Healing Hope

Chapter 35

Hunter’s Moon

“In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends.” John Churton Collins

Elrond stood on the terrace outside the beautifully appointed room, his mind a seething cauldron starkly contrasting with the peaceful scene of the valley before him.  Rather he found himself more like the rushing Bruinen as it tumbled down the waterfall and crashed upon the rocks below.  Though still a few hours before the dawn, it was bright enough outside for him to see quite clearly.  His wandering eye fell upon the full and luminous Ithil, accompanied by its glittering entourage of stars.  It was called the Hunter’s Moon by those of Elros’ line.  Again, the familiar ache fell unbidden upon his heart, and he accepted it without complaint, for it was the only tie he had left with his twin.

Loss, so much loss…the word almost seemed to define his life.  Eärendil, Elrond’s father, left his family to seek the aid of the Valar in the fight against the evil one.  It was a noble undertaking, but one that separated him, this side of the blessed realm, from his wife and sons.  Not long afterward, Elwing cast herself from the cliffs; borne by Elmo himself, she flew as a bird, bearing the precious crystalline jewel far from the reach of Fëanor’s sons.  Her choice left her two small sons alone and at the mercy of those who had been denied the Silmaril.

Elrond’s eyes closed, as though to shut out the feeling of abandonment that would rise to engulf him, if he allowed it.  His adult mind could process and accept the decisions his parents made, but the child was the one who had lived the experience.  He and Elros were kept by the kin-slayers until being found and rescued and restored to their Noldor kin.  They were then raised by Gil-galad and Cirdan, the elves who had become his mentors and friends.

He grew strong and powerful under the tutelage of the future king and the shipbuilder, immersing himself in the library of Lindon and learning all that he could force into his brain, as though he could learn enough to arrest the losses that had so defined his young life.  But it was not to be.   As Elrond lost himself in study, Elros was finding his love of the sea, and as the sea sang to his brother’s heart, so too did the mortal blood cursing through his veins.

When Elros chose to follow the mortal way, the severing of the twin bond had almost been more than Elrond could bear, for beyond the physical and emotional rending was the niggling knowledge that, once again, a choice was made to leave him. 

With a deep sigh, he moved resolutely back into the room and crossed to the wardrobe.  “Enough of this,” he muttered. He would not, could not, let his mind travel to the most grievous loss of all, that of his beautiful and gentle Celebrían.  It took him only moments to don the deep brown breeches and matching tunic.  His hair was twisted back in to a simple, yet functional braid that hung down his back.  With precise and practiced movements, he strapped the golden dagger, a gift from Gil-galad, to the specially made sheath that would secure it to his booted calf.

Hadhafang was next.  “Ah, my friend,” he spoke to the sword, turning it to appreciate the soft glow of the lamp light reflected upon the burnished surface, “you shall sing again, as in days of old.”   Gently, almost reverently, he ran his fingers over the fluid script on the sword’s surface.   Aen estar Hadhafang I chatholhen thand around dan I thang an arwen.  This blade is called Hadhafang, a noble defense against the enemy throng for a noble lady.  Deftly, he swung the sword in an arc, reveling once again in its balance and precision, and then sheathed the deadly instrument. 

With long, sure strides he walked across the room, ready to make his way downstairs and to the stables.  Elrond paused at the doorway to Estel’s room.  No soft light shone to dispel the shadows, and the small bed was empty, for its young occupant was not in residence.  Even now the boy was being taken far away from his family to the elven kingdom of Mirkwood.   It grieved and angered Elrond that he felt it necessary to send his son away for his safety, and he was more than ready to do something tangible to remedy the situation.  He had not been able to wield Hadhafang in Celebrían’s defense, but, by all the valar, he would strike a blow against those who were keeping his son from his home.

As Elrond expected, the long hallway of the third floor was dark and quiet in the predawn hours.  With the twins and Erestor back nestled safely within the embrace of the healing wing, those who might be up and around were resting.  As Elrond passed the second floor and followed the curved stairway to the first floor his steps slowed.

