Feud
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Rating:
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Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
125
Views:
27,622
Reviews:
413
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Ind-en-Erestor [Erestor's Conscience]
by erobey erobey@gmail.com
unbeta'd
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Ind-en-Erestor [Erestor's Conscience]
Eru's arse! How did I end up in this situation?
Erestor thumped across the length of the wooden floor and back, passing in front of the small, cheerily glowing iron brazier and a low leather covered ottoman set near it. He clasped his hands behind him, then loosed them and ran both through his long black hair. He glared down at an innocent side table that held a plain, brightly burning silver oil lamp and finally stopped before the tightly drawn silk curtains. With annoyance spawned by overwrought nerves and the remains of the migraine, he pushed the fabric aside with his fingers just a sliver to peer out into the little clearing.
It was inconceivable; never would he have imagined the events Aragorn and Mithrandir had described to him, though he knew they had no cause to invent such a tale. Their dual recitation, each interposing at any point when they deemed the other's account insufficient, had made his brain feel too full to accept the story's conclusion. They simply could not be speaking of his history over the last several months. Recalling the plans he and Elrond had devised, his friends' revelations did not seem plausible consequences of such an underhanded sort of plot.
Beyond the journey into the Mirkwood, Erestor had nothing upon which to anchor the new information. All he knew for certain was that a large vacancy in chronology was evident in the rhythm of his body's clock. Other than a few vague and fleeting impressions of a human village and a horrendous memory of encountering the Wraiths, Erestor could not own any of it personally. How could he embrace such a convoluted narrative, with himself the one who ended up claiming the wild elf while the Lord of Imladris faced formal charges for malicious intervention in Mirkwood's affairs? The two had journeyed here solely to debase and diminish the child of Ningloriel, using the real concerns for Middle-earth's future as false justification. How could it be that pain and suffering had transformed into redemption and love?
Far more than taking and giving pleasure; Aragorn spoke of my bonding to this discarded prince. Surely that was never part of Elrond's plans. Nor mine.
The seneschal shook his head soberly in self-chastisement, yet in a part of his thinking that did not reach consciousness the idea thrilled him. Legolas, he tried the word out soundlessly and at once his heart made a peculiar triple-stroke as a sharp sense of apprehension surrounded his soul. It was disconcerting for he was unable to assign any known danger to the reaction. A deep breath joined a second brief twitch of his chin in denial and he turned from the internal scrutiny to assess his external surroundings once more.
His vision swept over the late afternoon, half-lit glen as he sighed in quiet fatigue. No longer was the place a strangled clutter of weeds, grasses, and scrub oak. Neat hedgerows and a freshly turned bed for flowers and herbs flanked a stone bordered walkway. The path led down to the old stump of a beech and a lanky sapling hugging close to the remains of the ancient's lifeless roots. The sight of the youthful tree and the well-groomed garden gave his heart ease somehow and he exhaled a portion of the worried strain from his body. He could barely believe it was from this rejuvenated meadow that he had led his grieving lover away just days ago.
"Oh!" Erestor physically jumped at this notion and his heart began drumming as if he had run for leagues without rest.
Desperately he tried to hold onto the flicker of an image, the sensation of a tormented body leaning against him for support, a spirit vibrant and dauntless housed within a form of strange and untamed grace. Within the Noldo's feä surged a strong desire to ease the pain and win back the elf's trust, to undo the deep wounds his careless tongue and heedless acts had inflicted. He could not see the ellon's face, for it was drooping under the weight of fading, and the more effort Erestor expended to enhance the mirage the more ephemeral the vision grew. Depression followed swiftly behind the shock of the revelation and the dissolution of the dream. He turned from the drapes to stalk back across the room again.
"Valar! It is all real? How can this be so?"
"What is it? Did you remember something?" demanded Gandalf. "Do not hold back, Erestor, I warn you!" The Istar was seated on the daintily embroidered love-seat, half-heartedly puffing at his long-stemmed clay pipe. Only a meagre, straggling curl of white smoke lifted from the rather dampened burley, however, and he grimaced around the bitter tang of juices his efforts extracted from the bowl instead. He carefully set the pipe aside as its fire dwindled and expired.
"Do not threaten me any more this day!" Erestor wheeled to point at Mithrandir, foregoing cool reason and calm discourse, his frazzled mind giving way under rising tension and panic. "I need to sort things out and you are not helping."
"I assure you it is not my intent to hinder your recovery, but rather to stifle your natural urge to wriggle out of your duty in this unorthodox arrangement," groused the wizard.
"My duty? Mithrandir, I am bound by more than obligation to Orophin and Dambethnîn, whether you deem it correct or not, yet now you sit here and menace me with spells and dire fate, my immortal life spent amid this forest as one of its many trees, if I shun the company of the silvan archer. What am I supposed to do? I cannot abandon a true bond even if I wished it."
