as the latter felt an overwhelming drowsiness envelop him. He could hear Glorfindel's voice, but the words were distant echoes, blurred and impossible to grasp.
Then everything went dark. The world disappeared into silence, pulling him into an abyss of unconsciousness.
Erestor slowly opened his eyes, greeted by the soft light filtering through the windows of the healing hall. The air was filled with the scent of restorative herbs, and an almost unnatural quiet reigned, interrupted only by the faint rustle of robes and the soft footsteps of the healers. He had barely registered where he was when his gaze met Elrond's, who sat beside him with an expression of calm vigilance tinged with worry.
"Erestor," Elrond said, his deep, reassuring voice breaking the silence. "You're finally awake."
Erestor attempted to sit up, but Elrond placed a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him back onto the pillow. "No," he said with an authoritative tone. "You must rest. Don't move."
"I'm fine," Erestor protested weakly, though his body betrayed his words. He felt drained, as if his strength had been entirely sapped.
"You're far from fine," Elrond replied, his voice calm but unyielding. "And this isn't the first time this has happened. Enough, Erestor. You must tell me what's wrong."
Erestor averted his gaze, trying to avoid Elrond's penetrating stare. He knew that the Lord of Rivendell wouldn't accept a vague answer. Elrond was far too perceptive for that.
"There's nothing," Erestor began, but his voice lacked conviction.
Elrond leaned forward, his expression serene yet determined. "No more lies, my friend. I've borne witness to your struggle for too long without knowing its cause. I will not leave this room until you tell me the truth."
Erestor felt trapped. Elrond's eyes, filled with concern and affection, bore into him relentlessly. After a long moment of silence, the half-elf closed his eyes and sighed. He knew he could no longer hide the truth.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice barely audible. "I'll tell you everything."
Elrond relaxed slightly, though his gaze remained watchful. "I'm here to listen, Erestor. Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone."
Erestor's fingers instinctively brushed against his arm, where the mark he had carried for so many years lay hidden. The words came slowly, laboriously, as though each sentence was a weight he had to lift.
"It's the soul mark," he began, his voice trembling. "Years ago, I woke up to find it here on my skin. A rose, a lotus flower, and an azalea. It was the sign that my child had been born. My soul's child, Elrond. But... I don't know where they are. I don't know anything about them. And with each passing day, the pain of their absence grows. It consumes me."
Elrond remained silent, his gaze serious but his heart aching for the pain he could see in his friend.
"Since then," Erestor continued, "my soul has been restless. I feel them somewhere, so far away from me. I can't protect them, can't hold them in my arms. Every night, I pray to find them, but the years pass, and the void remains."
His voice faltered, and the weight of emotions he had suppressed for so long overwhelmed him. Elrond placed a comforting hand on Erestor's arm, a silent offering of support.
"Erestor," Elrond said gently, "I understand the burden you carry. But you are not alone. We will help you find your child. I swear it."
Those words, spoken with Elrond's calm certainty, felt like a balm to Erestor's soul. For the first time, he allowed himself a glimmer of hope as silent tears traced down his face.
After resting for several hours in the healing hall, Erestor felt somewhat stronger, though the vulnerability of having shared his torment with Elrond lingered. He knew the news wouldn't remain between the two of them—Elrond, in his intent to help, would inevitably involve others. That very evening, his prediction came true.
Not long after sunset, Glorfindel entered the hall with his usual confident stride, though his face was more serious than usual. He approached Erestor's bedside, and the half-elf immediately understood that Elrond had spoken.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Glorfindel began without preamble, his voice calm but carrying a clear note of concern.
Erestor lowered his gaze, unable to meet his friend's eyes. "I didn't want anyone to know. It's a burden I thought I had to bear alone."
"A burden that nearly caused you to collapse," Glorfindel countered, frowning. "Erestor, I'm your friend. You should have told me. You could have spared yourself years of suffering."
"You don't understand, Glorfindel," Erestor murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. "It's not just suffering. It's something deeper. The bond with my child is a part of me. Not knowing where they are, not knowing if they're safe... it tears me apart. How could I explain all of this to you without sounding mad?"
Glorfindel crouched beside the bed, his golden eyes locked onto Erestor's. "You're not mad, Erestor. And you're not alone. We're here, all of us, to help you. You don't have to carry this burden by yourself."
Erestor remained silent for a moment, studying the sincerity in his friend's face. He could feel the warmth in Glorfindel's words, but a part of him still hesitated to fully open up.
"Elrond told me everything," Glorfindel continued, his tone softer now. "And know this: I'll do everything in my power to help you find your child."
Erestor turned to him, struck by the determination in Glorfindel's voice. For years, he had tried to hide his pain, to keep it private, but now he realized that perhaps, with the help of those around him, his hope was not in vain.
"Thank you, Glorfindel," he murmured at last, his voice trembling.
Glorfindel stood, placing a reassuring hand on Erestor's shoulder. "Rest, Erestor. Starting tomorrow, we'll begin the search. No matter how long it takes or where we must go, we will find your child."
Erestor closed his eyes, feeling a sense of peace for the first time in years. Glorfindel, with his unwavering strength and loyalty, had always been a precious friend. Now, he was also a beacon of hope. Perhaps, at last, Erestor was no longer alone in this battle.