“You did not think I would let you go alone, did you?” drawled Celeborn.  “It has been too long since we undertook a mission together.” The elf was clad in hunting gear similar to that worn by Elrond.  His sword was sheathed by his side and he carried one of the famed bows of the Galadhrim.

“How did you know?” Elrond asked simply, surprised and yet, not.

“I, too, am a father.  I recognized the look in your eye.”

“I cannot ask you to place yourself in jeopardy,” said Elrond firmly; “this is my fight.”

“You did not ask, my son,” Celeborn answered, his face as firm as granite, “and no, this is not just your fight.  Those are my grandsons who lay wounded upstairs, and it is, if I am to take your word, my adoptive grandson that is now being stalked.  Besides, I am curious about these orcs that can hide themselves.”

Elrond stood stock still, staring at the elf.  “Very well,” he conceded with a sigh, “but let us hurry, before the rest of the household decides to come with us.”

With a wry look, Celeborn inclined his head towards the door.  “Lead the way.”

The pair quickly crossed the large yard to the stables used by the family.  The beautiful building was more than functional.  Like all of the dwellings in Imladris, the stable was a work of art.  Celos looked over the wall of his stall as the Elf Lords entered.  The ears of the great stallion twitched as he anxiously waited to see whether or not his own master, Elladan, would follow.  Beside him, Celon watched for Elrohir.  At Celos’ feet, Fluffy and his siblings slept peacefully in the box with their mother. 

Elrond paused to speak softly to the twin stallions, praising them for their loyalty, and explaining that Elladan and Elrohir would not be coming at this time.  Thus assured and dismissed, the pair resumed their nighttime rest.

Retrieving his own mount and one for Celeborn, Elrond quickly led the horses back towards the front of the massive stable.  There, leaning casually against the door stoop, his eyebrow hitched halfway up his forehead and a sly smile on his face, stood Glorfindel.  “Surely you did not believe that you could give me the slip...did you?”

“Glorfindel,” warned Elrond, “you cannot come with me and leave the Last Homely House undefended.”

Glorfindel snorted, “You will have to do better than that.  You know, as well as I do, that Helcar is perfectly capable of defending the inner valley.  If you are determined to face this enemy, then I will be by your side.”

“As will I,” added Celeborn.

“I would like to see for myself these magic orcs,” said a new voice, as the owner walked into the circle of light coming from the opened stable door.

“Mithrandir!” gasped Elrond.  “Is the entire household aware of my thought processes?” 

 “You did not think you could fool me, did you?”  The Maia’s chide was accompanied by a good-natured chuckle.

“Then come,” commanded the Elf Lord, “and let us hunt some orcs!” 

O-o-O-o-O

Mirkwood

“Are we almost there?” asked Estel, for the tenth time, a yawn slurring the last couple of words.

Riding beside the pair, Thranduil’s mouth twitched as his elven hearing easily picked up the almost imperceptible sigh from his son.  His Greenleaf was receiving his first lesson in the impatience of the young.

“Yes, Estel, we are almost there,” replied the prince, as he stole a glance at his adar, who appeared to be enjoying this far too much. 

“We are?” Estel exclaimed, for he had not really expected an affirmative answer. The boy sat up, looking around expectantly for a home, but all he could see in any direction was forest...deep, dark, forbidding forest.  A chattering from over his head drew his eyes upward, and the child cringed when he saw the menacing shapes in the shadowy canopy above. 

Legolas knew the moment Estel finally saw the spiders that had been pacing them for some hours, for the boy tensed back against him and let out a small, involuntary gasp.  The prince tightened his hold on the child and murmured reassurances to him.

Estel glanced up at Legolas from the security of his place in the prince’s arms.  His face did not look worried.  Next, the boy turned his head and looked at Legolas’ adar.  His face was as calm as ever.  Sitting up a bit so that he could look around Legolas’ shoulder, Estel peered back at the warriors following them.  No frowns of worry were seen there either.

