The Long Journey Home

Title: The Long Journey Home
Author: silmfan (trueself101@yahoo.com)
Beta reader: this chapter is unbetaed (oh, the horror)
Rating: PG so far
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Warning: m/m slash
Setting: Near the beginning of the Third Age, before the War of the Ring and when Elrond’s sons are still young elflings. Slightly AU (?)
Disclaimer: Obviously, these Elves do not belong to me.
Notes: There’s no absolute certainty that I will complete this…it looks like it might turn out to be a long series. It depends on how much time I have (which is not a lot to begin with). I also have a tendency to leave stories unfinished when my imagination well runs dry. But, here goes.

My thanks to those that read and reviewed.
Again, feedback is appreciated.

(The character-development muse hit me this time.)

Chapter 6: The Victim


Having to finish up an extensive translation from ancient Quenya text to modern Sindarin, Erestor emerged from his study on the second floor of the library about a half hour late. Deciding to take the longer route downstairs by way of the lengthy balcony, the advisor looked up to see an emerging full moon. He had nearly forgotten how beautiful it was.

As Erestor’s eyes scanned Imladris’s grounds, cold yet ethereal in the moon’s silver light, a flicker of red and gold caught his attention. A split second later, a faint but discernable scream of anguish broke the valley’s peace. Fire! The advisor stiffened and in a flash, he tore off his outer office robe and leapt over the railing, trusting in his Elvish agility to prevent any bodily injuries. Landing with a soft thud, Erestor sprang up and ran as fast as he could toward the glow and smell of smoke.

Fleet-footed, fast enough to rival a young deer, Erestor reached the fire in time to see part of the blackened roof of the first smithy collapse. Panting shallowly, the advisor looked frantically around for the Elf who screamed. Seeing no one, Erestor did not bother to think twice and plunged into the burning edifice.

Erestor shielded his nose and mouth from the black clouds of smoke and ash with his sleeve and kept his eyes focused on finding a body, relying on instinct alone to dodge the collapsing beams and voracious flames. Reaching the back room, the part of the smithy that was suffering the most damage, Erestor fought the urge to turn back, and ducked under swinging ropes burned halfway through. And he found what he was looking for.

A young boy, trapped under fallen beams and melted, blackened rubble, was sobbing in pain, coughing violently as he inhaled thick smoke. Erestor bent down and pushed away the hot debris, red burn marks marring his white hands. Hooking his arms underneath the boy’s, the advisor managed with sheer force and determination to pull him from the igniting pile. He then lifted and carried him tightly.

Erestor was near the entrance when a rope holding up a tray of hammers broke, forcing the advisor to slam back into a wall. The dark-haired Elf gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, when he felt greedy flames licking through the back of his thin tunic. Tearing himself away from the wall, Erestor clasped the whimpering boy closer to his chest and all but threw himself out of the smithy…or what was left of it.

Erestor laid the young Elf down gently, breathing rapidly to try and force oxygen down his dry, ash-filled throat. It was then that the advisor kneeled down and took a good look at the fire’s victim. The boy had a thin body, thick chestnut hair, and looked no older than twenty-five years old. But it was not these that caused Erestor to sigh mournfully. The advisor closed his eyes and ran his hand in feather-light touches over the child’s own eyes…or where they once glowed with life.

The Elf was blinded for life.

‘How could Eru allow this to happen? Why? He is but a child…’ Erestor covered the boy’s trembling hands with his own. The young Elf was still in a state of shock and needed to be taken to the Healing Houses quickly. Hoisting the child back up in his arms, Erestor frowned as Elves came running with pails of water and blankets. Those would not be enough for such a fire.

Snapping his head aside, Erestor recognized Elrond, fear clearly apparent in the Lord’s eyes.

“Erestor! I came too late! What happened here? Are you all right?”

Erestor simply nodded and shifted the boy in his arms, inclining his head in the direction of the second Healing House.

“I will take the child hither. The smithy needs your attention right now.”

Elrond’s eyes widened then closed in both concern and guilt. He fingered Vilya and repeated himself softly.

