Ind-en-Erestor [Erestor's Conscience]
Eru's arse! How did I end up in this situation?
Erestor thumped across the length of the wooden floor and back, passing
in front of the small, cheerily glowing iron brazier and a low leather
covered ottoman set near it. He clasped his hands behind him, then
loosed them and ran both through his long black hair. He glared down at
an innocent side table that held a plain, brightly burning silver oil
lamp and finally stopped before the tightly drawn silk curtains. With
annoyance spawned by overwrought nerves and the remains of the
migraine, he pushed the fabric aside with his fingers just a sliver to
peer out into the little clearing.
It was inconceivable; never would he have imagined the events Aragorn
and Mithrandir had described to him, though he knew they had no cause
to invent such a tale. Their dual recitation, each interposing at any
point when they deemed the other's account insufficient, had made his
brain feel too full to accept the story's conclusion. They simply could
not be speaking of his history over the last several months. Recalling
the plans he and Elrond had devised, his friends' revelations did not
seem plausible consequences of such an underhanded sort of plot.
Beyond the journey into the Mirkwood, Erestor had nothing upon which to
anchor the new information. All he knew for certain was that a large
vacancy in chronology was evident in the rhythm of his body's clock.
Other than a few vague and fleeting impressions of a human village and
a horrendous memory of encountering the Wraiths, Erestor could not own
any of it personally. How could he embrace such a convoluted
narrative, with himself the one who ended up claiming the wild elf
while the Lord of Imladris faced formal charges for malicious
intervention in Mirkwood's affairs? The two had journeyed here solely
to debase and diminish the child of Ningloriel, using the real concerns
for Middle-earth's future as false justification. How could it be that
pain and suffering had transformed into redemption and love?
Far more than taking and giving pleasure; Aragorn spoke of my
bonding to this discarded prince. Surely that was never part of
Elrond's plans. Nor mine.
The seneschal shook his head soberly in self-chastisement, yet in a
part of his thinking that did not reach consciousness the idea thrilled
him.
Legolas, he tried the word out soundlessly and
at once his heart made a peculiar triple-stroke as a sharp sense of
apprehension surrounded his soul. It was disconcerting for he was
unable to assign any known danger to the reaction. A deep breath joined
a second brief twitch of his chin in denial and he turned from the
internal scrutiny to assess his external surroundings once more.
His vision swept over the late afternoon, half-lit glen as he sighed in
quiet fatigue. No longer was the place a strangled clutter of weeds,
grasses, and scrub oak. Neat hedgerows and a freshly turned bed for
flowers and herbs flanked a stone bordered walkway. The path led down
to the old stump of a beech and a lanky sapling hugging close to the
remains of the ancient's lifeless roots. The sight of the youthful tree
and the well-groomed garden gave his heart ease somehow and he exhaled
a portion of the worried strain from his body. He could barely believe
it was from this rejuvenated meadow that he had led his grieving lover
away just days ago.
"Oh!" Erestor physically jumped at this notion and his heart began
drumming as if he had run for leagues without rest.
Desperately he tried to hold onto the flicker of an image, the
sensation of a tormented body leaning against him for support, a spirit
vibrant and dauntless housed within a form of strange and untamed
grace. Within the Noldo's feä surged a strong desire to ease the
pain and win back the elf's trust, to undo the deep wounds his careless
tongue and heedless acts had inflicted. He could not see the ellon's
face, for it was drooping under the weight of fading, and the more
effort Erestor expended to enhance the mirage the more ephemeral the
vision grew. Depression followed swiftly behind the shock of the
revelation and the dissolution of the dream. He turned from the drapes
to stalk back across the room again.
"Valar! It is all real? How can this be so?"
"What is it? Did you remember something?" demanded Gandalf. "Do not
hold back, Erestor, I warn you!" The Istar was seated on the daintily
embroidered love-seat, half-heartedly puffing at his long-stemmed clay
pipe. Only a meagre, straggling curl of white smoke lifted from the
rather dampened burley, however, and he grimaced around the bitter tang
of juices his efforts extracted from the bowl instead. He carefully set
the pipe aside as its fire dwindled and expired.
"Do not threaten me any more this day!" Erestor wheeled to point at
Mithrandir, foregoing cool reason and calm discourse, his frazzled mind
giving way under rising tension and panic. "I need to sort things out
and you are not helping."
"I assure you it is not my intent to hinder your recovery, but rather
to stifle your natural urge to wriggle out of your duty in this
unorthodox arrangement," groused the wizard.
"My duty? Mithrandir, I am bound by more than obligation to Orophin and
Dambethnîn, whether you deem it correct or not, yet now you sit
here and menace me with spells and dire fate, my immortal life spent
amid this forest as one of its many trees, if I shun the company of the
silvan archer. What am I supposed to do? I cannot abandon a true bond
even if I wished it."
