Healing Hope

Chapter Forty One

Glory in the Darkness

“The gloom of the world is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within reach, is joy.  There is a radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see, and to see, we have only to look.  I beseech you to look.”

Fra Giovanni

The flet where they were was high above the forest floor and offered a magnificent view of the brilliantly colored leaves, but Legolas had no eyes for the view at this moment.  As though picking up on the Wood-elf’s distress, the tree seemed to shiver as Legolas’ eyes were focused on the small human lying beside him. He was stricken to see the tears streaming down Estel’s cheeks.  “Estel, what is wrong?” 

The child’s bottom lip quivered as he tried vainly to stem the flow and be brave, but it was a losing battle.  “I miss my Ada,” he wailed.

Feeling helpless, Legolas pulled the boy up to sit on his lap.  “Tell me what I can do to make it better, little one, for I am at a loss as to how best to help you.”

Estel instinctively placed his ear over Legolas’ heart, his hand reaching up at the same time to pat the prince’s chest as though he were the one doing the comforting.  “I want to go home.”  

Legolas hugged the child, his brow lined with concern.  “You have never been away from home before, have you?”

Estel shook his head.

“I forget how very young you are, Estel,” responded the prince, almost to himself.  “Are you not happy here with us?”

Estel bit his lip and remained silent, a frown on his small face.  He began playing with a strand of Legolas’ hair, thinking about what to say.  Legolas had always been kind to him, and King Thran-due was nice too.  Afraid he would hurt their feelings or make them angry; Estel struggled for an answer to the question.

His hesitation was answer enough to Legolas, who wondered how he was supposed to comfort a homesick babe...for that is what Estel was to the immortal...an innocent babe.  The prince sighed, feeling decidedly unsure how best to proceed. 

“I am sorry,” Estel sniffed, completely miserable and not knowing what else to say.

Legolas felt his heart melt and hugged the child closer.  “You do not ever have to be sorry about how you feel, mellon nín, and you certainly never have to be afraid to tell me what is in your heart.”  Legolas watched a tear trace its way down Estel’s cheek. 

Estel sniffed again as he thought about what Legolas said.  “I feel...sad,” he admitted softly, bringing a fresh round of tears. 

“That is understandable,” said Legolas slowly.  “We are all sad sometimes.”

Estel sat up and fixed him with a thoughtful look.  “I have never seen you sad.”

“But I am sad sometimes,” the prince confessed.  “Everyone is,” he explained.  “I am sad when I see the evil that has claimed so much of my homeland, but I am happy that our cavern fortress is a safe place for us to live.”

Estel sniffed and reached up to stroke the prince’s cheek in a gesture of comfort.  “I was sad when Ada would not let Blubby sleep in my room,” he said haltingly, “but I was happy when Restor made me a stuffed kitty to sleep with.”

Legolas smiled to see Estel caught up in this somewhat unorthodox game.  “I was sad when you hurt your arm,” he added, “but I am happy now that it is healing.”  He noted that Estel was thinking over his words.  “You see, sadness is the yardstick by which we measure our happiness.” 

“Huh?” questioned the bewildered boy.

Legolas grimaced, trying to think of a way to put it so that a four year old might understand.  “Estel, do you remember when we were crossing the Hithaeglir?”

Estel nodded, and the prince noticed that the tears were no longer falling.  His eyes remained watery, however and he blinked as though to clear them.  “We were very high, and I was scared at first, but you kept me safe.”

Legolas smiled, “Yes, I kept you safe.”  He settled the child comfortably back against his chest again as he continued.  “Once you knew that I would keep you safe you enjoyed the trip.”  Legolas could not help but think of the sacred trust Elrond had invested in him when the Elf Lord had handed over his son for safe keeping.  Said son was now interrupting his thoughts with a question.