"That is so," the Istar rejoined and rose. "Sit, for your agitation wears upon my soul." He pressed Erestor down onto the ottoman and went to the tiny kitchen, returning with two glasses half filled with miruvor and a bottle of golden wine. "I believe you will find your union with Legolas is at least as genuine, if not stronger, than the one forged with the worthy elves from Lorien. Your real challenge may lie in salvaging ties with the Galadhrim." He handed the tonic to the advisor and resumed his place on the sofa, setting the wine on the table nearby.
"It is not my 'natural inclination' to deflect responsibility for my actions," Erestor ignored the implications of Gandalf's last statement and resumed grumbling over the slur upon his character. He accepted the drink gratefully enough, however, and dragged the foot stool nearer the grate. The fire crackled loudly and he hovered over it for he was still chilled. "What makes you say such a thing? I have never wilfully harmed any of my partners; I cannot believe I sought to ensnare this one's heart." The advisor simply could not encompass the thought of deliberately defying his bond with Pen-bara and Pen-raug, yet the other option was no better, for then he would be guilty of deliberately attempting to bind Legolas to him without offering anything in return.
"Nay, I could not have done so!" Erestor jumped up and paced back to the edge of the platform to stare into the ageing day, hoping for a return of the sense of peace the glade's renewal had granted.
"Well this entire adventure certainly indicates a lax character at best," scolded the Maia, not quite in tune with the seneschal's thoughts.
That I cannot deny. Erestor frowned as he sipped the miruvor and gazed across the humble croft's grounds.Yet there had to be circumstances to warrant this conjugation, something I have yet to recall. I am not Elrond and brought no bitter grudge with me here. All my assignations have ever been honest; no desire to ruin another has plagued me prior to this one elf's situation. An idea immediately danced across his thoughts, a bright warm whirlwind of joy, muted light, and gleeful laughter under silvery stars, that perhaps he might love the wild elf. Faster than he could blink the notion vanished, leaving him in uneasy quandary over what oaths he may have betrayed. Again he fled the unpalatable interior examination. His eyes travelled the clearing; nothing in the scene presented any indication of Legolas' unique appeal.
It was such a common little homestead; even humans in the villages along the East Road had more to show for their labours than this miserly allotment of real estate displayed. It said much of the true poverty of the Woodland Realm's inhabitants if this was the best they could manage for their esteemed, reclaimed champion against the Shadow. The seneschal shook his head and scowled in derision.
Valar! A Hobbit hole is better situated and more richly appointed! The noble Noldo thought in dismal temper as he turned back and examined the sitting room and the galley just two steps from it.
Elbereth, what manner of cooking smells must I endure whilst here? Indeed, who shall perform the culinary tasks? There is not even a privy, I am certain. I shall be reduced to emptying chamber pots or worse, relieving my body in the open woods. I will be a figure of mockery in both Imladris and Lorien, probably even Mithlond. 'Errant, erring Erestor, caught at last by some ignorant backwoods outcast warrior, forced into binding under threat of the wizard's staff. Serves him right!'
But Erestor knew this petty lamentation for what it was: a futile attempt to convince himself that he did not care, to achieve distance from the catastrophe by arrogant condescension and force of will. With a moan his chin dipped to his chest and slumped back to his seat by the fire box, gulping down the remains of the stimulant and passing the glass over to Mithrandir for a sample of the amber wine. By Iluvatar, no one has cajoled me into anything. My soul chose this course and shall not divert from it, regardless what I will. He exhaled another deep gush of wind and rubbed his temples to soothe away the hurt. A wince cramped his shoulder blades, not from his discomfort but that which loomed over the lives of those he loved, those he had wronged. This headache was nothing compared to the pain his actions had caused the elf in the vision, nor was it likely to reach the proportions of despairing grief his mates would experience once his selfish finagling became known.
"Ai, Gandalf, just throw me back into that bloody river! Let me drown there!"
"Do not tempt me, fool of an elf!" rumbled the Istar's biting remonstrance. "I am not interested in your self-indulgent sorrowing, Erestor. Legolas could not survive your death, not even with my aid. That you can only visualise this tragedy in terms of your own debasement is hardly encouraging. Well let me just advise you bluntly: by my reckoning that Wood Elf you are sneering over far out weighs you in worth of character, grace, courage, and nobility! Gladly would I trade your life if doing so meant peace for Tirno!"
"Nay, I was not sneering! I do not mean to gloss over any of the harm this will cause him!"
"Then do not do so! Your thoughts are so easy to read."
"Truly? Then answer my fears, if you hear them so clearly! How do I honour the Wood Elf's claim against the union already enjoined with Orophin and Dambethnîn? Which of these elves must I hurt; tell me!" Erestor was up again, striding the length of the platform with noisy frustration sounding from the soles of his bare feet.
