Songs of the Spirit

A/N: Thank you much, Laur!


Chapter Twelve

Erestor walked back towards the healing wing, holding his injured hand in such a way that he hoped it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that he had wounded it. His expression was once more unreadable as he walked, although inside he hardly felt as calm as he appeared.

I’ve lost him, came the incessant murmur in the back of his mind. I scared him, and he ran away.

He had felt his heart shatter upon seeing the fearful expression upon Lindir’s face; a fear which was directed solely upon him. The bard had looked like a wild creature caught in a trap, searching desperately for a way out.

I know of his past, and should have kept better rein on my emotions. He will never trust me again.

He looked down, twitching the injured fingers which caused sharp bursts of pain to shoot through his hand. It is no more than I deserve, he conceded, taking a perverse pleasure in the pain as he shifted his fingers again.

As he entered the healing quarters his gaze immediately traveled towards the bed which had held his father, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he noted that it was empty, the white linens already changed for new ones. He knew that it would be only wishful thinking to believe Caerdil had been taken from Imladris; the elf had most likely been moved to someplace more private. Only several humans and the single injured elf remained, and most appeared to be asleep.

He looked for Elrond, finally spotting the black haired half-elf in a dark alcove on the other side of the room, going through his stocks of herbs and tinctures. Elrond turned as Erestor approached, grey eyes surprised. He hadn’t expected to see his advisor anywhere near the healing wing, especially so soon. One eyebrow lifted in question as the elf came closer, noticing the slightly abashed, yet also pained look on his face. Then he glanced down and saw the way Erestor carefully held his hand. The fingers were swollen and the knuckles scraped in a way that told of some kind of fight.

“What did you do?” Elrond exclaimed, looking momentarily shocked. He knew his advisor well enough to know that such outward violence was generally not in his nature.

“I hit a wall.” Erestor sucked in a breath as the healer reached out to gently take his hand, carefully assessing the damage.

“You know, if you feel you must hit something, pillows are far kinder on the body than walls,” he stated wryly as his fingers prodded at the bones.

Erestor said nothing, merely giving his lord a look that spoke the obvious. Elrond sighed heavily. “Well, you now have two broken fingers for it. Are you satisfied?”

“A bit… not really.”

Elrond snorted slightly. “Would you like something for the pain then?”

“No,” was the whispered response.

Elrond just shook his head. “I will need to get something to bind these with.” He placed his hands on Erestor’s shoulders and moved him towards one of the empty beds. “Wait here. I will be back momentarily.”

Erestor sank down upon the bed with his hand cradled in his lap and watched as Elrond left the room. Sighing heavily, he resisted the urge to slump forwards. He didn’t know what he would do next, or how he could make things better between him and Lindir. It seemed everything was falling apart, and once again his father was at the center of it.

But it wasn’t my father this time, it was me.

The voice of reason was only welcome in its presence, but not in it’s words. However, he knew them to be the truth, and conceded to it.

What are my options, he considered, closing his eyes and lifting his chin slightly. He had two problems to deal with, and they could only be approached one at a time. To his mind the most important thing was Lindir. He could go find the bard, attempt to speak with him and apologize for scaring him. But would he be able to find the elf? Lindir had already intonated how he had made a habit of fleeing from difficult situations. So perhaps it would be best to wait for the bard to come to him first. Yet what if he never did? He knew that somehow he had to find Lindir and reassure him that he was in no danger of harm.

“You are Erestor, are you not?”

He spun around, the strange, soft voice catching him off guard. He suddenly realized that he was sitting on the bed next to the other injured elf that had been rescued from the orc attack. The elf had one arm wrapped closely to his body with his entire hand swathed in the white bandages. Numerous cuts and scratches covered his face and exposed flesh, and one eye was surrounded by a dark, swollen bruise. Erestor gave the auburn haired elf a questioning look; he didn’t recognize him as someone he had ever met before.

“Ah. I thought so.” The elf closed his eyes. “You look so much like your father.”

Erestor’s dark eyes immediately turned steely. “Who are you?”

“A close friend of Caerdil.” The elf replied, eyes opening once more to stare at the advisor. “My name is Duralmir.”