"That is so," the Istar rejoined and rose. "Sit, for your agitation
wears upon my soul." He pressed Erestor down onto the ottoman and went
to the tiny kitchen, returning with two glasses half filled with
miruvor and a bottle of golden wine. "I believe you will find your
union with Legolas is at least as genuine, if not stronger, than the
one forged with the worthy elves from Lorien. Your real challenge may
lie in salvaging ties with the Galadhrim." He handed the tonic to the
advisor and resumed his place on the sofa, setting the wine on the
table nearby.
"It is not my 'natural inclination' to deflect responsibility for my
actions," Erestor ignored the implications of Gandalf's last statement
and resumed grumbling over the slur upon his character. He accepted the
drink gratefully enough, however, and dragged the foot stool nearer the
grate. The fire crackled loudly and he hovered over it for he was still
chilled. "What makes you say such a thing? I have never wilfully harmed
any of my partners; I cannot believe I sought to ensnare this one's
heart." The advisor simply could not encompass the thought of
deliberately defying his bond with Pen-bara and Pen-raug, yet the other
option was no better, for then he would be guilty of deliberately
attempting to bind Legolas to him without offering anything in return.
"Nay, I could not have done so!" Erestor jumped up and paced back to
the edge of the platform to stare into the ageing day, hoping for a
return of the sense of peace the glade's renewal had granted.
"Well this entire adventure certainly indicates a lax character at
best," scolded the Maia, not quite in tune with the seneschal's
thoughts.
That I cannot deny. Erestor frowned as he sipped the
miruvor and gazed across the humble croft's grounds.
Yet there
had to be circumstances to warrant this conjugation, something I have
yet to recall. I am not Elrond and brought no bitter grudge with me
here. All my assignations have ever been honest; no desire to ruin
another has plagued me prior to this one elf's situation.
An
idea immediately danced across his thoughts, a bright warm whirlwind of
joy, muted light, and gleeful laughter under silvery stars, that
perhaps he might love the wild elf. Faster than he could blink the
notion vanished, leaving him in uneasy quandary over what oaths he may
have betrayed. Again he fled the unpalatable interior examination. His
eyes travelled the clearing; nothing in the scene presented any
indication of Legolas' unique appeal.
It was such a common little homestead; even humans in the villages
along the East Road had more to show for their labours than this
miserly allotment of real estate displayed. It said much of the true
poverty of the Woodland Realm's inhabitants if this was the best they
could manage for their esteemed, reclaimed champion against the Shadow.
The seneschal shook his head and scowled in derision.
Valar! A Hobbit hole is better situated and more richly
appointed! The noble Noldo thought in dismal temper as he
turned back and examined the sitting room and the galley just two steps
from it.
Elbereth, what manner of cooking smells must I endure whilst
here? Indeed, who shall perform the culinary tasks? There is not even a
privy, I am certain. I shall be reduced to emptying chamber pots or
worse, relieving my body in the open woods. I will be a figure of
mockery in both Imladris and Lorien, probably even Mithlond. 'Errant,
erring Erestor, caught at last by some ignorant backwoods outcast
warrior, forced into binding under threat of the wizard's staff. Serves
him right!'
But Erestor knew this petty lamentation for what it was: a futile
attempt to convince himself that he did not care, to achieve distance
from the catastrophe by arrogant condescension and force of will. With
a moan his chin dipped to his chest and slumped back to his seat by the
fire box, gulping down the remains of the stimulant and passing the
glass over to Mithrandir for a sample of the amber wine.
By
Iluvatar, no one has cajoled me into anything. My soul chose this
course and shall not divert from it, regardless what I will.
He exhaled another deep gush of wind and rubbed his temples to soothe
away the hurt. A wince cramped his shoulder blades, not from his
discomfort but that which loomed over the lives of those he loved,
those he had wronged. This headache was nothing compared to the pain
his actions had caused the elf in the vision, nor was it likely to
reach the proportions of despairing grief his mates would experience
once his selfish finagling became known.
"Ai, Gandalf, just throw me back into that bloody river! Let me drown
there!"
"Do not tempt me, fool of an elf!" rumbled the Istar's biting
remonstrance. "I am not interested in your self-indulgent sorrowing,
Erestor. Legolas could not survive your death, not even with my aid.
That you can only visualise this tragedy in terms of your own
debasement is hardly encouraging. Well let me just advise you bluntly:
by my reckoning that Wood Elf you are sneering over far out weighs you
in worth of character, grace, courage, and nobility! Gladly would I
trade your life if doing so meant peace for Tirno!"
"Nay, I was not sneering! I do not mean to gloss over any of the harm
this will cause him!"
"Then do not do so! Your thoughts are so easy to read."
"Truly? Then answer my fears, if you hear them so clearly! How do I
honour the Wood Elf's claim against the union already enjoined with
Orophin and Dambethnîn? Which of these elves must I hurt; tell
me!" Erestor was up again, striding the length of the platform with
noisy frustration sounding from the soles of his bare feet.