"Hah! None of this concerned you one whit prior to setting forth on this despicable escapade." The Istar rose and towered over the agitated elda in anger, bearing down and backing him to the sofa. "Do not try to prove yourself noble now by fretting over whom your actions will affect worst! Such efforts are quite wasted on me, old friend. The decisions belong to you, so it was in the beginning and thus it remains at the end of this tale. Reason cannot help you, fortitude and duty are meaningless; it is within your spirit that the solution lies. If you dare not look into your own heart, then Legolas is better off without you, even if that outcome delivers him to Mandos."
With that he shoved Erestor in the chest and sent him sprawling onto the decorative settee so hard the furniture scooted back nearly into the curtained walls. A final snorting growl later, Gandalf stormed into to the kitchen just to have an excuse to get away from the Noldo. He returned with a small pitcher of water and plunked it down on the table, sparing another harsh glance in the advisor's direction before casting his lengthy frame into a side chair.
"I agree with you; it would be far better had Legolas never met me." Erestor spoke quietly as he shifted more upright on the love-seat. "If I plead for death it is cowardice; I do not deny it. How can I face the consequences of my deeds, for they will fall not upon me but those closest to my heart, and on one my heart seems to know while I do not. Mithrandir, I have never purposefully acted with dishonourable intent before and I am having difficulty adjusting to this side of my personality."
"Oh, I am so very sorry over your distress!" snapped Gandalf.
The Maia's scowl did not diminish but he did pass the Noldo a serving of the amber alcohol. He knew he was being rather hard on the seneschal, for plainly Erestor was honestly flummoxed by the reality into which he had awakened. Gandalf realised much of his anger was more about his unrequited desire for Legolas' affections than the seneschal's reactions; Erestor's sins were a convenient outlet through which to vent the volatile emotion. The wizard cleared his throat and gathered his dignity about him, for berating the Noldo would ultimately be injurious to the archer if it prevented the advisor from facing his choices.
"Not all of it has been disgraceful, Erestor. Take heed of what your feä informs you over the rationalising which your mind supplies. Just now, did you sense something?" Gandalf sent his rival a strained smile that yet held within its folds a disapproving frown, which in turn served to mask the underlying pain piercing the Istar's encumbered heart.
"Aye, at least I think so." Erestor's hesitant answer followed. He knew not what to make of the wizard's unusual demeanour. Never have I seen him this way; he mourns one moment and is consumed by fury the next. "I remembered this glen as it was before, all weedy and wild. I was with someone and he was suffering greatly; I feel that I wished to comfort him. Nay, more than that. I wanted to heal a wound I had caused him. That elf is Legolas, I assume."
"Yes. You did not inflict the injury although your words revealed it to his consciousness." the Maia was hopeful but reserved his judgement. Erestor's feä had not yet spoken and this was troubling.
"Well, that is a small grace, I suppose," the seneschal mumbled dejectedly. "Better a slight by accident than malice by intent."
Mithrandir sighed and reached to the low table beside the couch where his pipe and pouch of Shire-leaf rested. Since the frantic escape from Orcs down the rapids, his pleasingly relaxing habit had become an intolerable disappointment, for he had been unable to restore the water-logged herb to its rightful consistency. With abrupt impatience he filled the cone shaped bowl and lit the pungent plant with a twig of kindling from the grate. He puffed determinedly, blowing gusts of acrid vapours into great clouds about his face until the shreds of leaf were bright orange nearly to the bottom of the pipe and he was satisfied the tiny fire would not fizzle away. He leaned back and drew in the heady smoke, letting the fumes ease his trepidation. Another protracted exhale sent a curling stream of grey from his nostrils.
"I am pleased to hear of this memory. If you recall that, then more recent events should be returned to your mind as well."
After this, a perturbed and morbid silence filled the talan, broken only by the creaking of the trees and the cracking combustion in the brazier. Minutes passed and the Istar would only smoke while the Noldo discretely fanned the fog away from him, fearing to speak and rouse the wizard's temper anew. Yet all the while, the sense of foreboding Erestor had been plagued with since awakening grew stronger. At last he could bear no more and sprang from his seat.
"Mithrandir, what is amiss? Speak plainly to me; is there something wrong? Do you know what is happening to Legolas now?"
"Nay, old friend, he has shut me completely out, ever since the initial close of the Council several days ago." he coughed a bit around this lie to cover its bald tones of deceit. He could barely admit his voyeurism to himself and certainly would never do so to Erestor of Imladris. Yet only to that very elf, one determined to heal centuries of accumulated harm, one that had worshipped Legolas' scars and wounds in his desire to free the fallen prince's fettered feä, only to that lover would the Maia relinquish his heart's sole claimant. And this Noldo is not he; at least not yet. "What is it you fear?"
"I do not know. I am cold as I have not been since the fall of Gondolin. I yearn for my family as though I lost them but yesterday. I feel I am needed by my…by Legolas and that I should go to him rather than sit here and wait for fell news."