“What does that have to do with being sad?” asked Estel, as the soft breeze tumbled the curls of his hair.  The tree swayed rhythmically, relaxing the pair with his lulling motions as he sensed the lessening of Legolas’ tension

“Without the mountains and the valleys, Arda would be flat and a very boring place...never high and never low,” Legolas answered.  “It is the same with our feelings; the sad times make us appreciate the happy times all the more.”  Before Estel could ask what appreciate meant the Silvan amended the sentence, “...make the happy times all the more happy.” 

Estel considered the prince’s words.  “Like when my gwedeir have been gone for a long time, and I am so glad to see them that I do not mind that they tease me?” 

“That is correct,” praised Legolas.

“Will I always be happy when I go home?”  The hope in Estel’s eyes touched the Silvan’s heart.

Legolas wondered how far he could take the comparison and still be completely honest.  “None of us can say how happy we will be, Estel, for much of happiness is determined within us.”

Estel looked completely confused by those words, but at least he was not crying any longer.  “I am not sure what you mean.”

Legolas realized he was getting far beyond the understanding of one so young and decided to take a different path.  “Do you remember what you saw when you looked down from the mountains?”

Estel frowned slightly as he thought back and then brightened as he remembered the details of the trip.  “We were so high in the sky that I could look down on the clouds!”

“That is right,” smiled Legolas, “the mist below covered all the trees so that we could not see them, did it not?”

“Um hum,” nodded Estel, settling himself more comfortably against the prince’s chest.  “It was almost like they were all gone because all I could see was white when I looked down.”

“Were the trees gone because you could not see them?” 

Estel giggled, “No, trees do not disappear!”

“That is right,” Legolas smiled, “and your Ada’s love is still surrounding you even though you cannot see him.”

“And my gwedeir?” asked Estel.

“And your gwedeir,” confirmed the prince.  “And Glorfindel and Erestor and the rest of the Elves at Imladris,” he added before Estel could ask.

“And Fa-luh-fee,” sighed Estel very carefully, bringing a smile to Legolas’ face at the correctly pronounced F’s.

“Yes Fluffy,” laughed Legolas, “and no doubt Celon and Celos as well!”

Estel smiled wistfully at the thought of his beloved horses.  “I miss them,” he said slowly, “but I am glad they love me and they are safe.”  A look of understanding crossed his face.  “Is that what you mean, Legolas?”

“It is, indeed, young one,” approved the prince.  “We each have the power inside here,” he pointed to Estel’s chest, “and here,” he said, pointing to the child’s head, “to be happier or sadder.”

“Why would anyone choose to be sad?” asked Estel.  “That is silly.”

“You would be surprised, my young friend, how very many of Ilúvatar’s creations choose to be unhappy by keeping their minds on the unpleasant things that happen in their lives.”

Estel was working hard to understand all that he was learning.  “Is that why some of the elves looked at me with mean looks...because they are unhappy?”

“I had hoped that you had not seen those looks, Estel,” Legolas admitted softly. 

“My ada says I notice everything,” Estel said proudly.  “He says I will be a good tracker!”  Estel sat up so that he could look Legolas in the eyes.  “I am not mad at those elves that looked at me mean, because now I know that they are just sad.”

Legolas wished that life was that easy...but he could not get the implied threat of the words he had heard out of his head.  Would one of the Silvans make the leap from harbored resentment to overt threat?

O-o-O-o-O

“Will you never forgive me for saving you?” asked Thranduil quietly, relieved to finally say the damning words aloud. 

Unaware of the tears streaking his face, Nárë was pulled from his reverie by the king’s words.

Nárë sighed and lowered the leather bound rock he had been hefting.  “I pledged my life to the house of Oropher...Le ú-nach erui, mellon nín, you will never be alone.

Thranduil smiled briefly and steeled himself to continue until all truths, however ugly and difficult, had been laid bare.  Like lancing an infection, the pain had to precede the healing.  “That is not what I asked you.”   

“Let it go,” Nárë remarked softly.

