Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

The Valley is Jolly  by Canafinwe

Chapter XIII: An Untold Tale

Elrond turned in his chair as the hinges spread inward. A thin white hand appeared first, desperately gripping the edge of the door. Then a slender bare foot slipped over the threshold, and suddenly the intruder was inside and the heavy door swung closed with a low thud behind him.

‘Estel!’ Elrond exclaimed in astonished dismay. ‘What are you doing out of bed? You are not strong enough to be wandering the house in the middle of the night.’

‘I know,’ Estel whispered, his chest heaving as he drew in an unsteady breath. Only then did Elrond see how he was trembling. There was a ghastly pallor to his face and his eyes were rimmed in red: he had been weeping, perhaps in frustration at his body’s weakness.

Elrond rose and moved to lay his hand on the child’s shoulder. Reacting to the gentle contact, Estel took a stumbling half-step forward and buried his face against his father’s ribs, the fingers of one hand clutching his belt for support as his thin legs shook. ‘Atarinya, forgive me,’ he exhaled tremulously.

He was quaking with exhaustion, and Elrond was tempted to pick him up and bear him straight away to bed, but he did not. Estel was well enough now to resent being treated like an invalid or a babe. If they did not address his folly in a reasoned and mature manner, this incident would only repeat itself. It was necessary to discuss whatever madness had seized him and brought him, against all reason, halfway through the vast house. The Elf-lord took a more bracing hold on the child’s arms, lest the trembling knees should fail him.

‘Why do you ask my forgiveness?’ he inquired in a wryly factual tone. ‘It is not my recovery that will be hampered if you have overtaxed yourself this night.’

‘I did not know you were in counsel,’ Estel mumbled, jerking his head ever so slightly in Gandalf’s direction. ‘Else I would not have come to...’

His words trailed off and he closed his eyes tightly as a concussive shudder rippled down his spine. His nightshirt was damp with perspiration and he was now placing almost his full weight against the adult’s torso.

‘My child, when I said you had free run of the library, I did not mean that you should come here unescorted so soon in your healing,’ Elrond went on. ‘What made you believe that you could walk so far?’

‘Elladan and Elrohir... they helped me today. After I had supped, I walked across Mother’s anteroom,’ the boy whispered. His voice was quivering and he sounded perilously close to tears: he knew that what he had done was foolish.

‘That is glad news indeed, but such an accomplishment does not mean that it is mete for you to test your limitations so ambitiously,’ Elrond scolded gently. ‘You might have fallen or swooned away, and gone undiscovered until morning. How ever did you manage the stairs?’

‘I crawled,’ Estel said, and his voice broke in a half-sob.

Elrond sighed. The child’s stubborn streak had certainly survived his illness. He was at once proud of Estel’s tenacity and dismayed at his lack of good sense. ‘You might have had anyone in the house fetch you something to read, child,’ he said.

Estel looked up abruptly, bewilderment on his drawn little face. ‘I did not come for a book!’ he exclaimed unsteadily.

Gandalf snorted into his beard, and Estel turned wary eyes upon him. ‘For one so wise, Peredhil,’ remarked the wizard; ‘you are at times extraordinarily thick-skulled.’

Elrond did not dignify that piece of commentary with a reply, though he berated himself silently for his hasty assumptions as he cupped a tender hand around the back of Estel’s head. ‘Another night-terror,’ he murmured.

The nod was almost imperceptible. ‘You told me...’ Estel faltered.

‘I told you that you should not bear them alone,’ Elrond said, nodding sorrowfully. ‘It seems it is I who must ask your forgiveness, my son. I should have come to watch over you while you slept. Shall I return to your room now and stay with you?’

Gandalf pursed his lips in annoyance, undoubtedly resenting further delay to their debates. Elrond cast him a quelling glance. Estel was watching his guardian with pain-filled eyes. ‘Must we... can I not... could I stay here awhile?’ he pleaded piteously.

‘Of course,’ Elrond soothed with a fond smile. He turned to lead Estel back to the chair, but the child’s legs seemed locked and he did not follow the guiding hand on his shoulder. Wordlessly, Elrond bent, crooking his arm around the boy’s thighs, and carried him to the table. He sat, drew Estel snugly into his lap and folded the right gore of his robe around the thin bare calves. Estel huddled close against his father’s chest, resting his head against Elrond’s clavicle.

‘There. Are you comfortable?’ he asked. Estel nodded. ‘You will soon be too tall to fit thus in my lap. How swiftly you have grown, child.’