"Nay, it would not be wise to intervene; this much my foreknowledge counsels. The King intends to remove the sentence, thus if Legolas does not interfere he will be outcast no more. The situation must be decided between Thranduil and his first-born." Gandalf noted, but did not acknowledge, the seneschal's hasty, mid-sentence vocal side step.
"You say this as if you do not believe Legolas is willing to mend the rift."
"Aye. Have you marked how the trees all about the city are not slumbering in hibernation anymore? Their discordant worrying is low and indecipherable to any save Legolas and perhaps some others among the Wood Elves. Nonetheless, I comprehend the gist of it. Legolas is too intractable for his own well being. He has fixated on the notion that you are lost to him. The Greenwood fears their Tawarwaith may do something rash."
"Those are but reasons for me to be at his side! Mithrandir, I insist you lead me to the Council Chamber immediately!" Erestor hurried to the trap door, shut against the drop in temperature, and pulled it open. He had indeed noticed the creaking moans of the nearly naked limbs and their plaintive scraping in the absence of rain or wind added to the eerie impression of suspended doom. The Istar's morose mood did nothing to ease his apprehension.
"Sit down, Erestor!" commanded the wizard. "We are not going to the stronghold; Aragorn will bring news soon enough. Your presence would only incite Legolas to hasten his ruin. Can you not understand that he loves you and will not abide life without you by his side? If you arrive and cannot even pick him from the crowd, how shall that comfort his harried mental state?"
"He loves me." Erestor let the panel drop shut again, stunned. The Maia's words held the finality of truth and the timbre of his voice bore testimony to the germ of despair hidden in the beauty of the full-blown blossom of the glorious terms. Legolas loved him.
Through all their converse on the subject of the impromptu bonding, Erestor had somehow been disengaged from any empathetic emotion such a concept might stir. Instead he had considered the problem from the standpoint of the right and wrong of his actions and how to minimise the effects his errors would produce. Now his long held desire and unspoken prayer were granted at last: there was one heart in Arda that sought only his. And he could do nothing less than cherish such a gift.
Mithrandir's words served to break the numbing barrier of shock and the remnant fog of disorientation. That brilliant glimmering joy glanced out from his soul again and teased across his brain; he did love the disgraced archer. The seneschal swallowed, confused by the combination of exhilaration and ripping distress coursing through every nerve. In the silence following the brash bang of the wooden door he crept back to his seat. It was nearly three full minutes before he could come up with any coherent thoughts for he was overwhelmed with guilt and giddy longing, sensations he had never experienced paired before.
"Ai, Mithrandir! If he is lost, it is my fault. If he is lost, then so am I." No sooner had the Noldo voiced this dread than a sharp spasm speared his body. He doubled over, for the intensity of the pain was so severe it felt he had been skewered with a sword. Erestor cried aloud and gasped for air.
"Elbereth! Nay, Erestor, be strong; that fate has not occurred!" Gandalf was at his side in an instant, helping him up and guiding him to the sofa. He tried to make the advisor comfortable and pressed him to drink another sip of the potent golden wine. "Valar, I should not have spoken of this; though I wished for the proof I would not have it given in so gruesome a form."
Erestor gasped to recover his breath, too fraught with the misery of his first taste of grieving sickness to heed what was said.
"Listen to me, you are not going to lose him, Erestor," Mithrandir spoke with the authority of Manwë's emissary and again tried to force the drink past the Noldo's lips. "The trees have stopped. Do you hear me? The forest is at peace. Surely this would not be so if Legolas was in Námo's custody."
The seneschal faintly heard the Maia speaking but could not concentrate on the syllables long enough to derive their meaning. He wailed anew and shuddered, then all at once the tearing agony freed him and he fell limp against the padded armrest and cushioned seats. A tingling friction disturbed the fine hairs on the nape of his neck and a return of the inner vision of Tawar engulfed him. There was no sound and the image was faint, but it seemed that Legolas was with three elven warriors and was not in danger any longer.
He knew at once which one was Legolas and his heart resumed a skittish pace to behold the fair face that had evaded memory before. Straining to gather details proved futile for the vantage presented was not close enough to note more than uncommon beauty with a strong resemblance to Ningloriel. This distance induced lack of perspective in itself was indication that the sense of recognition originated within his feä and not his thoughts. There was no attempt to assess the facial bone structure, no need to judge the visage against a previous sighting; he simply knew.And this is no recollection; much the same sensation I have known before. It is a gift of the trees. This tableau is happening now. Erestor smiled brightly, not only because he remembered enough of his days amid the wilds to make this comparison, but also at the scene unfolding.