"Hah! None of this concerned you one whit prior to setting forth on
this despicable escapade." The Istar rose and towered over the agitated
elda in anger, bearing down and backing him to the sofa. "Do not try to
prove yourself noble now by fretting over whom your actions will affect
worst! Such efforts are quite wasted on me, old friend. The decisions
belong to you, so it was in the beginning and thus it remains at the
end of this tale. Reason cannot help you, fortitude and duty are
meaningless; it is within your spirit that the solution lies. If you
dare not look into your own heart, then Legolas is better off without
you, even if that outcome delivers him to Mandos."
With that he shoved Erestor in the chest and sent him sprawling onto
the decorative settee so hard the furniture scooted back nearly into
the curtained walls. A final snorting growl later, Gandalf stormed into
to the kitchen just to have an excuse to get away from the Noldo. He
returned with a small pitcher of water and plunked it down on the
table, sparing another harsh glance in the advisor's direction before
casting his lengthy frame into a side chair.
"I agree with you; it would be far better had Legolas never met me."
Erestor spoke quietly as he shifted more upright on the love-seat. "If
I plead for death it is cowardice; I do not deny it. How can I face the
consequences of my deeds, for they will fall not upon me but those
closest to my heart, and on one my heart seems to know while I do not.
Mithrandir, I have never purposefully acted with dishonourable intent
before and I am having difficulty adjusting to this side of my
personality."
"Oh, I am so very sorry over your distress!" snapped Gandalf.
The Maia's scowl did not diminish but he did pass the Noldo a serving
of the amber alcohol. He knew he was being rather hard on the
seneschal, for plainly Erestor was honestly flummoxed by the reality
into which he had awakened. Gandalf realised much of his anger was more
about his unrequited desire for Legolas' affections than the
seneschal's reactions; Erestor's sins were a convenient outlet through
which to vent the volatile emotion. The wizard cleared his throat and
gathered his dignity about him, for berating the Noldo would ultimately
be injurious to the archer if it prevented the advisor from facing his
choices.
"Not all of it has been disgraceful, Erestor. Take heed of what your
feä informs you over the rationalising which your mind supplies.
Just now, did you sense something?" Gandalf sent his rival a strained
smile that yet held within its folds a disapproving frown, which in
turn served to mask the underlying pain piercing the Istar's encumbered
heart.
"Aye, at least I think so." Erestor's hesitant answer followed. He knew
not what to make of the wizard's unusual demeanour.
Never have
I seen him this way; he mourns one moment and is consumed by fury the
next. "I remembered this glen as it was before, all weedy and
wild. I was with someone and he was suffering greatly; I feel that I
wished to comfort him. Nay, more than that. I wanted to heal a wound I
had caused him. That elf is Legolas, I assume."
"Yes. You did not inflict the injury although your words revealed it to
his consciousness." the Maia was hopeful but reserved his judgement.
Erestor's feä had not yet spoken and this was troubling.
"Well, that is a small grace, I suppose," the seneschal mumbled
dejectedly. "Better a slight by accident than malice by intent."
Mithrandir sighed and reached to the low table beside the couch where
his pipe and pouch of Shire-leaf rested. Since the frantic escape from
Orcs down the rapids, his pleasingly relaxing habit had become an
intolerable disappointment, for he had been unable to restore the
water-logged herb to its rightful consistency. With abrupt impatience
he filled the cone shaped bowl and lit the pungent plant with a twig of
kindling from the grate. He puffed determinedly, blowing gusts of acrid
vapours into great clouds about his face until the shreds of leaf were
bright orange nearly to the bottom of the pipe and he was satisfied the
tiny fire would not fizzle away. He leaned back and drew in the heady
smoke, letting the fumes ease his trepidation. Another protracted
exhale sent a curling stream of grey from his nostrils.
"I am pleased to hear of this memory. If you recall that, then more
recent events should be returned to your mind as well."
After this, a perturbed and morbid silence filled the talan, broken
only by the creaking of the trees and the cracking combustion in the
brazier. Minutes passed and the Istar would only smoke while the Noldo
discretely fanned the fog away from him, fearing to speak and rouse the
wizard's temper anew. Yet all the while, the sense of foreboding
Erestor had been plagued with since awakening grew stronger. At last he
could bear no more and sprang from his seat.
"Mithrandir, what is amiss? Speak plainly to me; is there something
wrong? Do you know what is happening to Legolas now?"
"Nay, old friend, he has shut me completely out, ever since the initial
close of the Council several days ago." he coughed a bit around this
lie to cover its bald tones of deceit. He could barely admit his
voyeurism to himself and certainly would never do so to Erestor of
Imladris. Yet only to that very elf, one determined to heal centuries
of accumulated harm, one that had worshipped Legolas' scars and wounds
in his desire to free the fallen prince's fettered feä, only to
that lover would the Maia relinquish his heart's sole claimant.
And this Noldo is not he; at least not yet. "What is
it you fear?"
"I do not know. I am cold as I have not been since the fall of
Gondolin. I yearn for my family as though I lost them but yesterday. I
feel I am needed by my…by Legolas and that I should go to him rather
than sit here and wait for fell news."