‘Atarinya...’ Estel ventured, reaching up to brush the Elf-lord’s jaw with the fingertips of his left hand. He withdrew his arm quickly, tucking it close to his body. ‘Atarinya, there is a river...’

Elrond ran a reassuring hand along the child’s side, waiting while he collected his thoughts.

‘A great river, many ells across... there is blood, and there are bodies on the bank. Many unarmed, none armoured. The dead are half-naked: the enemy came in the night, while they slept...’ Estel shuddered. ‘There is so much blood...’

‘I know,’ Elrond said softly. It seemed as the boy spoke that the image played before his eyes. He had not witnessed the carnage himself, for news had not come North until the following winter when it was too late even to bury the dead. Yet now, tapping into the depths of Estel’s heart he could visualize it as vividly as if he had beheld it with his own eyes. ‘Try to put it from your mind, my son. It was only a vision of things long past. You must try to forget.’

‘What was it?’ Estel whispered. He was afraid of the answer, and yet even in his fear his curiosity won out. ‘What did I see?’

‘The river is the mighty Anduin,’ Elrond said. ‘The dead are the hosts of Arnor, beset by orcs while they lay down to rest. The greater part of the armies of the North fell that day: only those who had come home in the company of my folk two years before survived.’

‘The Gladden Fields...’ murmured Estel, shuddering convulsively. In conjunction with his studies of the Last Alliance he had learned the bare facts of the massacre, and often he had heard on nights of song the ballad called Ohtar’s Lament, in which the roll of the dead was recited and remembered. Yet never had the bitter reality of this ancient disaster struck him as it was doing now. ‘So many bodies. So many parents robbed of their sons. Wives bereft of husbands. Children without fathers. Atarinya, why did it happen?’

‘It happened because the Dúnedain did not look for danger,’ Elrond told him. ‘They were bold in the wake of their victory in the South, and they had grown complacent – so had we all. Worse still, their lord was occupied with other matters. He did not take the care that a captain should, and his folk paid dearly for his lapse in judgement. A leader of men must always put the needs of his people before himself. He must always think of them before attending to other affairs.’

‘A lesson in captaincy in the wake of a nightmare?’ Gandalf said mildly. ‘Can you not just let the boy sleep?’

‘We must learn from past mistakes,’ Elrond said, looking levelly at the wizard and alluding as much to their earlier conversation as was he speaking for Estel’s benefit. ‘If we do not, then the dead have perished for naught, and the same calamities will overtake us again.’

The tension in Estel’s body was ebbing away. He shifted and tried to sit up a little. ‘Atarinya, what occupied Isildur and kept him from his duties?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘Private matters,’ said Elrond, careful not to answer too swiftly lest haste should breed suspicion. ‘Mayhap it shall never be known what filled his mind in the last years of his life. I think among the rest he was overeager to return home to his kingdom and his family. He held his triumph to be complete when it was not: for though the Dark Tower was cast down and the Enemy driven forth, there are other evils in the world, and there are few places where one is entirely protected from them.’

‘Imladris is such a place,’ Estel said, for a moment only a child, frightened in the wake of a dream and desiring reassurance that his home was secure.

‘Yes,’ agreed Elrond; ‘while it remains in my power to keep it thus, Imladris is such a place. You are safe here, and I hope it shall always remain a haven for you and for all those who seek it.’

‘I am sorry that I interrupted you,’ sighed the child remorsefully. The abrupt change shift in was proof that the fear was passing. ‘I did not mean to.’

‘Your incursion is of little moment. We were only arguing as old friends sometimes must.’ Elrond arched his brows at Gandalf, who was rather sour of countenance, leaning back in his chair with his arms across his chest. ‘Do you wish me to return you to your bed?’

Estel shook his head. ‘I... may I stay just a little longer?’ he asked. ‘My room... I could smell the blood in my room,’ he confessed, his voice scarcely a whisper.

Elrond made a soft sound of understanding, and moved his arms a little to better warm the thin body they encircled. ‘You are welcome to stay,’ he said, and he pressed his cheek to Estel’s forehead. ‘You are always welcome.’

For several minutes there was silence. Estel relaxed slowly in Elrond’s arms, and presently his head bowed and his chin drifted limply down towards his chest. At last Gandalf spoke, his voice carefully modulated so as not to disturb the drowsing boy.

‘It is strange how he has wormed his way into your heart, Peredhil. I have never observed you in such... paternal activities,’ he said, half amused.