The warriors, two tall Sindar and one silvan, stood before the Tawarwaith, all of them grouped in the very heart of a tremendous old beech tree. One of the Grey Elves reached out to the lowly Wood Elf in both reverence and filial pride as the remaining pair looked on in joy. The trio of soldiers radiated an intense aura of peace, gratitude, and respect for Greenwood's defender. With a sudden burst of shocked surprise, Erestor recognised Oropher's older sons and experienced their delight in claiming the Tawarwaith as nephew. The vision did not last, dissolving faster than mist in sunlight, but it was enough to allay the Noldo's anxiety while advancing his shuddery pining.
"Eru is gracious!" Mithrandir exhaled a grateful prayer and resumed his place in the armchair, momentarily burying his aged features within his gnarled bony hands. "I do not want to have to tell Legolas about this episode and as long as there is no recurrence I see no reason for him to learn of it, agreed?" he asked in solemn tones.
"Agreed," whispered the advisor. "What was that?"
"A taste of what Legolas has been suffering through for quite a long while now. That is the pain of fading. When Aragorn returns, he will prescribe something to help you sleep and ease the remnant aching."
"Help me to sleep!" Erestor repeated in mock horror and gave the wizard a shaky smile. "I saw him; he is not in any danger. He was with three others; Oropher's two elder sons but I have no idea who the other one is. The link is gone again; he must be near exhaustion."
Mithrandir understood the referral was to Legolas and could say nothing to this, his thoughts troubled by resentment over Tawar denying him the vision. He rose and stepped over to the very edge of the talan much as the advisor had done before and moved aside the tight fabric barrier to stare out into the declining light. He hoped the Man would return soon and bring the healer for he was weary of the Noldo's plight and wished to find a place of solitude to tend his own grief.
So deep in his own ruminations was he that the wizard could not tell how much time had passed as the autumn twilight deepened. He came back to awareness abruptly, uncertain what noise or commotion had startled him, and turned to find the seneschal dozing peacefully. When his sight resumed inspection of the glade, he beheld Aragorn and Fearfaron hastening through the outer ring of beeches, laughing and laden, their arms over-flowing with baskets. Mithrandir opened the trap and let down the rope, aiding their mirthful ascent in quiet resignation.
"Ai, Gandalf!" exclaimed Aragorn upon seeing the Maia's serious expression. "What has happened? Is Erestor well?" The Man did not await the reply, however and hurried into the sitting room, alarmed to see the seneschal stretched out on the settee.
"He has suffered an attack of the grieving sickness," the Istar intoned, helping the carpenter unpack the containers. "However, it relented quickly and he reported having both a memory of being with Legolas in this clearing before its redemption and a vision from Tawar of Legolas and his deceased uncles. This last I found rather disturbing, but Erestor did not seem bothered by it at all."
The vessels of woven river reed were filled with numerous sweet delights from the King's kitchens, along with two bottles of the finest wine from the monarch's cellars, an assortment of nuts and dried fruit for snacking, and Erestor's pack, with his change of clothes cleaned and repaired, from the stronghold. It was clear the two expected the seneschal to be remaining in the talan overnight. Naturally he will dwell with Legolas whilst he remains in Greenwood. Mithrandir could not suppress his bitter frown.
"Valar!" exclaimed the carpenter as he peered at the insensible form draped over the much too short couch. "Those events truly happened! I was there; the unhoused feär confined to Thranduil's vaults were indeed his brothers, the third was a silvan archer long dead from the time of Oropher's arrival. Legolas managed to free them from the King's binding spell. Will Erestor be all right?"
"He merely rests; this is not from the enchantment," said Aragorn. The mortal's quick inspection reassured him of the Noldo's viability. "The advisor's sleep is a healthy one that will restore his strength."
"But for how long will it last? Legolas will be here ere much more time passes," complained Fearfaron. "I would speak with Erestor before that meeting takes place."
"Peace, it is unnecessary," spoke the wizard. "His soul seek for Legolas; he has made his choice. The Wood Elf will not lose him."
"As you say, yet there are things this elf has forgot that need to be revealed. Legolas still fears for his fate and that of the Galadhrim; the issue was never addressed by Erestor. Will you not wake him, Aragorn? It is imperative I instruct him before Legolas arrives," insisted the carpenter.
The mortal had no need to comply, however, because the seneschal woke of his own volition as the new voices reached his consciousness. He blinked and found his vision focused on an elf he could not recall ever meeting. Not comfortable appearing in so vulnerable a state before strangers of an almost hostile race, he sat up rather quickly. A flicker of his eyes to the right aligned them with Aragorn's and the Man sent a reassuring smile.
"Allow me to make the introductions. Erestor of Imladris, may I present Fearfaron of the Woodland Realm. This is Legolas' foster-father, old friend, and might as well be the silvan's kin by blood so strong is their mutual attachment."
Somehow those words were not nearly as comforting as the human's genial countenance implied and Erestor's tongue cleaved to his palate as he rose and politely bowed.
"Mae Govannen," he said formally and passed a careful inspection over the carpenter once he righted himself. The fact that his action was being mirrored by the Wood Elf was not exactly consoling.