It was all Legolas could do not to laugh as he watched Estel gauging their reactions to those abominations overhead.  There really was no danger, for the spiders had long ago learned that to attack a force so large was to invite annihilation.  No, their preferred method was to find a straggler or a lone wanderer unaware and ambush them.

With a soft sigh, Estel settled back against Legolas. “Are we al...”

“Yes, Estel,” interrupted the prince, unwilling to hear the question again, “we are here.”  Legolas pointed through the last stand of trees to where the river could be seen.  Over it spanned a rock bridge, which seemed to lead almost straight into the mountain.  “Look!” 

Estel frowned slightly as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.  The horses’ hooves clattered as they crossed the bridge, and Estel shuddered as he glanced down at the dark and swiftly moving water. 

As soon as they were over the bridge, elves began to emerge from the forest to greet the king’s party.  The cheerful faces began to reflect shock as, one by one, they noticed the adan riding with Legolas. 

The prince began to hear snatches of the questioning conversations. 

“Who could he be?  Why is he here?  Would you look at that!  His face is scarred.”

Legolas’ temper flared when he overhead that last comment, but he was unable to see from whom it came.  He felt no tension in Estel, so he felt sure that the child had not overheard the unkind comment.  A quick glance at his father convinced him that the king had not missed the comment, for his countenance, too, had grown stormy.

The elves assigned to the stabling and care of the horses came forward to take their charges as the elven party began dismounting.  Legolas smiled to several friends as he held Estel’s hand.  The boy seemed awed, if just a bit nervous, at seeing so many strangers rushing forward to greet their king.

Estel shrank back against Legolas’ legs.  Never before had he seen so many blonde elves, and he closed his eyes for a moment to remind himself that the bad elf was truly gone.  Had not Legolas promised that Quenthar would never return to harm him?  As Legolas greeted different elves, calling them by name, Estel began to relax and let his curious eyes wander through the brown and green clad groups.  While most of the looks being cast his way were friendly, a few were definitely not and Estel would quickly look away from those, unsure of what he had done to earn their anger.

A different elf caught the boy’s attention and Estel let out a small gasp, for never before had he seen an elf like this.  The elf in question was dark headed, like his father and brothers, but unlike every other elf he had ever seen, this one was not perfect; this elf was missing his right arm and also his ear!  The tunic over the missing arm had been sewn completely shut.  Estel had never before seen such a sight and stared at the elf trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Unbelievably, the elf in question seemed to smile at Legolas and began walking in their direction.  Estel quickly let go of the prince’s hand and got behind his legs, peeking out as the dark elf approached.

“Well met, young prince,” boomed the elf, clapping Legolas on the shoulder with his one arm.  “What is this that you have found and brought home this time?  Not another spider, I hope!”

“I am not a spider!” laughed Estel, emboldened by the friendly manner of the elf, “I am a little boy.”

“A boy?” echoed the elf, his eye crinkling with mirth.  “And what is your name little adan?”

Remembering his manners, Estel stepped from behind the protection of Legolas’ legs and performed a perfect, if clumsy because of the cast, bow.  “I am Estel Elrondion.”

Legolas could hear several gasps and murmurs from the gathering of elves at the mention of Elrond’s name.  Obviously the king did too, and had heard quite enough from them.  Thranduil, who had little patience for stupidity or insubordination, dismissed the gathered elves. 

Joining Legolas and Estel, Thranduil smiled at the newcomer and found himself enveloped in a one armed hug. 

“Nárë!” sighed the king, “you are no good at discipline; you do know that?”

“Aye,” laughed the elf, “you need me though, to keep you humble.”

Thranduil snorted gracefully, as only he could do.  “Estel, I would like to introduce Nárë, the best lore master in Mirkwood, the king’s counselor, and my dearest friend.  When I was an elfling, it was he that told me many wonderful tales.”

“And I, as well,” echoed Legolas, “some of which I have told you.”

The dark elf knelt beside the boy.  “Mae govannen, Estel Elrondion, and welcome to Mirkwood.”