“No, I will not!”  Thranduil stood up angrily.  “I have ‘let it go’ as you say, for far too long and it festers between us.”  The king put his hand on Nárë’s shoulder and forced the Noldo to look at him.  “You blame me for preventing you from joining Veryo in Mandos’ Halls.”  It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Nárë roared, rounding on the king in seeming fury.  “I blame you for keeping me alive to live as a monstrosity!  

Thranduil was staggered, but held his ground.  Nárë was finally opening up to him and he was not about to stop him, no matter how painful it was to hear.  Thranduil could have told him that he did more with one arm than many elves he knew with two, but he would not offer what Nárë was bound to see as a platitude.  Besides, the king did not believe that this was the heart of what was hurting his friend.  He was convinced that there was more and determined to force the elf to face it.  “You are not a monstrosity.” he said softly. 

“No?” the Noldo snarled, “Tell that to my parents.”

“Náro and Alassantë?”  Thranduil was genuinely confused.  Like many of the elves of Greenwood, Nárë’s parents had sailed soon after the remnant returned from the war.  .

“Thranduil, do you think they sailed only to escape their grief at losing Veryo?”  He shook his head sadly.  “No,” he added bitterly, “they could not bring themselves to look at me.”

“You could have sailed with them and been made whole,” Thranduil said quietly.  “Why did you not?”

“Because I could not bear to see the look of condemnation in their eyes,” he admitted.  “I would rather live like this than face their disappointment.”

Thranduil was stunned at Nárë’s revelation and not at all sure he accepted the premise.  “Nárë, you were still seriously wounded; how can you know what your parent’s were thinking, let alone feeling?”

“You just said it yourself,” Nárë laughed bitterly, spreading his palm as if in supplication.  “They did not even stay to see whether I would live or die.”

Nárë sighed, suddenly exhausted.  Both elves were standing in the middle of the room, and Thranduil suddenly felt as though the walls were closing in on him.  “Walk with me,” he commanded.

Nárë was numb and automatically followed his king, quickly wiping any telltale trace of the despised tears from his face.  Grief threatened to choke him, but the Noldo maintained a calm facade as the pair exited his chambers and started down the hallway towards the king’s suite of rooms. 

The ever present escort of the king’s guard fell into step behind them, for even within the fortress nothing was taken for granted.  Thranduil had long since grown used to their presence and only occasionally chaffed at the necessity, unlike Legolas who hated feeling cosseted.  As Thranduil and Nárë disappeared within the king’s chambers, the guards stationed themselves on either side of the door and shared a quick glance.  Thranduil would normally be taking up the business of the court by this time of morning, but neither elf was about to question his king over this unusual circumstance.

Thranduil walked straight though the sitting room to the thermally heated bathing chamber where they had brought Estel the night before.  ‘Was it only last night,’ mused the king, for it now seemed ages since they had passed a pleasurable evening with Legolas and the child.  As Nárë stood mutely by, Thranduil quickly stripped off his leggings and then turned and began tugging at the Noldo’s.  As obediently as a child, Nárë put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder to steady himself and stepped from the pants.  “Now,” said Thranduil, not at all caring for the glazed look in his friend’s eye, “into the water.”

Nárë stepped down the carved steps into the heated pool and felt Thranduil leading him to the deeper end.  The elf felt empty of a sudden, as bereft as if his heart had been pulled beating from his body.  So long had he buried the grief behind a wall of exuberant over-achievement that its awakening was as a battering ram upon his psyche.  He felt directionless and curiously absent.

Thranduil maneuvered the shivering elf deeper into the water until he was floating.  Nárë’s head rested on his shoulder, and he smoothed the dark hair back from his friend’s pale face.

“No more,” whispered Nárë, closing his eyes and surrendering his body to the warmth of the waters and the protection of Thranduil.

“Only a little more,” soothed Thranduil, praying it was so, “you have my word.”  He felt Nárë shudder, but no protest rose from the Noldo’s lips.  “It must come out once and for all, my friend; else it will all have been for naught.”  Thranduil believed he finally had the understanding of what it was his friend felt.  “It is not your parent’s blame you fear, but your own guilt.”   