Erestor nodded once, then studiously tried to ignore the elf, turning his back on him while he waited for Elrond to return. Yet he could feel the pale green eyes boring into him. He really did not want to deal with this at the moment. His hand throbbed terribly, and now he found that the pain was not as comforting as it was when it started.

Finally he turned, unable to take the creeping feeling along the back of his neck any longer. It wasn’t something that would have normally bothered him, and it showed just how unsettled he felt that it did. “What is it?”

Duralmir shook his head, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Caerdil told me you dwelled here, although I never actually expected to meet you. He always spoke highly of you.”

Erestor gave him an incredulous look, and choked down the surge of alarm. “He knew I was here?”

“Oh yes. You are one of Lord Elrond’s personal advisors, are you not? He was quite proud when he discovered how far you had risen.”

“I am certain he was,” He was unable to keep the derision from his voice. It was bad enough to know that his father was alive, but to have also known of his whereabouts… To discover that he had been keeping some sort of watch on him over the years was more than upsetting. The child inside him cowered in fear over the thought that Caerdil could have come for him at any time, while the adult chided him for feeling that way. He was no youth, subject to the whims of others.

“He was right,” the elf said softly, easily reading the expressions flitting through the advisor’s dark eyes. “He said you would hate him. But he does not blame you for doing so.”

“Blame me?” Erestor shouted, desperately trying to keep his anger in check as Lindir’s fearful face flashed before him. “He does not blame me? What do you know of him?”

The elf shrugged, his own eyes momentarily secretive. “We lived in the same village for a long time, he being one of the few other elves who dwelled there. It wasn’t long before we shared each other’s confidences.”

Erestor sensed there was something more, but at that moment Elrond walked back in carrying two small splints and wrappings.

“Ah. I see you have met Duralmir,” he said with a smile, noting but ignoring Erestor’s disquieted look.

“Yes,” he responded. “We have spoken.” He held out his hand to the healer and let Elrond bind it, silently sucking in a breath as his fingers were moved to accommodate the splint.

“Did Lindir find you?” Elrond asked, and took the advisor’s suddenly bleak expression as an affirmative. “Then I suppose he witnessed your little bout of anger.”

“He ran from me,” Erestor whispered, uneasy about revealing this while this strange elf was present, yet feeling the need to confide in the Imladrin Lord anyhow.

Elrond could hear the despair within Erestor’s voice and sought to assuage it. “I doubt he would have gone far. Just give him some time; I believe he cares about you too much to leave, if that is what worries you.” He finished securing the bandage. “Now stay here and I will get something for the pain.”

Elrond walked away, leaving Erestor no chance to argue. He could only sigh heavily, and found himself glancing over to find Duralmir watching him again with a curious expression on his face.

“Yes?” He asked wearily.

The elf shook his head. “It is nothing. Although you should know; he knew he would never be forgiven which is why he stayed away.”

“Forgive him?” His look instantly changed from tired to incredulous. “He beat my mother and I almost daily, and then he tried to kill me! He hated us!”

“No, he did not hate you,” the injured elf countered, his wounded face never loosing its calm demeanor. “He hated himself. Unfortunately his anger and frustration over the situation he was in was taken out on both you and your mother. You were merely bystanders in his discontent.”

“And did he tell you this?” Erestor asked bitterly. However Caerdil had felt at the time, it still didn’t negate what he had done.

“Not in those words. I deduced much of it on my own. You see, Caerdil always felt as though he were living a lie.” Duralmir closed his eyes with a frown. “I don’t know how much you truly know about your father, but when Caerdil was young he discovered something about himself which shocked and scared him. He was not attracted to females, but to other males, and yet he had been taught by your grandfather that such leanings were considered a blasphemy to the will of the Valar.”

Erestor’s frown deepened. He had never heard of this, and had only met his grandfather once in his youth. Yet the cold, stern elder had surely left a mark in his mind, and he could recall fearing him almost as much as he did his father.

“Caerdil instead married your mother,” Duralmir continued. “He had hoped that such an action would negate such unwholesome feelings found within his spirit. Only attraction does not work that way.