"Nay, it would not be wise to intervene; this much my foreknowledge
counsels. The King intends to remove the sentence, thus if Legolas does
not interfere he will be outcast no more. The situation must be decided
between Thranduil and his first-born." Gandalf noted, but did not
acknowledge, the seneschal's hasty, mid-sentence vocal side step.
"You say this as if you do not believe Legolas is willing to mend the
rift."
"Aye. Have you marked how the trees all about the city are not
slumbering in hibernation anymore? Their discordant worrying is low and
indecipherable to any save Legolas and perhaps some others among the
Wood Elves. Nonetheless, I comprehend the gist of it. Legolas is too
intractable for his own well being. He has fixated on the notion that
you are lost to him. The Greenwood fears their Tawarwaith may do
something rash."
"Those are but reasons for me to be at his side! Mithrandir, I insist
you lead me to the Council Chamber immediately!" Erestor hurried to the
trap door, shut against the drop in temperature, and pulled it open. He
had indeed noticed the creaking moans of the nearly naked limbs and
their plaintive scraping in the absence of rain or wind added to the
eerie impression of suspended doom. The Istar's morose mood did nothing
to ease his apprehension.
"Sit down, Erestor!" commanded the wizard. "We are not going to the
stronghold; Aragorn will bring news soon enough. Your presence would
only incite Legolas to hasten his ruin. Can you not understand that he
loves you and will not abide life without you by his side? If you
arrive and cannot even pick him from the crowd, how shall that comfort
his harried mental state?"
"He loves me." Erestor let the panel drop shut again, stunned. The
Maia's words held the finality of truth and the timbre of his voice
bore testimony to the germ of despair hidden in the beauty of the
full-blown blossom of the glorious terms. Legolas loved him.
Through all their converse on the subject of the impromptu bonding,
Erestor had somehow been disengaged from any empathetic emotion such a
concept might stir. Instead he had considered the problem from the
standpoint of the right and wrong of his actions and how to minimise
the effects his errors would produce. Now his long held desire and
unspoken prayer were granted at last: there was one heart in Arda that
sought only his. And he could do nothing less than cherish such a gift.
Mithrandir's words served to break the numbing barrier of shock and the
remnant fog of disorientation. That brilliant glimmering joy glanced
out from his soul again and teased across his brain; he did love the
disgraced archer. The seneschal swallowed, confused by the combination
of exhilaration and ripping distress coursing through every nerve. In
the silence following the brash bang of the wooden door he crept back
to his seat. It was nearly three full minutes before he could come up
with any coherent thoughts for he was overwhelmed with guilt and giddy
longing, sensations he had never experienced paired before.
"Ai, Mithrandir! If he is lost, it is my fault. If he is lost, then so
am I." No sooner had the Noldo voiced this dread than a sharp spasm
speared his body. He doubled over, for the intensity of the pain was so
severe it felt he had been skewered with a sword. Erestor cried aloud
and gasped for air.
"Elbereth! Nay, Erestor, be strong; that fate has not occurred!"
Gandalf was at his side in an instant, helping him stretch out on the
sofa. He tried to make the advisor comfortable and pressed him
to drink another sip of the potent golden wine. "Valar, I should not
have spoken of this; though I wished for the proof I would not have it
given in so gruesome a form."
Erestor gasped to recover his breath, too fraught with the misery of
his first taste of grieving sickness to heed what was said.
"Listen to me, you are not going to lose him, Erestor," Mithrandir
spoke with the authority of Manwë's emissary and again tried to
force the drink past the Noldo's lips. "The trees have stopped. Do you
hear me? The forest is at peace. Surely this would not be so if Legolas
was in Námo's custody."
The seneschal faintly heard the Maia speaking but could not concentrate
on the syllables long enough to derive their meaning. He wailed anew
and shuddered, then all at once the tearing agony freed him and he fell
limp against the padded armrest and cushioned seats. A tingling
friction disturbed the fine hairs on the nape of his neck and a return
of the inner vision of Tawar engulfed him. There was no sound and the
image was faint, but it seemed that Legolas was with three elven
warriors and was not in danger any longer.
He knew at once which one was Legolas and his heart resumed a skittish
pace to behold the fair face that had evaded memory before. Straining
to gather details proved futile for the vantage presented was not close
enough to note more than uncommon beauty with a strong resemblance to
Ningloriel. This distance induced lack of perspective in itself was
indication that the sense of recognition originated within his feä
and not his thoughts. There was no attempt to assess the facial bone
structure, no need to judge the visage against a previous sighting; he
simply knew.
And this is no recollection; much the same
sensation I have felt before. It is a gift of the trees. This tableau
is happening now. Erestor smiled brightly, not only because
he remembered enough of his days amid the wilds to make this
comparison, but also at the scene unfolding.
The warriors, two tall Sindar and one silvan, stood before the
Tawarwaith, all of them grouped in the very heart of a tremendous old
beech tree. One of the Grey Elves reached out to the lowly Wood Elf in
both reverence and filial pride as the remaining pair looked on in joy.