Elrond’s eyes flashed. ‘This is not the first time you have made derogatory mention of my domestic arrangements,’ he muttered blackly. ‘If you have some criticism to make I suggest you put it forward so that I may enlighten you as to your error.’

‘It is extraordinary how defensive you are,’ said Gandalf. ‘Like a great cat safeguarding her young. Yet he is no child of your body, nor has he any claim on your good graces save your long friendship with his house.’

‘Peace,’ Elrond said pointedly. ‘I am aware that he seems younger when he is frightened and overtaxed, but he is ten years of age, and he is no fool. His curiosity may waken even if his body seems to sleep. He has no house but mine.’ He hoped the admonition would be enough; the boy could not be given cause to suspect his origins or lineage. Not yet.

‘Of course,’ Gandalf acceded with a satirically gracious nod. His keen inquisitive expression returned swiftly, and he looked like an eagle perched behind a flowing beard and protruding eyebrows. ‘Your compassion for the weak and the helpless is well known. Yet I have never seen you take those you aid and clasp them to your bosom like closest kindred.’

Elrond closed his eyes, and a pained expression drew thin his lips. He was weary of this sparring game: it was time to silence the wizard for good. ‘Mithrandir, what do you know of my personal history?’ he asked tersely.

‘You will not get a rote recitation of Elven lore out of me, Master Elrond,’ Gandalf said sardonically. ‘I am not Estel, to be put through my paces so late at night. I know all that is laid down in the annals of this house, and several details that are too sensitive to record. I know of the agonies you suffered in the wake of your wife’s capture and fading. I have heard you speak of the torments of war. I am aware how it pains you to be separated so long from your youngest child, and how—’

‘I am not separated from my youngest child, nor do I speak of the recent ages of my life, which indeed you know well. I speak of my childhood,’ Elrond said coolly. ‘You say you know what is recorded in my libraries. On that subject, I think, I have writ very little. In the Third Kinslaying and the sack of Sirion my brother and I were captured by the forces of the Sons of Fëanor, but Maglor the minstrel took pity upon us and offered us succour, and a love grew between us, as little might be thought. That, I think, is all that you know.’

‘I know how old you were when these events took place,’ Gandalf amended. ‘Or rather, how young. It must have been a bitter ordeal for two little elflings.’

‘It was.’

When no further information seemed forthcoming, Gandalf frowned thoughtfully. ‘I trust you have some reason for telling me this?’ he asked.

‘I do. My brother and I were alone, utterly bereft of all that we had known, in the clutches of a foe who had driven our mother, so we thought, to her death; and razed our homeland; and slain those who had been good to us; and who had finally borne us off into a strange and desolate country far from any aid. Little kindness did the Half-elven find among the servants of Maedhros, and less still was there to be had at the hands of those who had served his fallen brothers, all of whom had been slain in the two attempts to regain the Silmaril of Beren from our kindred. Maedhros himself had little interest in us: he had taken us as surety of the High King’s good behaviour as his hobbled army withdrew from Sirion, but once it was no longer likely that Gil-galad would mount a pursuit we became useless to him. Had we been left to the mercy of his folk I do not doubt that I would not be sitting here now, arguing in defence of my affection for this child.’

He smoothed Estel’s hair, the feel of the sleeping child anchoring him briefly in the present before he found the strength to continue with his grave recollections.

‘Yet here do I sit, for Maglor alone of the folk in Ossiriand took pity upon us. He took us into his care, and as best he could he sheltered us from evil. He saw to our education and to the care and nourishment of our bodies and our spirits. Though a Kinslayer, he came to take the place of the father who had departed from Middle-earth when we were almost too young to recall him at all. We became his sons, in all but blood. I grew to love him dearly, and I love him dearly still. When at last the time comes for me to depart into the West, I shall stand before Súlimo and Elbereth in the Ring of Doom and I shall sue for mercy on his behalf, for his mercy was shown to me when most I had need of it.’

For a time Gandalf sat motionless. Then he pressed the tips of his fingers together and leaned forward onto the table. ‘That is a bold declaration, Peredhil,’ he said sombrely. ‘To take the part of a Kinslayer before the seat of the Valar... I do not think it wise to make such pledges: you may find them difficult to keep.’

‘Indeed I will not,’ Elrond said coldly. ‘He was my father and I would take his doom upon myself if by so doing I might repay some small part of my debt to him. So when you say to me that the present arrangement is passing strange, understand when I tell you on no uncertain terms that to me it is as natural as my bond with Elladan and Elrohir. The children of my body and the child of my choice are equally dear to me. His “claim upon my good graces”, as you have it, was made many thousands of years before his birth, when his long forefather found comfort in the arms of an enemy. Do not presume to question it further.’