“I came too late…”

Without another word, the Lord of Imladris ran toward the mass of Elves desperately flinging water wherever fire spread to. Erestor saw a flash of blue light as he hurried up the short flight of stairs that led to the glade of herbal plants in front of the Healing House. The advisor knew then that Vilya had done its job. The flames were gone and all that remained were thin streams of smoke spiraling up into the sky.

Erestor carried the child to the closest vacant room and set him down gently. Healers, who were watching the fire anxiously from the Healing House windows hurried to the room. Audible gasps and sighs accompanied a few tears and shakings of heads. Erestor stopped the process of removing the remnants of the boy’s clothes from his body and turned around, dark eyes coldly acknowledging the healers.

“I will have to ask all of you to leave. I must deal with this alone.”

Cries of protests resounded across the room.

“Master Erestor, you are hurt-”

“You cannot do this alone-”

Erestor’s lips thinned as he repeated his words with restrained frustration.

“I –must- deal with this alone. Someone has to inform Lord Elrond and the child’s parents.”

The murmurs of dissent among the healers died down as they took in Erestor’s words and nearly flinched from his stony, authoritative countenance. A healer spoke up hesitantly.

“Who…is the child?”

Erestor cast his gaze back on the boy, studying his face for some time.

“Ecthelion.”

‘A strange fate for one who bears his name…’ Erestor thought, casting a sharp glance at the huddled group of healers. They dispersed silently, most to resume caring for other patients or whatever task they had to do. Others, to inform Elrond and the parents of Ecthelion.

Erestor gently stripped the boy of the rest of his tattered clothing and bathed a white cloth in cold water. Firmly holding down the trembling child, he began to cool the burns. Ecthelion let out pained gasps and dry sobs, feebly attempting to knock away Erestor’s hand.

“It hurts! It hurts! Please, stop…”

Erestor stopped washing the child’s body and gripped Ecthelion’s shoulders.

“You are burned badly and I need you to calm down so that you may get better.”

Ecthelion ght ght he recognized his teacher’s voice…but bit his lip and tried to suppress the whimpers that kept rising in his throat. At last, Erestor was done and the cloth that was once white stained the cold water black and red. The advisor draped a thin linen sheet over the lower half of Ecthelion’s body.

“Now, do not move. I need to get herbs for you.”

The dark-haired Elf flitted quickly from shelf to shelf, grabbing what was needed, and returned quickly back to the boy’s side. Ecthelion was lying still, save for a few shudders now and them, afraid of what was happening to him.

“Master Erestor…”

Ecthelion coughed a little as he reached out blindly for Erestor’s hand. Erestor stilled his preparations and placed his hand in his, unmindful of the sudden, desperate, iron grip.

“Why…why is it so dark?”

Erestor knew this question would have surfaced sooner or later. And he knew what was going to happen.

“Ecthelion…”

The advisor began calmly, adopting the calm, detached tone of which his pupils were used to hearing. Ecthelion weakly tried to sit up.

“Master Erestor? Is it you? I can’t-”

Erestor stilled the boy’s voice by placing a thin finger on Ecthelion’s lips.

“It is I, Ecthelion. You need to know something.”

“I’m hurting all over…I’m sorry! It’s my fault, it’s all my fault…”

Ecthelion’s grip on Erestor tightened, if that was possible.

“No one is blaming you now, Ecthelion. But you need to know this: you are blinded for life.”

The child sank back into the bed in a state of shock, refusing to believe what he just heard.

“Ecthelion. I need you to accept this. It is not easy, but it must be done.”

Erestor’s stern voice seemed to bring Ecthelion back into awareness and reality.

“I…I cannot see…I cannot see!”

The child began crying out hysterically, flinging back the linen sheet and struggling to get away from Erestor, who now increased the firmness of his own grip on Ecthelion.

“Let me go! Leave me be! It’s not true!”

Ecthelion shrieked even louder when his fingers reached up to touch his damaged eyes.

“No! No! Valar help me! I want to die, I want to die! Let me go! I don’t want to live anymore!”

