Chapter Four

The sun peaked over the horizon, turning the sky first grey, then pink, and finally gold. Glorfindel still sat, his muscles protesting the long night of being forced to sit unmoving in a chair.

Despite his body's complaints, he preferred to continue sitting and staring out his window, but he had duties that needed attending. In truth, he could have put them off a little longer, but with the coming of dawn, Estel's cries could again be heard, and he could not bear to listen to them.

The cries reminded him of another time he had been careless and a child had been hurt. It was long ago, in another life, but he could hear that child's cries echoing in Estel's agony. Ilúvatar had been correct to never grant him the blessing of children of his own. He always failed in protecting them!

He jerked himself out of the chair and stomped to his wardrobe, throwing it open. Washing and dressing took him longer than usual, as each cry caused him to wince and close his eyes. He could see the blood, the pale face, the blue eyes staring up at him, begging him to make the pain stop.

He shook his head. No, Estel's eyes were grey, not blue. Those had been other eyes. That tragedy was over and done, and he could only hope this one ended as well. He would gladly take every bit of the pain from Estel if he could.

If only he had been more diligent in watching the boy! Glorfindel could not stop himself from seeing the previous day's events in his mind over and over, and each time, he could see where he had made mistakes.

Brandlir never reacted as he had to a deer. The horse had sensed the dog instead, and Glorfindel should have taken better heed. The deer itself had been a warning. Bucks did not go darting about in such a manner during the full light of day unless they were being pursued by something, and the deer had been sweating and breathing hard. He had not been nearly as observant as he should have been.

And he should never have left Estel unattended while the boy slept. The peacefulness of the valley had lured him into a false sense of security. He knew better! Never should he have turned his back on the boy.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Glorfindel tried to stop the images: Estel's arm in the dog's mouth, the look of pain and shock, the dog shaking its head, the shredded flesh...and blood. Too much blood had covered the small boy and the ground.

Swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat, Glorfindel strode from his rooms, his steps faltering as another cry rang down the hall. Guilt gnawed at him. He should go check on Estel to see how the boy fared this morn, but he could not face Elrond or Gilraen — not knowing that he had failed in his duties. Gilraen especially would not wish to see him.

So instead he turned his steps in the opposite direction from the healing ward, heading for the stable to check on Brandlir. When he reached the large barn, he found that the stallion had already been fed his grain and now stood slowly munching his hay with eyes half closed.

The small wounds the horse had sustained showed no sign of infection to Glorfindel's eyes, but he would keep a close watch on them over the next few days to make certain they did not fester.

Pushing open the stall door, he entered and was met with a soft whicker of greeting. Brandlir continued to eat as Glorfindel stooped to run his hands over the stallion's legs. The wounds had already scabbed over and looked to be on their way to healing.

With a final pat on his mount's neck, he slipped back out of the stall and hastened towards the training grounds. He had guards to assign and patrol reports to read. He doubted he would accomplish as much as he should today, but making an attempt at normal activities might help him blot out the events of the previous day from his mind, at least for a short time.    

— o —

Gilraen held her screaming son, fighting back her own tears as she wrapped her arms around the small body, preventing Estel from moving as Elrond soaked off the bandages. The stitched wounds had seeped blood and fluids during the night and they had dried to the cloth, sticking it to the wounds. The process of soaking them off was long and tedious, not to mention painful to her son. Every cry, every whimper pierced her heart with remorse.

She should never have entrusted her son to the elves! Had Elrond's sons not failed to keep her own Arathorn safe? Why then had she thought her son would be safe with elf-kind?

She gritted her teeth and held her squirming son more firmly, her bitterness growing with each passing minute. A fool! That was what she was —  an utter fool who had been too lost in the grief of losing her husband to see the risks involved with removing herself from her kin. How easily Elrond's sons had persuaded her to pack up her son and come stay in the hidden valley, assuring her that here Aragorn would be safe. And she had believed them!

The truth hit her hard. This was her fault. If she had only stayed with her people then Estel would never have come to such harm. If she had only realized then that she could not trust the elves as she had always been taught, then she might not have allowed Estel to go with Glorfindel in the first place.

Even the thought of the captain's name enraged her. He had failed them all! Then her anger chilled as she again remembered that it was her own fault that her son had been with the incompetent captain.

But how could she have known? Elrond had assured her that her child would be safe with Glorfindel, a warrior of great renown! How could the Master of Imladris allow one such as Glorfindel to be a captain if he could not even protect a small boy?

