Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! I am working on this as I have time and will never abandon it! As always, your reviews are greatly motivating and appreciated! - NiRi

Seven

Gilraen felt drained. She could not remember ever feeling this exhausted, frustrated, angry, defeated and confused. Deep down she knew her anger was irrational, but she clung to it, for it gave it her the strength she needed to cope with the current difficulties with her son.

The most recent battle was getting Estel to eat. Nothing Elrond ordered for her son tempted his appetite. The pain, and the draughts Elrond gave him, did not make Estel wish to eat. He complained of feeling sick in his tummy. Gilraen had managed to get him to nibble on a piece of toasted bread spread with some preserved berries and to drink some tea — she had promised there was only honey in it, as Estel detested the pain easing draughts Elrond made him.

It was not enough sustenance for a grouse, let alone a growing, healing little boy! But Estel turned up his nose at the bland broth over boiled grains. Having tasted it, Gilraen could not blame him. There was no seasoning in it that might react with the herbs Elrond used to treat Estel's pain.

She had given up half an hour ago trying to coax, force and order her son to eat it anyway. Now she slumped in her chair beside his bedside, watching him toss and turn and moan. She felt defeated and as a failure as a mother.

The door swung open.

"Well, there he is!" a chipper voice boomed into the room.

Gilraen sat up sharply, turning to chastise whoever dared to come into her son's sickroom and disturb him, then paused as she saw just who had entered.

Elladan and Elrohir walked into the room, each bearing a tray of what appeared to be tarts and tea and possibly a mug of milk. Behind them came Elrond's Councilor, Erestor, a meddling, most annoying elf in her estimation, not that she had come into much contact with him during her time in Imaldris.

Gilraen glanced at her son, and noticed his whimpers had ceased at the sound of Elladan's — or was it Elrohir's? — voice. The boy now lay propped up on several pillows, his eyes wide as he stared at the sons of Elrond.

Nearly a year ago, Estel had loved those two as if they were beloved uncles. He had always had a knack of telling them apart, something Gilraen herself could not do with much accuracy. But the sons of Elrond had not remained long in Imladris after bringing her and her son to the haven, and they had not made any attempt to see or interact with herself or Estel.

She guessed they thought she blamed them for Arathorn's death, but she did not. In all the time she had known them, she had seen both twins had the same devotion to Arathorn as her husband had for them. They would have died to save their friend if they could have done so.

She had heard the tale, from several who had been there. There had been nothing anyone could have done to have prevented Arathorn's death. They had been ambushed by orcs, and among the foul creatures had been archers. No one could have stopped that arrow.

A small part of her recognized the same could be said of a dog attacking her son, but she refused to acknowledge such a fleeting thought and held onto her anger at Glorfindel.

It is different, she told herself.

She needed to believe that. She needed her anger. It gave her strength and a purpose she had not felt since before Arathorn's death.

Forcing a smile, she stood and held out a hand to the twins.

"What is this?" she asked, finding herself grateful for their presence. She felt comfortable with them in a way she did not with anyone else in the valley.

"We convinced cook all of you needed nourishment. We even managed to get a couple cherry tarts for Estel," one of the twins told her, with a glance at the boy.

Gilraen caught the look on her son's face and wanted to weep. There was definite desire in his expression, the small face rapt upon the plate of tarts on the tray. She glanced to Elrond, who had just come from the other room, mixing more herbs.

Elrond stared at his sons a moment, glanced to the trays, then turned and took in Estel's expression. Then to her surprise, he gave a small smile.

"That is a good idea," was all he said, moving to take one of the trays. "I am glad you got my message so quickly," he continued, giving a meaningful look at his sons.

"We were already on our way home."

She thought the authoritative tone came from Elladan.

"Erestor told us what has happened," the other twin remarked. He looked at the bed and its occupant. "How are you, Estel?"

The boy looked from the plate on the tray to the faces of the twins, then his eyes filled with tears and he reached up his less injured arm to reach towards them. "Doggie bite me!"