Estel swallowed, unable to take his eyes from where the elf’s ear had been.  After a nudge from Legolas, he quickly gathered himself and thanked Nárë for his welcome.”

Nárë watched the child’s face, intrigued by the emotions he could see so easily displayed there.  “Is there a question you would like to ask me, young one?”

Estel nodded, “Can you hear without your ear?”

A booming laugh preceded Nárë’s answer.  Apparently the elf bellowed most everything he said.  “Yes, Estel, I can hear without my ear.”  He nudged the boy with his left elbow, and added good naturedly, “better than you!”

“My ada can hear good, too,” admitted the child, ruefully.  “He always hears me when I try to track him.  I am learning to be a warrior,” he added with a firm nod of his young head.

“I can see that,” praised Nárë, “for you already bear the marks of battle.  How old are you, young warrior?”

Estel frowned at his cast and then awkwardly held up four fingers on his left hand.

Nárë took the small fingers in his large hand and helped the boy to straighten them.  “You must practice doing things with his arm, Estel, so that it is as strong as your right one.”

Estel nodded, his eyes large and solemn.  “Do you have trouble doing things with your left arm?  Has your other arm always been gone?”

Nárë smiled up at Thranduil and Legolas.  “I love the honesty of children.”  He looked back to the child. “I lost my arm in battle, young one, and it took me a very long time to learn to do all that was needed with just my left arm.”

Estel’s face clouded, and he gave the elf a comforting hug, his little hand patting the elf’s back.  “Did the monsters hurt you too?  They hurt my brothers, and Restor.  They were very scary.”

For a moment, Nárë was too surprised to react to the instinctive gesture of comfort, but then accepted the tribute from the child and returned the hug with his left arm.  He was saved from further comment by a loud rumbling from the region of Estel’s middle.

The dark haired elf leaned back with a questioning glance.

“We must feed him,” Thranduil explained.  “Come, old friend, let us go refresh and make ready for the meal, for I am weary of travel and ready to relax and dine.”

Estel gave the king a worried look.  “Does that mean that I have to take a bath?”

Thranduil’s eyebrows hitched elegantly.  “It does, indeed, Elrondion, but I daresay you shall like my bathing chamber.”

Estel wrinkled his nose but refrained from commenting for it would have meant disagreeing with the king, and he was quite sure that Restor would not approve of such an action.  Instead he looked around.  “Where is your house?”

“Watch and you shall see,” laughed Legolas.

Thranduil walked over to the wall of rock rising into the mountain and softly spoke a few words.   As Estel watched in astonishment the huge rock doors swung open revealing a cool, dark entry. 

“Here is our home,” said Legolas.

Estel gulped.  “In...there?” Dread gripped him as he stared into the cavernous opening.  Thoughts of Quenthar, already fresh, flashed through his mind and he once again experienced the fear of being buried.

Legolas saw the boy pale as the blood seemed to rush from his face leaving the smattering of freckles standing starkly against alabaster skin. 

Estel was trying desperately not to be afraid, but his rapid breaths bore testament of his losing battle.

“Estel!”  Legolas and Estel both jumped at the stern tone of Thranduil’s voice.  It was a command that brokered no comment, and no disobedience. 

Estel tore his eyes from the opening and looked at the king.  His whole body was beginning to tremble, though he fought vainly to hide it.

Thranduil picked up the boy, who threw his arm around the king’s neck and buried his head against the king’s chest.  The king automatically began rubbing soothing circles on the child’s back while speaking softly.   “Keep your eyes closed while we enter through the tunnel, Estel.  I promise you that once we are in my throne room you will not feel as though you are underground.  The ceiling is so vast in there it is like being outside.  Can you accept my word on that?”

Estel hesitated only a moment before nodding his head against the king’s neck.  His eyes were tightly closed, and his breath still came in small gasps, but the arm around the king’s neck gave a squeeze.

“Come then, and I shall introduce you to the home of the wood elves,” said the king proudly.

TBC