The trio of soldiers radiated an intense aura of peace, gratitude, and
respect for Greenwood's defender. With a sudden burst of shocked
surprise, Erestor recognised Oropher's older sons and experienced their
delight in claiming the Tawarwaith as nephew. The vision did not last,
dissolving faster than mist in sunlight, but it was enough to allay the
Noldo's anxiety while advancing his shuddery pining.
"Eru is gracious!" Mithrandir exhaled a grateful prayer and resumed his
place in the armchair, momentarily burying his aged features within his
gnarled bony hands. "I do not want to have to tell Legolas about this
episode and as long as there is no recurrence I see no reason for him
to learn of it, agreed?" he asked in solemn tones.
"Agreed," whispered the advisor. "What was that?"
"A taste of what Legolas has been suffering through for quite a long
while now. That is the pain of fading. When Aragorn returns, he will
prescribe something to help you sleep and ease the remnant aching."
"Help me to sleep!" Erestor repeated in mock horror and gave the wizard
a shaky smile. "I saw him; he is not in any danger. He was with three
others; Oropher's two elder sons but I have no idea who the other one
is. The link is gone again; he must be near exhaustion."
Mithrandir understood the referral was to Legolas and could say nothing
to this, his thoughts troubled by resentment over Tawar denying him the
vision. He rose and stepped over to the very edge of the talan much as
the advisor had done before and moved aside the tight fabric barrier to
stare out into the declining light. He hoped the Man would return soon
and bring the healer for he was weary of the Noldo's plight and wished
to find a place of solitude to tend his own grief.
So deep in his own ruminations was he that the wizard could not tell
how much time had passed as the autumn twilight deepened. He came back
to awareness abruptly, uncertain what noise or commotion had startled
him, and turned to find the seneschal dozing peacefully. When his sight
resumed inspection of the glade, he beheld Aragorn and Fearfaron
hastening through the outer ring of beeches, laughing and laden, their
arms over-flowing with baskets. Mithrandir opened the trap and let down
the rope, aiding their mirthful ascent in quiet resignation.
"Ai, Gandalf!" exclaimed Aragorn upon seeing the Maia's serious
expression. "What has happened? Is Erestor well?" The Man did not await
the reply, however and hurried into the sitting room, alarmed to see
the seneschal prone out on the settee.
"He has suffered an attack of the grieving sickness," the Istar
intoned, helping the carpenter unpack the containers. "However, it
relented quickly and he reported having both a memory of being with
Legolas in this clearing before its redemption and a vision from Tawar
of Legolas and his deceased uncles. This last I found rather
disturbing, but Erestor did not seem bothered by it at all."
The vessels of woven river reed were filled with numerous sweet
delights from the King's kitchens, along with two bottles of the finest
wine from the monarch's cellars, an assortment of nuts and dried fruit
for snacking, and Erestor's pack, with his change of clothes cleaned
and repaired, from the stronghold. It was clear the two expected the
seneschal to be remaining in the talan overnight.
Naturally he
will dwell with Legolas whilst he remains in Greenwood.
Mithrandir could not suppress his bitter frown.
"Valar!" exclaimed the carpenter as he peered at the insensible form
draped over the much too short couch. "Those events truly happened! I
was there; the unhoused feär confined to Thranduil's vaults were
indeed his brothers, the third was a silvan archer long dead from the
time of Oropher's arrival. Legolas managed to free them from the King's
binding spell. Will Erestor be all right?"
"He merely rests; this is not from the enchantment," said Aragorn. The
mortal's quick inspection reassured him of the Noldo's viability. "The
advisor's sleep is a healthy one that will restore his strength."
"But for how long will it last? Legolas will be here ere much more time
passes," complained Fearfaron. "I would speak with Erestor before that
meeting takes place."
"Peace, it is unnecessary," spoke the wizard. "His soul seeks for
Legolas; he has made his choice. The Wood Elf will not lose him."
"As you say, yet there are things this elf has forgot that need to be
revealed. Legolas still fears for his fate and that of the Galadhrim;
the issue was never addressed by Erestor. Will you not wake him,
Aragorn? It is imperative I instruct him before Legolas arrives,"
insisted the carpenter.
The mortal had no need to comply, however, because the seneschal woke
of his own volition as the new voices reached his consciousness. He
blinked and found his vision focused on an elf he could not recall ever
meeting. Not comfortable appearing in so vulnerable a state before
strangers of an almost hostile race, he sat up rather quickly. A
flicker of his eyes to the right aligned them with Aragorn's and the
Man sent a reassuring smile.
"Allow me to make the introductions. Erestor of Imladris, may I present
Fearfaron of the Woodland Realm. This is Legolas' foster-father, old
friend, and might as well be the silvan's kin by blood so strong is
their mutual attachment."
Somehow those words were not nearly as comforting as the human's genial
countenance implied and Erestor's tongue cleaved to his palate as he
rose and politely bowed.
"Mae Govannen," he said formally and passed a careful inspection over
the carpenter once he righted himself. The fact that his action was
being mirrored by the Wood Elf was not exactly consoling.
"Suilad. So, you remember nothing? I am completely strange to you?" he
demanded calmly and folded his arms before his chest.