"Suilad. So, you remember nothing? I am completely strange to you?" he demanded calmly and folded his arms before his chest.
"I regret that your words are true ones. I do not know your face."
"Yet he has had a strong recollection of Legolas and I have already told you he has made his decision," Mithrandir remarked irritably. "Bah! I will leave the three of you to sort this out! I must speak with Aiwendil regarding the upcoming negotiations between Imladris and Mirkwood." The wizard took two huge steps, forcing Aragorn to step out of the way in a hurry, snatched up his tobacco pouch and pipe, and climbed out through the trap door without further comment.
A short silence commenced as the trio considered how to begin and then Fearfaron took the initiative.
"Aragorn, you may go as well, for what I need to say is best kept between myself and my son's heart-mate," Fearfaron transferred his gaze to the Man, a look too intense to permit the meagre heat of the mortal's inquiring stare to kindle into wrath over the dismissal.
"Aye, I have no need of a protector, Estel," grumbled Erestor, flustered to be coddled so by someone whose instruction he had overseen from childhood.
"Fine, if my devotion means so little, I will leave you in the carpenter's care. Try not to miss-speak too much, old friend," he taunted lightly and, having been excused by both his elders, gave a curt nod to Fearfaron and followed Mithrandir's example out of the talan and back to the stronghold.
The two elves eyed one another warily, then simultaneously invited the other to sit, both feeling ownership over the setting in completely opposing congruity. In equally awkward harmony, both acquiesced to the invitation and gingerly seated themselves on opposite sides of the little sofa table, Erestor on the settee and Fearfaron in the armchair. The carpenter exhaled a characteristically morose breath.
"I was not pleased to find that Legolas held you so highly, at first," he began. "Until I saw him, until I held him in my arms weeping, his soul too full with joy to retain the emotion. I never saw him happy before that moment. I would see him thus again, for it was too brief and the bitterness of his grief returned with a determined finality."
"Fearfaron, I assure you that it is not my desire to …"
"Peace! I am your elder, if only by a century or two. Thus, though you are counted a noble by the reckoning of your kin and my better, I will say what is in my heart, uninterrupted." The carpenter shut his taut lips and held them in a wordless frown just a few seconds to ensure his guest was inclined to obedience. Another sigh escaped him then. "One son I have lost, a daughter was stolen away before i could even look into her new-born eyes, and my wife-mate awaits me in Aman whence her sorrows drove her, alone until the day I am free to sail. I will not allow another that I love to be parted from me.
"Legolas is my ion-edwen [second son], given to me upon the loss of Annaldír, his friend and companion in arms, my first-born, killed at the Battle of Erebor. My desperate need was matched by Legolas' and now we could no more allow one another to come to harm than if I had generated his existence of my own seed and soul. Do you understand this? I am Legolas' father by the will of Eru and there is only one other that might have as strong a claim upon the substance of his feä. That is Mithrandir, and while you have satisfied his standards, mine you have yet to even guess." The carpenter paused and the seconds sped past until he was forced to give the slightest lift to his brows as indication that the Noldo was expected to answer.
"I hear you. Your devotion to the archer I can both see and feel. I do not challenge the right to satisfy such concerns over your second son's future." Erestor restated the silvan's speech succinctly and was pleased to see the quick nod and the ephemeral smile that drifted through the carpenter's eyes.
"That is well said. Now, let me enlighten you further, for we have talked before and much you revealed then. We spoke of the formal tokens of so deep a bond that is easily discernible within your wary stare. I have brought the ring I spoke of then." So saying Fearfaron reached into the pocket of his tunic and retrieved the small gold band, placing it on the low table between them. He sat back and observed closely the seneschal's reactions.
"Ai Elbereth! This is an unexpected…gift!" Erestor stuttered in alarm. "Sir, I do not recall any of this and can hardly pledge myself so openly to a vow I have no memory of making!"
"Ah! Of course not, foolish Noldo! Nor would I desire you to offer such a sign if your heart was not behind it. This you will put in a safe place, hidden, known to you alone. When the time has come, you will put that ring on my son's hand."
"Fearfaron, I know not if I can fulfil this demand. What if i do not recover my memories fully? How can I commit my feä under such conditions?"
"Mithrandir said you have suffered the first taste of fading, is that not proof enough for you? You belong to Legolas, whether your memories admit to it or not, and the Tawarwaith is coming here to claim you, quite soon." The carpenter was actually chuckling over the state of his son-in-law, who sat rigid, fighting the urge to fidget, opening and closing his lips beneath round and glassy eyes, much like any trout hooked and hauled from the river.
"What? How near is his return? But nay, I have not even had opportunity to see his face or hear his words. Claim me? I would hope to woo my heart's desire, not be pounced upon by someone I have never even met!" Yet the idea clearly was not as repugnant as the advisor from Imladris attempted to present. A subtle, sly, distinctly lecherous caste washed through his glittering black eyes.