The advisor was not furious, but decided it was time to force maturity upon Ecthelion. He heaved the kicking Elfling towards him and delivered a sound, sharp slap to the boy’s cheek. It was at this moment that an ash-covered Glorfindel stumbled in, slightly startled to see Elrond and Ecthelion’s tearful parents already standing in the doorway. His blue eyes glittered angrily as he saw Erestor slap the child. Of all the-! He was about to march in there and separate the two when Elrond held up a hand. The Lord turned to look at the golden-haired Elf and shook his head.

“No. You must leave them alone.”

“Leave them alone? Erestor just abused a child, my Lord! How can I-?”

“Glorfindel. You will wait. And you will see.”

Elrond said firmly, his hand still raised to bar Glorfindel’s way. Puzzled, but still feeling angry, Glorfindel released a frustrated hiss and crossed his arms irritably.

The sting of the slap forced Ecthelion to cease his hysterics and still in a second phase of shock.

“Ecthelion! You will not end your life! Not when your family needs you and you them! You need to mature, you need to overcome this. What Elf are you to give up so easily? Do you realize how selfish you are in pitying yourself? What about your mother and father? Your little sister? Will you live for them? Will you be strong for them?”

Erestor’s harsh words found their way into Ecthelion’s heart. The child stiffened, wiping away his last sniffles with the back of his hand, and nodded slowly, resignedly. His voice came out in a low whisper.

“I will be strong…for them. Please…help me heal.”

Ecthelion clung onto Erestor’s tunic and breathed in and out deeply, forcing back the tears, trying to show his parents that he was a good son. Erestor took out a red cloth from his tunic pocket and bound it around Ecthelion’s head, mercifully hiding the boy’s damaged eyes from sight. The advisor’s rough-edged tone was gone and his tutor voice returned.

“I am glad to hear this, Ecthelion. You have made the right choice and I am proud of you.”

Ecthelion managed a smile. Erestor hardly ever praises any of his students.

As soon as Glorfindel heard the word “Ecthelion” from Erestor’s lips for the first time since his arrival, his mind shrouded in memory and he backed into the white walls of the Healing House hallway, leaning heavily against it.

‘Ecthelion of the Fountain…’

Erestor sighed, looking up with expressionless eyes. He rose to let his Lord and Ecthelion’s parents stay with the boy. As soon as he stepped out of the room, his eyes met Glorfindel’s. His frosty stare told the golden-haired Elf all he needed to know: ‘My ears have not missed your words. And I have not forgotten the past, either.’

It seemed, however, that Erestor was not looking for an apology as he turned sharply away towards the smithy, intending to survey the damage. The time for questioning Ecthelion as to how the fire started would come later. Glorfindel, though, was not one to brood over regretted words
“W
“Wait, Master Erestor.”

Glorfindel placed a hand on the retreating advisor’s shoulder. He saw Erestor visibly tense under his touch. Glorfindel opened his mouth, but then closed it, realizing that Erestor was injured. The dark tunic was mostly intact except for a few burned holes. However, the advisor’s back was sore, as the skin was burned and had started peeling since then. The Vanya’s voice was low and soft.

“You’re hurt.”

“I know that.”

Erestor irritably jerked forward to shrug off Glorfindeland.and. The golden-haired Elf retracted his hand, a grimace forming on his face, but continued with what he wanted to say.

“And I…want to apologize. For my rash words today.... And…my intrusion yesterday…during dinner. It was not my place to do so…”

“It is well that you realize your place, Master Glorfindel. Now, I have mine and I must go. Do not touch me again.”

With that, Erestor’s steps quickened and he strode hurriedly out of sight. Glorfindel’s lips parted in surprise, then thinned in annoyance.

‘He didn’t have the grace to accept my apology or even turn around to face me!’

Releasing a short burst of breath of frustration, Glorfindel began to walk ahead, eyes cast down in anger, when he realized there was a person in front of him with mud-stained black shoes. Glorfindel raised his eyes. Oh. It was Lord Elrond.

“Do not worry. I’ll make sure he heals properly. But you –did- break your promise. And you are yet new to him. He is not always like this…Give him time.”

Glorfindel nodded, eyes cast down again but in guilt, and bowed before turning to walk back to his room. What he wondered wearily was,

‘How much time?’