Thranduil allowed the thought to linger, neither saying more nor prompting Nárë for a response to his assertion.  He was willing to wait as long as it took for the elf to work through his warring emotions.  Over and over he cupped warm water in his hand and poured it over Nárë’s chest, afraid his friend was literally slipping into shock.  He had almost decided he would be impelled to call for a healer when the softly spoken words finally came.

“He was my little brother; I was supposed to protect him.” 

Thranduil closed his eyes in relief.  Now the healing could truly begin.

O-o-O-o-O

Night had fallen when the elf stole from the house.  Silently he moved, as graceful as a panther, through the darkness, climbing until he reached the place he sought...a secluded spot high above the dwellings and beside the Bruinen.  Across the valley the torches of Imladris twinkled in the darkness.  He breathed deeply of the cool air, enjoying the slight burning in his muscles from the exertion of the climb.  It was not often that the Lord of Imladris felt adrift, but tonight he did. 

Elrond sat on the ground, leaning back against a boulder so that he could see both his valley and the rushing waters.  He wished the pounding of the falls could silence or at least mask the questions hammering over and over in his mind, but it was not to be.  He had come here seeking some peace from the hubbub of the house, hoping the solitude would allow him to order his thoughts.

His eyes drifted upwards to the stars as he sought Eärendil’s light.  “He is of Elros’ blood, and my heart, father.  Help me find the answers to keep him safe.”  As it always did, the twinkling jewel racing across the night remained silent.

Elrond closed his eyes and rested his head back against the cold stone.  No sound disturbed the night, but he felt the familiar presence touch his mind, and sighed softly.  “You might as well join me.”

Glorfindel chuckled self-consciously, and lithely jumped from atop a boulder, looking vastly uncomfortable.  “I do not mean to intrude,” he said sincerely, “only be available.”

Elrond opened his eyes to look his friend in the eye.  “Your presence is never an intrusion.”

“Could you not rest?”

Elrond shook his head.  “Too much weighs upon my mind.”

“You have not come here in a long time,” observed the golden one, settling himself beside the Elf Lord.  His long legs were pulled up and he rested his arms easily atop the knees.

“Not since the last time the twins returned from their vengeance hunting of orcs so badly wounded that I feared they would both be lost to me.”  Elrond swallowed as the cold fear of that night returned to close his throat, and took a shuddering breath.  “Thank Ilúvatar that those dark days are over.”

“My scouts have found no more signs of the orcs,” Glorfindel said after a few moments, voicing what they both had been thinking.  “Perhaps those that sought him have given up.”

“They will never give up,” Elrond said sadly.  “Estel will be hunted his entire life...”

“Then perhaps they have given up finding him here,” the warrior persisted. 

Elrond laughed softly.  “I want to go get him as much as you do, but I must be sure.” 

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas had to carry Estel to bed that night, so exhausted was the boy from the day’s adventures.  He had supped alone with the child, eschewing the formal dining room in favor of something more causal in his own quarters.  Estel had not wanted to eat and Legolas had finally gotten him to drink some milk.

Laying the child upon the bed, Legolas was surprised to see his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed over.

“Estel?”

Estel only blinked slowly in response. 

Only then did Legolas become aware of the unusual heat radiating from the child...certainly more than usual.  Feigning a calmness he did not feel, Legolas quickly checked over the child for any previously unseen injury, thinking that perhaps a scratch or insect bite had become inflamed.  As his hand ran lightly down the cast, Estel whimpered.  Legolas quickly lifted his hand away, noticing that the hand and fingers below the cast were red and puffy.  How long had they been this way?  Estel’s breathing was beginning to come in little gasps now.

“Oh Eru, no...”  The prince ran to the door and out into the hallway.  “Guards!” he called to the sentries beside his father’s chambers.  “Summon a healer!”

TBC