Gilraen's own eyes filled with tears as she saw the longing in her son's face. She had thought he had adjusted well to the loss of his father and the changes that leaving their kindred had brought about, but in that single gesture, she saw him reaching for the security, love and comfort he had once known.

Both twins moved to hand off the trays and then strode to either side of the bed, offering the comfort they had not when the boy's father had died. She wondered at that, then considered the twins had also lost their mother due to tragedy and perhaps had shied from the pain of her child losing his father.

But it seemed a physical attack with injuries was something they could relate to far easier. At least that is how it appeared, as both of Elrond's sons looked at each of Estel's wounds and murmured sympathies.

And in that moment, seeing her son reforming a bond with two of his father's closest friends, Gilraen felt hope stir in her breast. At least for the moment, she did not feel so very alone. Here was help she trusted.

Going to the trays, she began to hand out the food and drinks.

- o -

Elrond sank to his chair in his study, running a hand over his face. He needed to rest, just for a few minutes. He was exhausted as he had not been in many a year, not since the last time one of his boys had returned home seriously injured. Treating Estel sapped his strength in many ways, for he had to endure the boys screams and tears, and to endure the look of fear Estel gave him whenever he entered the room.

There also was the dilemma with each bandage change, as Gilraen's demeanor grew colder, and he feared what would happen once Estel was well again. With a sigh, Elrond lowered his elbows to his desk and dropped his forehead into the heels of his hands.

Estel now cowered whenever Elrond made any move towards the boy, even to comfort him. Had it only been a couple days since the little one had called him Ada and come willingly to him?

Elladan and Elrohir would be able to distract Estel for a short time, but once they began to help with the bandage changes, Estel's trust of them could be compromised as well. Elrond feared his sons' reactions to such lost of trust when it came — and it would come.

Elladan and Elrohir had not maintained any relationship with Estel in the months since the boy's and Gilraen's arrival, in part, Elrond thought, because they resented his instructions to remain within the valley instead of hunting orcs.

He had hoped keeping them home would allow them to come to see Estel as more than just the son of a friend. Elrond desired his sons to see the boy as family and play with him as they once had Arwen, so long ago.

But they had kept their distance, not necessarily being rude to the child when they encountered him and his mother, but not going out of their way to spend time with them either. Elrond supposed part of their responses to both mother and child was due to their being in that last fight where Arathorn was lost. The twins had been friends with the Chieftain, had spent time with Gilraen and Estel whenever they rode with the Dúnedain. They probably bore some guilt in the loss of the Man, though Elrond was certain they had done all they could to prevent such a loss.

Elladan and Elrohir had not abided by his wishes for long. Soon they had gone back out of the valley, riding again with the Rangers.

Elrond worried about his sons' drive for vengeance, which had driven them since their mother's capture and torture. It was not as strong as it once had been, but it still cast a taint upon their souls. Could that drive be what prevented them from reaching out to the boy? Or could it simply be their aversion to Gilraen, and a belief the woman blamed them for her husband's death, though Elrond had never heard her speak with anything but respect for his sons.

Regardless, Elrond would require their assistance in treating Estel, whether they wished to help or not, and then the scene he had just witnessed would change, and that change could upset a precarious balance in his family that he was ill prepared to cope with at the moment.

Forcing his worries aside, Elrond just sat and breathed, trying not to focus on the guilt that continued to assuage him. He could not allow himself to feel it while treating Estel, but in free minutes such as these, it ate at him, reminding him that Estel's being hurt was his fault. He had lapsed in his duties to Estel and Gilraen and to the Dúnedain people. His failure could cause ripples that would affect all the lands.

Though he fought to hide his worry from Gilraen, and despite his determination to see otherwise, he feared the damage to Estel's arm might be permanent. The boy was having trouble making a fist and there were also signs of festering along one end of the largest wound. If the wound turned poisonous, Elrond would have to do one of the hardest things he had ever done — remove the boy's arm to save the child's life.

Elrond knew the boy could adapt to having only one arm. Had he not been raised by Maedhros and Maglor? He had seen Maedhros fight with one hand missing.