A low chuckle issued forth from the Istar’s lips. ‘You are an extraordinary being, child of three Kindreds,’ he said. ‘So little love was given you, and so much have you lost over the long Ages, and yet your heart would envelope all the world if given half a chance.’

‘I was given the love that I needed, at the time when it was most desperately lacking,’ Elrond amended. ‘If I may give some of it in return, that is my good fortune.’

‘And his,’ Gandalf remarked, gesturing at Estel. ‘Yet have a care, Peredhil. Someday a parent may find that his beloved child has stolen away what most he cherished. It may be that you will have pains enough from this boy to outweigh your joys.’

‘Fatherhood is fraught with pains, yet there is joy even in that,’ said Elrond. ‘All I have I would gladly give to Estel, when he is ready to receive it.’

‘You have offered the treasures of your heart to a mortal child, and your very soul to a Son of Fëanor,’ Gandalf said wryly. ‘I wonder what else I could charm out of you tonight.’

‘Few kind words, if you continue to press me,’ Elrond warned, curling his lip in dry amusement.

‘Then I shall desist. There is one more question that I have for you. Does the boy understand that you are not his sire?’

‘Yes,’ Elrond said. ‘He was too young to make that distinction when first he came to Imladris, but he understands it now. It does not seem to trouble him. He has heard the words all his life: some years ago he merely reached the stage of his development where he could comprehend them. He knows I never attempted to deceive him.’

‘You made no pretext to be the one who fathered him?’ Gandalf queried.

‘I did not. He knows little of his mother’s husband, save that he is dead, but he knows I am not his father by blood.’ Estel stirred a little in his arms, and Elrond poured out his spirit to calm the child.

‘Then why did you have him learn to address you as father?’

Elrond smiled sardonically. ‘Ah, but I did not,’ he said.

‘He calls you “Atarinya”,’ Gandalf pointed out. ‘His mother may speak little Quenya, but I am quite fluent. That is ‘Father’, with possessive overtones.’

‘It is, but he did not begin to use it at my instigation.’ The explanation was simple, but there was no fun in pouring it out without prompting. It was only fair that he be allowed to make Gandalf work a little for the information he desired.

‘Surely not at his mother’s: your sons led me to believe that she does not entirely approve of you.’ The wizard sounded quite amused by the domestic discord that had haunted Estel’s unconventional family for eight years.

‘It was not her idea, either,’ Elrond allowed.

‘Then who proposed it?’ It was clear that Gandalf was growing tired of this interrogation.

A broad smile spread across the Elf-lord’s face. There was a certain sport in baiting the Istar. ‘Why, Estel, naturally,’ he said innocently.

Gandalf snorted in exasperation. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked in annoyance.

‘He was two years of age when my sons brought him hither. They made a great impression upon him, and he was in awe of all that they did. As small children are wont to do, he imitated them, mimicking their stance and their behaviour and their speech. They have addressed me as “Atarinya” since they reached their full stature and set aside the habits of childhood. Hearing them ply the epithet, and desiring to ingratiate himself in their eyes as well as my own, Estel naturally assumed its use as well. It was the first word of Quenya that he learned,’ he added, allowing himself a moment of paternal pride.

‘Extraordinary,’ Gandalf said dryly. He got to his feet. ‘I suppose you will want to take him to his bed. We shall get no more accomplished tonight; that much is plain. Tomorrow our tempers will have cooled and we can further debate the merits and deficiencies of the proposed campaign. In the meantime, I think I shall go out and enjoy your gardens until dawn.’

‘Which is to say, you will enjoy a well-packed pipe where neither I nor Erestor can upbraid you for your outlandish habits,’ Elrond said in amusement.

‘How well you know me, Peredhil,’ Gandalf cooed, bowing with a sweeping flourish. He paused in the doorway and looked back, his head cocked to one side. ‘It is strange, for the blood is so dilute, but I can see a resemblance between his features and your own,’ he remarked. Then with a rustling of robes he was gone.

Elrond sat motionless for a long time with Estel cradled in his lap, until the candles burned themselves out and the first rosy flush of dawn was reflected upon the crests of the mountains before the library windows. Then he rose and bore the child back to his bed, before his mother could awaken and be dismayed by his absence.





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List