“Your father began to feel constricted; confined to a role in which he did not belong. To make matters worse, his elder brother, Lunhathel, had already been cast out of his father’s house for such leanings, something which Caerdil had a hand in.” Duralmir shook his head sadly. “He told me later that he had planted the trap for his brother in which his father discovered Lunhathel and his lover together. There was a terrible row, and by the end Lunhathel had been disowned.”

“It sometimes happens that way.” Elrond spoke, quietly walking up with a mug in his hands. “They become so afraid of something in their personality, and so terrified of it being revealed, that they often work to condemn others for such failings.”

“I didn’t even know my father had any siblings,” Erestor murmured, carefully taking the mug from Elrond with his uninjured hand.

“He only had one brother.” Duralmir told him. “And when your father was exiled, it was Lunhathel who found him and cared for him.”

Erestor’s brow furrowed, thinking it strange that his uncle would help the elf who had condemned him, even if they were brothers. He took a sip of the tea, grimacing as he did so at the bitter taste.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Duralmir shrugged, then winced as some injury was jarred from the movement. “I felt you should know. You obviously hate your father, and he would never willingly come to you in respect of your wishes. His appearance here is purely accident.”

“It does not matter. So my father brutalized my mother and I because he preferred males.” Erestor said, his voice again sounding as bitter as the tea he drank. “I neglect to see the connection.”

“On the contrary,” Elrond’s voice took on a tone of interest, as though the master healer within had kicked on with full force. “It makes perfect sense. Duralmir said that he had felt as though he were constricted. He would have grown to think of his marriage as a lie; his entire family life as a cover to his inner self. In his mind his family life would have had to become perfect, beyond the scrutiny of other elves, and his own father in particular. It may have become an obsession to him, and in his struggle to perfection he became cruel. He may have felt any wrongdoing on yours or your mother’s part would be reflected on him; an unreasonable assumption perhaps, but such obsessions are rarely reasonable. In his own personal pain and struggle for denial, he may have even felt the need to have others hurting as well.”

“Indeed.” Duralmir said sadly. “I met him many years later, after his exile. He is not the same elf now that he once was, and holds terrible sorrow and regret over what happened.”

“We all thought he had died.” Erestor commented, hoping the elf would have the answer to this mystery as well. “They told me his body had been found upon the road.”

“Ah. That was Lunhathel’s doing. He found out the existence of you and your mother, and the details of what had occurred. He decided to plant a decoy of sorts; if you both thought Caerdil was dead, then it would perhaps be easier for you to get on with your lives. The body was of another elf of similar size and features from a village nearby which had unfortunately been ravaged by wild beasts.”

Erestor remained silent, trying to assimilate all this new information. He still hated his father for what he did, and for the choices he made, and he didn’t believe that would ever change. It was hard enough to believe he hadn’t always been cruel or that another elf would speak of him with such affection. There was also the fact that he himself preferred male elves over females, and had lived a very rough childhood, yet he wasn’t about to strike another, particularly a youngling, for it. Caerdil had made his decisions, and would indeed live with them for the rest of his life. It was the least Erestor could hope for.

“My lord,” Duralmir looked up at Elrond. “Please, may I sit with Caerdil? I feel the need to be close to him.”

Elrond nodded. “Certainly. There is another bed in the room in which he is currently staying. You may sleep there if you wish.”

“I thank you very much, my lord.” He bowed his head slightly, and with Elrond’s help he slowly rose from the bed.

“It was very nice to meet you, Master Erestor,” Duralmir said just before he turned to leave. “And forgive me, but I had overheard your earlier conversation. Do not worry. If this Lindir truly loves you, he will come back.”

“Thank you,” Erestor responded, and rose to watch the two elves slowly walk from the room. Elrond turned his head back just before they left, silently mouthing the word ‘pillows’ at his advisor. The gesture finally caused the elf to crack a smile as he held his splinted hand to his chest.


Review Responses:

Thalionwen: Thank you, and sorry so long for the update! Real life may have loosened its grip a bit on you, but for some reason it seems to have tightened its hold on me! *grin* But thankfully, no more classes until fall!

Jya: *pours some whiskey into the chocolate* Cheers! *grin*
Thank you so much, and I apologize for taking so long with the update. I feel really bad, but I had little choice; hopefully the rest of this story will come with smoother sailing! Your comments were very encouraging though, and I only hope I can continue to meet with your expectations!