But it was not what he wished for Estel, and if it came to that, he could hardly fault Gilraen's rage. It was his fault after all that the boy had come to harm in the first place.

Yet despite his failure, and Gilraen's ire, Elrond would have to find some way to keep the lady and her son in the valley. Imladris was still the safest place for the boy.

Elrond caught himself again thinking when he should be taking the opportunity to rest. He pushed all thought aside and instead thought of his wife and what it would be like to see her happy and carefree on white shores. They would dance again under the stars. He had to hold to that hope.

He had no idea of how long he had lost himself in elven dreams when the draft of the opening door jolted him to full wakefulness. He sat back in his chair, blinking up at Erestor.

Elrond blinked again, then groaned at his councilor's expression. That was Erestor's lecture face. And he was no doubt the recipient.

"Whatever you have come to say, I do not wish to hear it."

Not that such a statement would stop the lecture from happening. If there was one thing he had learned from a lifetime of living with Erestor, it was that when Erestor had something to say, he said it, if he had to tie you to a chair and gag you to accomplish the feat. Elrond grimaced at that recollection.

"When have your wishes ever stopped me from saying what I have to say, Elrond?" Erestor raised a brow and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

Elrond released a long breath and shook his head. "Never."

Erestor nodded. "I believe that speaking my mind was what caused you to name me your chief councilor, was it not?"

Elrond snorted. "I was not bestowing a title on you when I called you that, you know."

Erestor's lips twitched upwards. "Ah, but you had spoken it, and before witnesses. And I have held that title for over an age, now. It is too late to admit you had not intended it as a lofty position within your household."

The words were true, but they also annoyed Elrond, who decided he would rather hear what his "chief councilor" had come to say than continue an age long argument.

He motioned with one hand. "Just say what you have come to say."

Erestor, instead of standing before him in his characteristic lecture pose, stepped forward and pulled over another chair, sitting across from Elrond and looking him in the eye. He said nothing for a long moment, then bluntly said, "It is not your fault."

Elrond leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I am not having this discussion with you."

"That is well, for it is not up for discussion. I am telling you, as an outsider who can see the situation from all sides clearly, that this situation is not your fault, anymore than it is Glorfindel's fault, or Gilraen's fault."

That paused Elrond, and he lifted his head and frowned at Erestor. "How would this be Gilraen's fault?"

"I just said it was not, but I can guarantee you she is blaming herself and thinking that it is her fault for coming here in the first place. I would also not be surprised if she is planning to return to her kin as soon as Estel is capable of travel."

"I have already surmised as much. Her trust has been broken."

"No, it has not. She just perceives it so, but she is wrong. And I will tell her so, for she cannot take Estel from Imladris. To do so would be a death sentence for that boy."

"We cannot keep them here against her will, Erestor. I will not have Dírhael storm my gates over such a matter. It would cause permanent animosity between us and the Dúnadain!"

Erestor sighed. "I am not suggesting any such thing. As I said, I will speak to her and make her see the truth of the situation, but first…" He leaned forward. "First, you must realize this is not your fault either, or you will not be able to do what needs to be done."

"Erestor, I felt it!" Elrond snapped, one hand descending to smack firmly against his writing desk. "I felt the premonition that danger lurked and I pushed it aside and agreed to their outing! That makes me responsible."

"No, it does not. You could not have known what danger lurked there. Did you have a vision? See clearly what the danger was or where?"

Elrond shook his head. "No, but—"

"How do you know the danger was not here in the valley? Estel could have tripped over a loose stone and broke a limb. Or fell from a tree. Or any number of dangers that young children face on a daily basis."

Elrond stared at him in consternation. "This is different and well you know it."

"Yes, because in this case you sensed something, were convinced to ignore it in favor of trusting another to protect the one in your care and then that loved one was hurt—possibly beyond your ability to heal. Elrond," Erestor's voice lowered. "Estel is not Celebrían, and that was not your fault either. You know that."