"I regret that your words are true ones. I do not know your face."
"Yet he has had a strong recollection of Legolas and I have already
told you he has made his decision," Mithrandir remarked irritably.
"Bah! I will leave the three of you to sort this out! I must speak with
Aiwendil regarding the upcoming negotiations between Imladris and
Mirkwood." The wizard took two huge steps, forcing Aragorn to step out
of the way in a hurry, snatched up his tobacco pouch and pipe, and
climbed out through the trap door without further comment.
A short silence commenced as the trio considered how to begin and then
Fearfaron took the initiative.
"Aragorn, you may go as well, for what I need to say is best kept
between myself and my son's heart-mate," Fearfaron transferred his gaze
to the Man, a look too intense to permit the meagre heat of the
mortal's inquiring stare to kindle into wrath over the dismissal.
"Aye, I have no need of a protector, Estel," grumbled Erestor,
flustered to be coddled so by someone whose instruction he had overseen
from childhood.
"Fine, if my devotion means so little, I will leave you in the
carpenter's care. Try not to miss-speak too much, old friend," he
taunted lightly and, having been excused by both his elders, gave a
curt nod to Fearfaron and followed Mithrandir's example out of the
talan and back to the stronghold.
The two elves eyed one another warily, then simultaneously invited the
other to sit, both feeling ownership over the setting in completely
opposing congruity. In equally awkward harmony, both acquiesced to the
invitation and gingerly seated themselves on opposite sides of the
little sofa table, Erestor on the settee and Fearfaron in the armchair.
The carpenter exhaled a characteristically morose breath.
"I was not pleased to find that Legolas held you so highly, at first,"
he began. "Until I saw him, until I held him in my arms weeping, his
soul too full with joy to retain the emotion. I never saw him happy
before that moment. I would see him thus again, for it was too brief
and the bitterness of his grief returned with a determined finality."
"Fearfaron, I assure you that it is not my desire to …"
"Peace! I am your elder, if only by a century or two. Thus, though you
are counted a noble by the reckoning of your kin and my better, I will
say what is in my heart, uninterrupted." The carpenter shut his taut
lips and held them in a wordless frown just a few seconds to ensure his
guest was inclined to obedience. Another sigh escaped him then. "One
son I have lost, a daughter was stolen away before i could even look
into her new-born eyes, and my wife-mate awaits me in Aman whence her
sorrows drove her, alone until the day I am free to sail. I will not
allow another that I love to be parted from me.
"Legolas is my ion-edwen [second son], given to me upon the loss of
Annaldír, his friend and companion in arms, my first-born,
killed at the Battle of Erebor. My desperate need was matched by
Legolas' and now we could no more allow one another to come to harm
than if I had generated his existence of my own seed and soul. Do you
understand this? I am Legolas' father by the will of Eru and there is
only one other that might have as strong a claim upon the substance of
his feä. That is Mithrandir, and while you have satisfied his
standards, mine you have yet to even guess." The carpenter paused and
the seconds sped past until he was forced to give the slightest lift to
his brows as indication that the Noldo was expected to answer.
"I hear you. Your devotion to the archer I can both see and feel. I do
not challenge the right to satisfy such concerns over your second son's
future." Erestor restated the silvan's speech succinctly and was
pleased to see the quick nod and the ephemeral smile that drifted
through the carpenter's eyes.
"That is well said. Now, let me enlighten you further, for we have
talked before and much you revealed then. We spoke of the formal tokens
of so deep a bond that is easily discernible within your wary stare. I
have brought the ring I spoke of then." So saying Fearfaron reached
into the pocket of his tunic and retrieved the small gold band, placing
it on the low table between them. He sat back and observed closely the
seneschal's reactions.
"Ai Elbereth! This is an unexpected…gift!" Erestor stuttered in alarm.
"Sir, I do not recall any of this and can hardly pledge myself so
openly to a vow I have no memory of making!"
"Ah! Of course not, foolish Noldo! Nor would I desire you to offer such
a sign if your heart was not behind it. This you will put in a safe
place, hidden, known to you alone. When the time has come, you will put
that ring on my son's hand."
"Fearfaron, I know not if I can fulfil this demand. What if i do not
recover my memories fully? How can I commit my feä under such
conditions?"
"Mithrandir said you have suffered the first taste of fading, is that
not proof enough for you? You belong to Legolas, whether your memories
admit to it or not, and the Tawarwaith is coming here to claim you,
quite soon." The carpenter was actually chuckling over the state of his
son-in-law, who sat rigid, fighting the urge to fidget, opening and
closing his lips beneath round and glassy eyes, much like any trout
hooked and hauled from the river.
"What? How near is his return? But nay, I have not even had opportunity
to see his face or hear his words. Claim me? I would hope to woo my
heart's desire, not be pounced upon by someone I have never even met!"
Yet the idea clearly was not as repugnant as the advisor from Imladris
attempted to present. A subtle, sly, distinctly lecherous caste washed
through his glittering black eyes.
