Ada’s pain

Inspired by chapter 57 of Ithil-valon’s story “Healing Hope”.

Little feet pattered on the floor of Lord Elrond’s study. Greyish light penetrated the dark clouds and heavy curtains of rain and fell onto the floor near the windows, not reaching the face of the tall Elf who sat quietly in an overstuffed chair beside the fire place. No happy fire crackled behind the grate and no oil lamps had yet been lit. The small feet paused as the child looked around, his eyes taking in the room in this gloomy light, devoid of its usual warmth and peaceful comfort.

The boy wiggled from one foot onto the other. Yearning for a hug after a long afternoon of playing in the Hall of Fire, he had come running to the door of his Ada’s study. But instead of the familiar warm embrace and welcoming smile that normally greeted him, his foster-father appeared to be so lost in thought that he had not even heard his son entering.

Slowly, step by step, he tiptoed closer to his Ada’s chair. He had kicked off his shoes while playing with his wooden soldiers earlier and his socks were perfectly noiseless on the polished floor. Perhaps Ada would not hear him today. He momentarily contemplated pouncing onto this unwary victim.

No…something in his heart held him back from awakening his Ada so rudely from his musings. He shuffled a little closer. A sense of weariness and pain filled his chest as he approached the ancient chair from the side.

“Ada?”

A small, smudgy hand softly touched the silk fabric covering Lord Elrond’s arm.

Drawn to the present by this unexpected touch, Elrond turned to face the source of the disruption. A pair of widening grey eyes in a little face pale with worry looked distraughtly into his own, rapidly filling with tears.

“Estel!”

Elrond immediately opened his arms and the child flung himself into the warm embrace. Little arms snaked around his neck in a vice-like grip and a chubby cheek plus mop of curly hair were pressed firmly against Elrond’s face.

While his father rubbed soothing circles into his back, the boy was torn between the urgent need to cry over the pain so evident in his father’s eyes and a strong urge to ease this suffering. Sobbing quietly, his little hand felt its way down from the Elf Lord’s neck to the comforting chest and from there up to the fair elven cheeks.

As Estel raised his tousled head to look at his father’s face, Elrond stared lovingly into those impossibly large, grey eyes that were as familiar to him as his own reflection. He knew that he had been unable to hide his grief from his youngest this time. He yearned to comfort his son, but his mind warned him to do so without belying the pain in his heart that had so obviously upset the child. Denying an emotion that had so deeply touched his little one would do more damage than the emotion itself had already done.

It wasn’t until Estel’s little fingers carefully traced the trails of tears down his cheeks that Elrond realized he had been crying.

At a loss for words, Elrond allowed the child to continue his gentle ministrations, swallowing hard when the loving touch caused more tears to well up in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but he found that his throat was too constricted with emotion.

He mentally chided himself for this lack of composure, but he knew that he had already let his defences slip too far. He had not counted on Estel’s sudden appearance. In the solitude of his study he had allowed the depths of his grief to fill his heart and mind. He had allowed the desperate cry in his heart to sound through every fibre of his being, had allowed the deep agony of his loss to send its tormenting ripples through his soul and through the room.

He had asked Erestor to leave him in peace today. He had wanted to be alone with his memories and his deep and devastating sense of loneliness.

Soft hands cupped his cheeks and Estel’s warm breath caressed his face. Then a gentle, feather light kiss touched Elrond’s skin.

“I will hold you when you are sad, Ada,” the child whispered.

Warmth flooded Elrond’s chest and the painful emptiness in his heart filled up with gentle love. New tears welled up in his eyes as Estel pressed more kisses on his cheeks to dry them.

“I thank you, tithen pen,” Elrond finally managed, smiling through his tears.

“Do you beel better now?” his son inquired.

“I do, ion nín. Your kisses make me feel much better.”

The Lord of Imladris gently stroked his thumb across the chubby cheeks of his 5-year-old, wiping away the tears that had not yet dried on them.

Comforted by his Ada’s smile, Estel laid his head on his father’s shoulder. Unconsciously, his thumb wandered into his mouth and he snuggled closely into the warmth and softness of his Ada’s robes.

Elrond felt the weight of his pain lifting from his chest as his son’s small body relaxed on his lap. He pressed a soft kiss on the child’s baby soft hair and closed his eyes, humming a song that he had often sung for the twins when they were elflings. Estel picked up on the melody – thumb still in his mouth – and sang along.

It was thus that Erestor found them, alerted by the open door of Elrond’s study and Estel’s absence from the Hall of Fire. An understanding smile crossed the Seneschal’s face as he peered into the room. This day his Lord would not need Erestor’s aid to lay aside his pain. The advisor quietly tiptoed backwards and disappeared into the library.

tithen pen – little one

ion nín – my son

AN: Ithil-valon’s ‘Estel-speak’ used with permission. (Thanks, mellon nín!)