Elrond stared, a cold chill running down his spine. He still blamed himself for his wife's hurt, no matter she had not blamed him and even though his mind understood the logic, his heart would not relinquish the blame.

But was this the same? He could not deny the circumstances were similar.

"I would also remind you of the number of times you have sensed danger where the twins were concerned and that danger while proven real, resulted in your sons' growth. Estel's care is not limited to protecting him, Elrond. You are responsible for his full development. You cannot lock him in a room until his time comes! He would not be prepared for his fate. He must face danger. He must explore and learn. This situation, while unfortunate, can promote great growth, but not if everyone here is blaming themselves for not preventing it, instead of seeing it as the opportunity that it is."

Elrond frowned. He did not like that line of reasoning, but neither could he argue against the philosophy of using everything life threw at a person as a stepping stone to growth.

Erestor was correct. He could not protect Estel by keeping him close at hand in an attempt to prevent harm. He and Celebrían had had that discussion when their sons were small. She had wanted to protect them, keep them from harm at all costs, but he had needed to point out that attempting such a thing, and keeping the boys from exploring their world, was in itself harmful.

And yet, he had been attempting the same with Estel. By Elbereth, he hated it when Erestor was right!

He glanced up at his friend and saw the amusement in those icy blue eyes.

Erestor stood. "I can see you understand now. Can I trust you will stop this internal torture and get on with using this for good? We have many challenges ahead."

Elrond nodded, dropping his eyes to his desk. "Yes, I know. Already the boy fears me because of the pain involved with treating the wounds. And he will likely have a fear of dogs—"

"Ah, but I am already ahead of you on both of those issues."

Elrond lifted a brow. "Oh?"

"Elladan and Elrohir have returned home…with a puppy."

Elrond blinked. "A puppy? Where did they find a puppy?"

Erestor glanced away, not looking him in the eye. "Near Glorfindel's meadow."

"Elbereth… You do not mean to imply it was the bitch's welp?"

"Very likely, and according to Glorfindel looks just like her."

Elrond nodded. "Gilraen will not like that."

Erestor snorted. "Gilraen does not need to know where that dog came from! Only that the twins have brought a gift for Estel and it will help cheer him up while he heals."

"Agreed."

"And the twins can help take over Estel's care. It will be good for them as well as the boy. Then you can go back to being that boy's adar instead of just his healer."

"Is that what I have done?"

"It's what you always do, Elrond. You separate yourself from the relationship you have with the injured until you are certain they will recover. No!" Erestor held up a hand as Elrond opened his mouth to defend himself. "I know you have to do such to treat them effectively, but the danger to Estel's life is past, is it not?"

Elrond nodded. "He is not completely out of danger of losing his arm, but his life is no longer in jeopardy."

"Then return to being his adar, let the twins help with his care and leave Gilraen to me."

"Now that, I will gladly do. She stands no chance against you, my friend."

"Indeed."

And with a slight bow, Erestor was gone, and Elrond was left feeling lighter, thinking more clearly and wondering how Erestor always managed to know just what to say.

He smiled. "And that is why I officially named him Chief Councilor."

—

Elrond sat a few more minutes, considering what Erestor had said, and could not find a single argument within him. He really did hate when Erestor was right. But in this case, Erestor's insight could very well make the difference in the healing of the boy in his care.

First things first. Elrond had to examine the pain inside himself, and once again, push it down. Celebrían would not want him to continue to blame himself. She had not blamed him. Not once. But it was difficult not to blame himself. He had experienced the same premonition before his wife had been attacked on the road to Lothlórien. But he had not had an actual vision, and could not say for certainty what it was he sensed, and she had convinced him to add extra guards, saying she would be fine.

If only Glorfindel had not been away at that time. If only he had denied her — as if he could deny her anything she set her heart on! If only he had insisted on going with her, or sending their sons along…

But he could not go back and do any of those things. He could only accept that she was alive, and one day he would see her again.

To Be Continued...

The more I write Erestor, the more I like him and his idiosyncrasies. What do you think? Thanks for reading!