"Oh you have already done your wooing," Fearfaron's tone was decidedly
on the smarmy spectrum of the vocal scale. "Right out in public on the
busiest section of the Wood Elves' city."
"What?"
"Hands everywhere, according to the gossips, mouth sealed so tight
around his it is a wonder the pair of you did not expire there in the
autumn leaves!"
"I, nay, I groped him in front of…of…"
"…half the population of Greenwood. Aye, you did, and Legolas loved
every bit of it; rest assured the desire was mutual."
"I do not know what to say to that; there are no memories of it in my
mind. I have never been so forward, so indiscreet."
"Nonetheless, you wooed my son most determinedly," intoned the
carpenter, "and successfully."
"Eru's Arse, how did I end up in this situation?" The exasperated Noldo
got up and retraced his nervous path around the room's perimeter. Yet
the carpenter's words had ignited agitation of a different sort, for he
was eager now to have his mind restored and hungry to know the elf that
had won his heart. It was a cruel joke for the Valar to finally grant
him his deepest, most guarded hope only to remove all memory of its
realisation.
"You must trust me when I tell you that you were most pleased to be in
these circumstances mere hours ago," said Fearfaron quietly, noting the
advisor's real distress. "Erestor, for my part I understand how it is
that you have never been in a similar predicament before, for you
revealed to me all of your past, including the nature of your flight
from Gondolin and how that related to your attachment to the Galadhrim."
"Explain what you mean by these words." Erestor whispered, frozen in an
instant betwixt the trap door and the ottoman, pale in shocked horror,
for of course he had no recollection of this previous interaction with
the kindly craftsman.
"You never formalised your association with Orophin and
Dambethnîn. There is no ring upon your finger because they do not
hold your heart. At least, not all of it or even most of it. This is
not something you have ever explained, perhaps not even to yourself,
but it is something you must rediscover. Orophin and you share a
similar tragedy, both losing loved ones in a terrible way, both blaming
yourselves for failing to save them. This was the reason the two of you
connected and Dambethnîn consented, for she hoped to have her
mate healed at last.
"I know this did not happen through your bond with the couple, not for
you at least. But I ask you to examine your inner heart now and see if
you find that ancient wound still there." Fearfaron paused and watched
the light of amazement flow over the seneschal's features even as he
could only continue to stare in mute disbelief. "Aye; it was healed
through your union with the wild archer. You must relate the history of
this truth to Legolas, for he fears he is responsible for whatever may
become of the love you share with the Galadhrim. Already he blames
himself for hurts they do not yet feel."
The Noldo could only gawk in silent wonderment, thoughts reeling from
this abrupt summation of his soul's hidden fears and festering anguish.
He shook his head, dumbfounded and perplexed, for the revelation was
too unexpected, too jarring. He had prepared to hear the carpenter
expound on the proper way to treat his foster-son, not divulge the
secrets of his long lost youth.
"Whatever else occurs this night, you must set Legolas' mind at ease on
this point." Fearfaron continued. "Much hurt did you cause him; do not
imagine that your failure to remember this will permit the injuries to
be ignored or forgotten. They are, however, excused, for you have
secured real healing for Legolas. All I ask is that you refrain from
inflicting any new wounds in place of the old ones. He has many scars
and I would beg you to be mindful of them. Grant him joy, Erestor, for
he has earned it when such is truly the right of all Iluvatar's
children."
The vehemence in the Wood Elf's speech was simultaneously touching and
as formidable as a drawn blade held to his throat. Erestor sat tall and
met the carpenter's penetrating gaze of melded entreaty and threat,
deeply wishing he had not acted so callously toward Legolas. Before he
had warred with himself, on the one hand hoping to recall everything
that had happened while on the other dreading to learn the details of
his low deeds. Aragorn and the wizard had sketched the outline of
the evolving relationship, hurrying past the darker parts in hopes of
stirring the seneschal's mind on the path toward his recently acquired
love for their mutual friend. Erestor realised he must face it all, the
black-hearted stabs as well as the unintentional jabs at the vulnerable
Wood Elf's soul, if he would truly appreciate the gift of love the
fallen prince had offered.
And I accepted.
"If it is in my power to do it, I shall see him happy and fulfilled the
rest of eternity," Erestor repeated his vow without even realising it
and continued. "Yet I must know how dark was my role in his breaking.
Please, tell me what I did to Legolas." Erestor gasped ere he finished
speaking, for another vivid image flashed through his mind.
A bright morning and a singing brook and there a fair elf spread before
him on a mossy bank, golden hair all wet and strewn wild about him on
the grass, skin flushed and beaded with water and sweat, eyes squeezed
tight, lost in ecstasy, softly moaning his ardent pleasure.
'Ah, Eru!' Then a low cry of decadent prurience and
the blue eyes opened to sear the seneschal's in a gaze of such
overpowering lust that it was impossible to control his urge to pound
against the supple, willing arse in which his cock was buried.
'Aye! Oh, Berenaur. Fuck me deep…strong. Please! Fill me…need
you, more!' The pleading words escaped between heaving
breaths and delectable wails of longing as Legolas begged to be ravaged
and plundered.