She should not have trusted Elrond. What did he have to gain from keeping them safe? Nothing! It was her people that would lose the most if their last Chieftain perished! The elves could sail West to bliss and joy while the dúnedain fought on against the Shadow.

She should have remained with her people, removed herself to her father's house where her son would have been kept from harm. Coming here had been a mistake. In her heart, Gilraen determined that as soon as Estel was made whole again, she would return with him to her kin in the north.

And nothing Elrond Halfelven said would stop her.    

— o —    

In all his long years as a healer, Elrond had found that there were not many things more difficult to stomach than treating severe wounds on a small child. The process of healing was painful, and the little ones did not understand that what was happening was for their own good or that the pain they suffered saved them from much worse agony in the future. An adult might cry out or even struggle, but the looks a child gave him were almost unbearable.

Eyes that had once been trusting now flashed with fear and betrayal. All the ground Elrond had gained in the last months had been lost in a single day —and all because he had not heeded the nagging warnings granted him.

A glance up from his work at Gilraen proved that it was not just the trust of Estel that he had lost. The woman now looked upon him with near loathing. She blamed him too, as well she should! Had he not lived long enough to know his gifts?

Working as quickly as he could — which amounted to a snail's pace — Elrond soaked the bandages to loosen the body's secretions and bit by bit he was able to unwrap the cloth and reveal what lay beneath. The stitched wounds were jagged and red, the tissues still swollen from the trauma. But to his relief, he found no pus or sign of infection, though the danger was far from past.

Moving to a bowl of steaming water mixed with various crushed herbs, he placed clean cloths in the herbal mixture. Once they had soaked a few minutes, he wrung them out and placed them over the wounds. The mix of herbs would work to draw out any poison that yet avoided his detection.

Unfortunately, the mixture stung, and Estel fought all the harder, requiring a couple of Elrond's assistants to help restrain the boy.

"Can you not give him something for the pain?" Gilraen snapped in question as she struggled to hold her son.

"I have given him all I can at the moment," Elrond replied over the loud wails. He reached over and replaced one of the cloths that had been knocked asunder by Estel's fighting. They had to be careful how much of the poppy tea was given to one so small. Too much could cause many unpleasant effects or even death.

"Is there not something you can give him to calm him?" Gilraen asked in clear exasperation, having relinquished her hold to Elrond's assistants grudgingly. Her arms still shook from her efforts to restrain Estel and the sight of her struggling child surely grieved her mother's heart.

There was another herb they could give the boy that might calm him, but would do nothing for the pain. Elrond was disinclined to use it. The side effects almost always included an upset stomach and loose bowels. He would prefer not to cause Estel any further discomfort. It would soon be time again to administer more of the poppy tea, but until then, they would just have to do their best with Estel's struggles.

A small foot broke loose of the hold of one of the assistants and caught Elrond in the groin. He groaned and bent at the waist, fighting for breath. A clatter and then the sound of pottery breaking reached his ears. The bowl of herbs had been knocked to the floor.

"Enough!"

Elrond's raised voice caused everyone in the room to freeze for several moments. Even Estel went still, his eyes huge and focused on Elrond as he pulled himself upright and forced himself to move and place a hand on the child's head. It moments, the child was asleep.

"Why did you not do that before?" Gilraen asked, accusation in her voice.

"Because it is never wise to enter the mind of another, especially one so young. Your people may have elven blood, but it is diluted enough that your minds do not welcome the touch of another, even to help. " He sighed, looking away. "It can be felt as a violation. Estel does not understand, does not welcome the touch of another's mind as an elfling would. Sending him to sleep in such a manner can sever bonds of trust."

"I would say that is already accomplished," she retorted coldly.

Elrond sighed, but did not even attempt to change her mind on the matter. Trust had been broken. He had failed, and he could not change that. What he could do was see Estel healed and whole and make the best attempt he could to win at least Gilraen's trust back.

Estel had to remain in Imladris. Elrond had seen that in a clear vision. If the boy was returned to his people before he became a man, he would die, and all hope would be lost.

While one of the assistants moved to clean the mess made by the broken bowl and another began making a new mixture with which to soak the wounds, Elrond walked stiffly to a window and looked out over the valley, wishing his sons were home to help.

Elladan and Elrohir had not forged a bond with the boy since he had been brought to Imladris, preferring to keep their distance. But Estel had known them since he was a babe. The boy held them in awe and spoke of them with wistful longing. Elrond had not pushed his sons when it came to Estel, but the time may have come when he must do so.