"Oh you have already done your wooing," Fearfaron's tone was decidedly on the smarmy spectrum of the vocal scale. "Right out in public on the busiest section of the Wood Elves' city."
"What?"
"Hands everywhere, according to the gossips, mouth sealed so tight around his it is a wonder the pair of you did not expire there in the autumn leaves!"
"I, nay, I groped him in front of…of…"
"…half the population of Greenwood. Aye, you did, and Legolas loved every bit of it; rest assured the desire was mutual."
"I do not know what to say to that; there are no memories of it in my mind. I have never been so forward, so indiscreet."
"Nonetheless, you wooed my son most determinedly," intoned the carpenter, "and successfully."
"Eru's Arse, how did I end up in this situation?" The exasperated Noldo got up and retraced his nervous path around the room's perimeter. Yet the carpenter's words had ignited agitation of a different sort, for he was eager now to have his mind restored and hungry to know the elf that had won his heart. It was a cruel joke for the Valar to finally grant him his deepest, most guarded hope only to remove all memory of its realisation.
"You must trust me when I tell you that you were most pleased to be in these circumstances mere hours ago," said Fearfaron quietly, noting the advisor's real distress. "Erestor, for my part I understand how it is that you have never been in a similar predicament before, for you revealed to me all of your past, including the nature of your flight from Gondolin and how that related to your attachment to the Galadhrim."
"Explain what you mean by these words." Erestor whispered, frozen in an instant betwixt the trap door and the ottoman, pale in shocked horror, for of course he had no recollection of this previous interaction with the kindly craftsman.
"You never formalised your association with Orophin and Dambethnîn. There is no ring upon your finger because they do not hold your heart. At least, not all of it or even most of it. This is not something you have ever explained, perhaps not even to yourself, but it is something you must rediscover. Orophin and you share a similar tragedy, both losing loved ones in a terrible way, both blaming yourselves for failing to save them. This was the reason the two of you connected and Dambethnîn consented, for she hoped to have her mate healed at last.
"I know this did not happen through your bond with the couple, not for you at least. But I ask you to examine your inner heart now and see if you find that ancient wound still there." Fearfaron paused and watched the light of amazement flow over the seneschal's features even as he could only continue to stare in mute disbelief. "Aye; it was healed through your union with the wild archer. You must relate the history of this truth to Legolas, for he fears he is responsible for whatever may become of the love you share with the Galadhrim. Already he blames himself for hurts they do not yet feel."
The Noldo could only gawk in silent wonderment, thoughts reeling from this abrupt summation of his soul's hidden fears and festering anguish. He shook his head, dumbfounded and perplexed, for the revelation was too unexpected, too jarring. He had prepared to hear the carpenter expound on the proper way to treat his foster-son, not divulge the secrets of his long lost youth.
"Whatever else occurs this night, you must set Legolas' mind at ease on this point." Fearfaron continued. "Much hurt did you cause him; do not imagine that your failure to remember this will permit the injuries to be ignored or forgotten. They are, however, excused, for you have secured real healing for Legolas. All I ask is that you refrain from inflicting any new wounds in place of the old ones. He has many scars and I would beg you to be mindful of them. Grant him joy, Erestor, for he has earned it when such is truly the right of all Iluvatar's children."
The vehemence in the Wood Elf's speech was simultaneously touching and as formidable as a drawn blade held to his throat. Erestor sat tall and met the carpenter's penetrating gaze of melded entreaty and threat, deeply wishing he had not acted so callously toward Legolas. Before he had warred with himself, on the one hand hoping to recall everything that had happened while on the other dreading to learn the details of his low deeds. Aragorn and the wizard had sketched the outline of the evolving relationship, hurrying past the darker parts in hopes of stirring the seneschal's mind on the path toward his recently acquired love for their mutual friend. Erestor realised he must face it all, the black-hearted stabs as well as the unintentional jabs at the vulnerable Wood Elf's soul, if he would truly appreciate the gift of love the fallen prince had offered. And I accepted.
"If it is in my power to do it, I shall see him happy and fulfilled the rest of eternity," Erestor repeated his vow without even realising it and continued. "Yet I must know how dark was my role in his breaking. Please, tell me what I did to Legolas." Erestor gasped ere he finished speaking, for another vivid image flashed through his mind.
A bright morning and a singing brook and there a fair elf spread before him on a mossy bank, golden hair all wet and strewn wild about him on the grass, skin flushed and beaded with water and sweat, eyes squeezed tight, lost in ecstasy, softly moaning his ardent pleasure. 'Ah, Eru!' Then a low cry of decadent prurience and the blue eyes opened to sear the seneschal's in a gaze of such overpowering lust that it was impossible to control his urge to pound against the supple, willing arse in which his cock was buried. 'Aye! Oh, Berenaur. Fuck me deep…strong. Please! Fill me…need you, more!' The pleading words escaped between heaving breaths and delectable wails of longing as Legolas begged to be ravaged and plundered.