Erestor ran his hands over the smooth tight buttocks, turned to lick
the inside of the calf draped across his shoulder, grabbed up the
archer's full cock in his hand. He pumped it with fervour, not even
caring to match the strokes with his increasingly virile thrusts; all
he wanted was to come inside this unbelievably tight arse while the
golden elf writhed under him. Too soon the hard hot column of rosy
flesh was spurting a silver fountain as he rammed the constricting anus
repeatedly. Sinking his shaft deeper with every thrust, Erestor roared
out his mastery, spilling inside the quivering body, relishing the
wantonly brutal intimacy, stunned by the power of his orgasm, waves of
delicious euphoria drowning him.
It was but a few seconds of time, but the seneschal found he had broken
into a cold sweat and was panting for air. He had to sit down and could
not wonder at the rapidly rising erection filling his leggings, so
intense had the imagery been.
"Ai, Valar!" he whispered. Yet he was more terrified than ever and he
suddenly did not wish to see anymore of the past, for his mind already
knew what came next in the sequence even if the specifics were missing.
"Oh, no. I cannot endure this," Erestor hid his face in his hands. "He
calls me by my mother-name."
"Aye, he does. He cannot speak the name Erestor, for that is the one
Elrond took for this cruel game," Fearfaron's tone was mildly scathing.
"You will bear whatever you must for Legolas' sake, Erestor of
Gondolin."
"Nay, no more recriminations," pleaded Erestor. "I need to see him. I
must make amends. There is something wrong; why is he not here yet?"
"Be calm; he is not in harm's way now. The worst is behind him if you
will but co-operate with your feä and join with him anew. Do not
fret over the less noble images, Erestor, for even those turned
to your favour before the trial ended. Legolas understands exactly when
you ceased playing your Lord's game and does not hold anything against
you. Do not allow my concerns to overshadow the genuine forgiveness he
bestowed, long before you professed love to him."
Erestor could only nod, head still gripped between his clutching hands,
as earlier events replayed for his elucidation, and he was forced to
witness the debasement he and Elrond had visited upon the unsuspecting
outcast. Silent tears began flowing as he watched the Lord of Imladris
shift the coveted prize to his advisor, no longer interested after
taking what he had so plotted and planned to have.
And seeing the Noldo's agitated state, Fearfaron judged he had pushed
too far. He rose and gathered the small bottle of rejuvenating cordial
from the pantry and pressed it into his son-in-law's hand, prying the
clutching fingers from entanglement in the midnight tresses. He did not
return to his seat until the seneschal drank.
"Let the past remain in its place, Erestor. Legolas will not be
bringing it with him and would be loathe to find it here when he
arrives. These are things he has already laid to rest; he looks for no
accounting from you. Do you hear these words?" he asked gently. Now
Fearfaron wished he had stayed longer with Legolas in order to explain
how the seneschal might behave as the memories returned.
"I hear you," mumbled Erestor, straightening up and struggling to
gather his composure. He wondered if the carpenter understood all the
details of his adopted child's treatment at the hands of the Imladrians
and flushed in abject shame, unable to meet the Wood Elf's eyes. "I
will try to be…normal for him. It would spoil things terribly if the
Tawarwaith found this morose and guilt-ridden wreck awaiting him in the
cosy talan."
"A! No need to put it so strongly as that. A little regret and remorse
is acceptable, just do not become immersed in it. Instead, let it guide
you to act as best fits Legolas' well-being." Fearfaron smiled kindly
and stood, reaching over to clasp the seneschal's shoulder firmly in a
show of support and confidence. "Just behave as you normally do when
you find yourself alone with an attractive and willing partner. The
rest will come about of its own accord."
These words brought the Noldo's head up sharply and he could not hide
his astonishment. How could this elf ever trust him to handle his son
with respect and love? Erestor found he had no words with which to
comment on the boldly suggestive remark.
"However, Legolas was injured earlier today and mayhap a slower,
gentler…"
"He is hurt?" Erestor shot up from the settee in alarm. "How badly?
What happened to him?"
"Be at ease, he will recover just fine according to the healer. He and
Thranduil rather had a quarrel that involved knives and keys and
Legolas was stabbed in the shoulder."
"Thranduil! What madness is this? I should throttle him for such
baseness!"
"Aye, madness indeed, but not on the King's part. Legolas was far
beyond rational action and thought this morning, seeking death quite
blatantly where before he has been subtle, hiding the quest even from
his own mind. He made the first attack and Thranduil reacted."
"You are defending that tyrant? I cannot believe it. I cannot believe
the woodland folk would stand by and do nothing!"
"Nothing does not describe the ensuing melee very well!" snorted
Fearfaron. "Sit down, Erestor, and I will tell you the tale."
As the Noldo resumed his place, Fearfaron recounted the events that had
marked the morning's Council session as one of the most bitterly
controversial gatherings in all of Greenwood's history.
TBC
Previous
Contents Next Comments