Elladan and Elrohir might be able to calm Estel more than Gilraen if given the chance. The woman was too upset herself to manage it, her grief still too near to her fragile heart. She might never recover from the loss of Arathorn. Elrond understood that. In time, she would heal enough to be the mother Estel needed, but for now, she was shattering, and she needed help.

He would recall his sons, he decided, and insist they remain home and help with the boy. He could not insist they open their hearts to the child, but he could insist they help with his care.

"Send for Erestor, Caragaer," he told one of his assistants. Caragaer left, leaving Lagorthel to finish steeping the herbs.

"It is ready, my lord," she told him a few minutes later.

Releasing a sigh, Elrond went back to work dressing the wounds on Estel's arms and legs, but his mind refused to stop swirling with blame.  

If only he had heeded that nagging sense of foreboding. He knew better! It was not the first time he had felt such a thing. Had he not felt a similar warning when Celebrían—

Elrond had to close his eyes and force back the emotions that rose within him at the thought of his wife. He had to focus on the here and now. Yes, if he had heeded the warning in his heart, they might have avoided this. But pondering 'if only' would not change the current circumstances. He knew better than doing so.

With determination, Elrond pushed his guilt aside and focused instead on what he could do now.

There was always time later to wallow in the guilt of his failure.

"You sent for me, Elrond?" Erestor's voice interrupted his thoughts and work.

Elrond peered up, ignoring the curious and somewhat shocked expression on Gilraen's face. He had also not missed Erestor's use of his name without the honorific his chief counsellor usually bestowed on him. But unlike Gilraen, Elrond had heard Erestor do so before. Erestor was here as his friend, not just his counsellor, and Elrond appreciated the subtle reminder.

"Yes. Please recall my sons from the borders. I need them."

Erestor nodded and turned to do as bidden as Elrond continued applying the bandages to Estel's small limbs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gilraen wrestle with her curiosity. She had always been curious, and noticed small details, such as the use of his name from Erestor, who always called him lord, or at least that was what most people thought. Few knew their history, or how long they had known one another. The absence of his title had spoke volumes to Elrond, offering comfort where he needed it.

But Gilraen did not know that. She opened her mouth, as if to ask a question, her brow furled with puzzlement. Then she closed it firmly, turning away. She never asked, but the fact that she had almost done so gave Elrond hope he might regain her trust and keep mother and son where they belonged.  

— o — 

Silent as a shadow, a talent that had served him well when he had been primarily a scout, Erestor moved about the Last Homely House, doing what he did best, which was not organizing the library, or managing the pantry, as most thought. Instead, he observed the members of the household and what transpired. His brow furrowed at what he discovered.

In less than a day, the peace of the House had been shattered by an accident, and three of the most important residents were now blaming themselves for a situation that could not have been foreseen or forestalled.

Estel's getting hurt in some manner had been inevitable. Indeed, Erestor had been waiting for it! A child as inquisitive and active as Estel was bound to be injured. It was what children did. They seemed to be eager to walk into hazard. Erestor was often surprised so many lived to become adults.

The current situation was tragic, Estel's wounds horrific. But with Elrond tending to Estel, the child had the best chance of recovering. Erestor had been there from the time Elrond was nothing but a child, had encouraged his interest in healing, even as he trained him with a sword. But while he was a skilled warrior, Elrond's heart was gentle, kind. He had the heart of a healer, and with the learned skill and practice of more than an age, there was none better suited to seeing Estel cured.

Of bigger concern were the emotional scars of all involved that were being ripped open. Pain from those wounds, even those long healed, had been remembered, relived and now affected those whom Estel needed most.

With purposeful strides, his black robe billowing out behind him, Erestor walked to his office, taking little note of the servants and members of the household who avoided him. He closed the door behind him and dropped into his chair, picking up a quill from his desk. He toyed with the pen, turning it over and over in his fingers as he pondered what he could do to get those he cared for to see the truth of the situation and work together to bring healing to a small boy who was going to need all the help he could get.

Opening a pot of ink, Erestor dipped the quill inside and began to scratch notes down on a scrap of parchment. If he were to help those he cared for, he needed to be able to see the complete picture, to see what motivated each to act in the manner they did. He did this in the mode he did all things: he took notes, analyzed them, added to them and as he thought over what he knew, he could usually find a solution.