Erestor ran his hands over the smooth tight buttocks, turned to lick the inside of the calf draped across his shoulder, grabbed up the archer's full cock in his hand. He pumped it with fervour, not even caring to match the strokes with his increasingly virile thrusts; all he wanted was to come inside this unbelievably tight arse while the golden elf writhed under him. Too soon the hard hot column of rosy flesh was spurting a silver fountain as he rammed the constricting anus repeatedly. Sinking his shaft deeper with every thrust, Erestor roared out his mastery, spilling inside the quivering body, relishing the wantonly brutal intimacy, stunned by the power of his orgasm, waves of delicious euphoria drowning him.
It was but a few seconds of time, but the seneschal found he had broken into a cold sweat and was panting for air. He had to sit down and could not wonder at the rapidly rising erection filling his leggings, so intense had the imagery been.
"Ai, Valar!" he whispered. Yet he was more terrified than ever and he suddenly did not wish to see anymore of the past, for his mind already knew what came next in the sequence even if the specifics were missing. "Oh, no. I cannot endure this," Erestor hid his face in his hands. "He calls me by my mother-name."
"Aye, he does. He cannot speak the name Erestor, for that is the one Elrond took for this cruel game," Fearfaron's tone was mildly scathing. "You will bear whatever you must for Legolas' sake, Erestor of Gondolin."
"Nay, no more recriminations," pleaded Erestor. "I need to see him. I must make amends. There is something wrong; why is he not here yet?"
"Be calm; he is not in harm's way now. The worst is behind him if you will but co-operate with your feä and join with him anew. Do not fret over the less noble images, Erestor, for even those turned to your favour before the trial ended. Legolas understands exactly when you ceased playing your Lord's game and does not hold anything against you. Do not allow my concerns to overshadow the genuine forgiveness he bestowed, long before you professed love to him."
Erestor could only nod, head still gripped between his clutching hands, as earlier events replayed for his elucidation, and he was forced to witness the debasement he and Elrond had visited upon the unsuspecting outcast. Silent tears began flowing as he watched the Lord of Imladris shift the coveted prize to his advisor, no longer interested after taking what he had so plotted and planned to have.
And seeing the Noldo's agitated state, Fearfaron judged he had pushed too far. He rose and gathered the small bottle of rejuvenating cordial from the pantry and pressed it into his son-in-law's hand, prying the clutching fingers from entanglement in the midnight tresses. He did not return to his seat until the seneschal drank.
"Let the past remain in its place, Erestor. Legolas will not be bringing it with him and would be loathe to find it here when he arrives. These are things he has already laid to rest; he looks for no accounting from you. Do you hear these words?" he asked gently. Now Fearfaron wished he had stayed longer with Legolas in order to explain how the seneschal might behave as the memories returned.
"I hear you," mumbled Erestor, straightening up and struggling to gather his composure. He wondered if the carpenter understood all the details of his adopted child's treatment at the hands of the Imladrians and flushed in abject shame, unable to meet the Wood Elf's eyes. "I will try to be…normal for him. It would spoil things terribly if the Tawarwaith found this morose and guilt-ridden wreck awaiting him in the cosy talan."
"A! No need to put it so strongly as that. A little regret and remorse is acceptable, just do not become immersed in it. Instead, let it guide you to act as best fits Legolas' well-being." Fearfaron smiled kindly and stood, reaching over to clasp the seneschal's shoulder firmly in a show of support and confidence. "Just behave as you normally do when you find yourself alone with an attractive and willing partner. The rest will come about of its own accord."
These words brought the Noldo's head up sharply and he could not hide his astonishment. How could this elf ever trust him to handle his son with respect and love? Erestor found he had no words with which to comment on the boldly suggestive remark.
"However, Legolas was injured earlier today and mayhap a slower, gentler…"
"He is hurt?" Erestor shot up from the settee in alarm. "How badly? What happened to him?"
"Be at ease, he will recover just fine according to the healer. He and Thranduil rather had a quarrel that involved knives and keys and Legolas was stabbed in the shoulder."
"Thranduil! What madness is this? I should throttle him for such baseness!"
"Aye, madness indeed, but not on the King's part. Legolas was far beyond rational action and thought this morning, seeking death quite blatantly where before he has been subtle, hiding the quest even from his own mind. He made the first attack and Thranduil reacted."
"You are defending that tyrant? I cannot believe it. I cannot believe the woodland folk would stand by and do nothing!"
"Nothing does not describe the ensuing melee very well!" snorted Fearfaron. "Sit down, Erestor, and I will tell you the tale."
As the Noldo resumed his place, Fearfaron recounted the events that had marked the morning's Council session as one of the most bitterly controversial gatherings in all of Greenwood's history.
TBC