Elrond was the most crucial at the moment in that his skills were needed to restore Estel to physical health. But Erestor was uncertain as to whether he should speak to Elrond first. The Master of the House had long suffered from guilt whenever he perceived he had failed in preventing someone from getting hurt or could not restore them to perfect health, which was not always possible. Erestor supposed much of it came from being a healer, but in Elrond's case, it was far more complicated. Much of it lay in the Lady Celebrían's departure for the Blessed Realm and Elrond's taking the blame upon himself for being unable to heal her soul.

And yet, Elrond might be the easiest to reach. A simple reminder to his lord of a certain wooden box in his chambers and the contents within it* might do the trick of turning Elrond from his grief and despair, but the timing would be everything. At the moment, Estel needed constant care, and Gilraen would not be pried from her son's side. Such a discussion would have to wait until Erestor could speak to Elrond alone.

Or maybe—

Erestor smiled and made a few more notes before moving onto the next issue: Gilraen.

Leaving a space, he began to make more notations a bit below his notes about Elrond.

Gilraen still suffered much grief from the loss of her husband. She had begun to heal, but the wound was newer and thus the scars still raised and tender. As a result, any new pain could quickly be associated with the circumstances of Arathorn's death. The move to Imladris had been made in haste, and at the time, she had been so lost in her grief that she had been persuaded to do what was best for her son without putting much thought into it. She had just accepted Elladan's and Elrohir's word on the matter.

Gilraen needed to come to this realization on her own, or Erestor feared a situation such as they were in might shatter her trust and send her fleeing back to her people. Somehow, Gilraen would need to be convinced that this accident was just that – an accident. No one had failed her, and no one could assure her that her son would never come to harm.

Right now she held him close, but the time would come when she would have to let him go out into the world and experience the dangers that awaited one with a fate such as his.

But how to approach her and help her to see this, Erestor was uncertain. His brow drew together as he pondered it for a time, but he came up with no easy answers. He had not spoken much to the lady since her arrival beyond brief encounters. His duties to Elrond did not bring him into much contact with the woman, Estel not yet being of an age to begin studying with him.

The lack of a relationship with her would make matters more difficult, for she would not wish to listen to anything a stranger had to say. He would have to think more on that later, for now, he left another space and moved on to Estel.

As a child, Estel was resilient, as all children are, but the boy had faced so many unsettling changes over the past year. He had lost the father he adored, and for a time, he had lost his mother to her grief. He had been uprooted from his home with his dúnedain kin and had to adjust to a new home and a new family.

And now he had suffered a grave injury, and in treating that injury, Estel's trust in his new family was being shaken. Then there was the accident itself, which could instill a fear of anything from picnics to dogs — a child's mind could associate trauma into deep fears that could last a lifetime. Any such fears would have to be overcome and the sooner the better. Childhood fears could grow to a magnitude that could hinder an adult, and a boy with Estel's fate could not be allowed to harbor any such fears.

This, Erestor felt, would not be overly difficult to manage, but it would take time and resources that would need to be researched. He jotted another few notes and moved onto his last problem to solve: Glorfindel.

The biggest burden of guilt lay upon the captain, who had taken the blame upon himself. It was what Glorfindel did. Erestor knew that well. When feeling guilty, Glorfindel would avoid those he felt he had wronged, and bottle up his emotions deep within him. Erestor had learned long ago that when his friend felt responsible for the hurt to another, he would retreat into himself and let his guilt fester, sometimes slipping into a depression that could last for weeks.

The current circumstances had the makings of just such an episode, especially considering what he knew of Glorfindel's past. But Imladris needed Glorfindel, and until the captain could forgive himself and see the truth of what had happened, he would not be fit to do his duties. Oh, Glorfindel would make the effort, but he would be distracted by his guilt and that distraction could lead to oversight and more guilt…  

No, Erestor could not let that happen.

And if there was one person he didknow how to handle, it was Glorfindel.

With a sigh, he wiped the quill and set it aside. He placed the top back on his pot of ink and read over his notes, nodding to himself from time to time. There was still much that he was unsure of how to repair, but first things first.

He pushed back from his desk and stood, pausing only a minute to consider where he might find his first victim. A grim smile tilted his lips, and with long strides, he left the room, his black robe billowing out behind him.

To Be Continued…

*Author's Note: The box and contents Erestor thinks of can be read about in my story Silver Bells — another story featuring a meddling Erestor and the House of Elrond.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you are enjoying the story so far. If so, can you leave me a review and tell me what you think? In the meantime, I will be trying to update more frequently. Thanks for your patience!

NiRi