Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Contention

Eönwë and Elrond get to know each other over the years.

 

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24. Contention

 

I was lonely in Lindon.

Most times, it was a relief. With Mairon, I had never needed to hide my identity or my past; now, pretending to be someone I was not was proving to be far harder than ever before.

On rare occasions, loneliness aggravated my melancholy to the point where I did not wish to leave my daydreaming; I would rather remain lost in reminiscence, however acutely Mairon’s loss hurt me, than to step back into a reality that chafed as sorely as iron chains.

Folk felt uneasy around me. At first they were fascinated by the tales of how Gil-galad’s hawk attacked me on the day I arrived, and of how my imprisonment had been ended by Elrond’s disturbing foresight. Their friendliness waned as soon as they met my polite refusal to speak about myself, which lent veracity to the rumours of a dubious past. Most of my fellow servants sneered at my reserve, naming it arrogance.

At Luinhir’s office, it was easier to join conversations about translations, language, or geography, staying away from matters I wished to avoid. As a result, I received several invitations to visit my fellow scribes’ houses or join them to go fishing, or hunting. I rarely did though. Even if I had not been banned from leaving the city, I wished to remain a stranger. My enforced stay in Lindon was temporary, and I was afraid of forging friendships that I might have to betray.

After the visit to Celebrimbor, I would have enjoyed more of his company, even if his favourite topics of conversation reminded me painfully of Mairon, but despite his claim that he was no lord, I felt it presumptuous to knock on his door uninvited.

Elrond seemed to be perpetually busy at court, or attending social events. The boldest gossips in our household chattered about his allegedly imminent betrothal to one of Gil-galad’s second cousins on his mother’s side. The lady in question, barely of age and very pretty, according to the cook, dwelt in Harlond but was currently visiting the northern shore with her parents to see relatives and to be given the chance to spend time with her suitor.

Neither Celebrimbor nor Elrond was exempt from weapon practice. Curufin’s son was obviously reluctant to wield a sword. He could have been a great swordsman, like his father and uncles, but he just refused to apply himself beyond what was required of him, possibly to detach himself from the bleak image invoked by the memory of his kinsmen. Elrond was the opposite, throwing heart and mind into the sparring.

Oddly, I had never been matched with him yet, even though lords and commoners were meant to shed their status when stepping into the arena. When Elrond challenged me, about a month after our jovial evening at Celebrimbor’s house, I should have declined his invitation.

Unwisely, I did not. As well as curious to measure his true skill, often wasted fighting lesser adversaries, I relished the opportunity to vent my frustration against the very embodiment of the authority that enforced my lack of freedom, though I was not so arrogant as to take my victory for granted.

I faced Elrond with the mixture of excitement and wariness due a potentially formidable opponent, which I saw mirrored in his grey eyes when we saluted each other, bowing with our right hands over our chests.

Once he began to lose his initial caution, it was apparent that he lacked none of the grace and agility of the Quendi, but he also possessed an almost feral intensity that so far I had only perceived within the Atani. Both his strategy and stamina were remarkable, and I was certain that as a warrior he would never ask for or give quarter.

I had to apply myself in earnest to block several cunning, rapid attacks without retreating. Yet I held back for a long while, not to spare him, but to throw him off balance. Well he knew that I was not exerting myself, and I admired and approved his restraint when his growing annoyance did not trigger recklessness.

The shouts of encouragement from the crowd, mostly cheering for Elrond, and their gasps of relief whenever the fierce flurry of our ringing blades ended in a tense deadlock, grew in intensity as the match progressed. But I had learnt long ago not to be distracted.

When my first chance of victory came, I chose to let it pass, out of the desire to give my determined adversary another opportunity. Elrond frowned, knowing he had just been spared. The second time, his glare was dangerous.

‘Stop toying with me, Erestor!’ he growled quietly.

The third time, I dared not hesitate. I slipped under his guard and the tip of my blunted sword grazed his chest. He fell back a step in a desperate effort to flee defeat, but he tripped and landed on the dirt. I stilled the tip of my blade over his heart.

‘I yield,’ he cried angrily, panting with exertion.

Struggling to hide a smug smile of victory, I withdrew my sword and offered my hand to him. He took it and I pulled him to his feet with such force that he all but fell upon me. As my arms rushed to steady him, I felt his bare, sweaty skin on mine and shivered at the contact in sudden remembrance of similar scenes with Mairon. When my thigh met his hardness, I gave a loud chuckle of surprise. Elrond stopped dead for a heartbeat or two, blushing with shocked chagrin. The flame of humiliation burnt fiercely in his eyes.

‘Well fought, my lord,’ I said, cursing my lack of discretion.

I extended my arm to him in salute. He grasped it briefly, avoiding my gaze, before turning away to walk out of the arena. The crowd cheered him one last time and began to disperse. I stood, unmoving, stunned at the revelation. I was not wholly unaffected myself.

By mere coincidence, a few weeks later I heard rumours about the unexpected abandonment of his betrothal plans.

 

 

Lindon, Year 442 of the Second Age of Arda
(Two Years Later)
 

A piercing scream of pain rent the silence of the night.

I leapt from my bed, fully awake. My nights were restless, plagued with unfulfilled desire and growing anger at my enforced wait.

A racket of concerned cries, rushed steps and doors being opened and closed prompted me to pull on my trousers and throw a shirt over my head, before leaving my room. I pushed my arms into the sleeves as I padded barefoot along the dark corridor. Shouts and the loud tinkling of shattered glass reached my ears, and I ran towards the commotion.

The door of Elrond’s chambers stood ajar. Half a dozen other servants, men and women, in assorted state of undress and awakening were gathered around it. A few others arrived after me. Bruithros’ nervous voice was heard from the inside.

‘But, my lord... You should not...’

‘Out!’ yelled Elrond. ‘Leave me at once. All of you!’

Bruithros rushed out, almost falling through the threshold in his haste, and the door was slammed behind him. He glared at us all, as though witnessing his undignified dismissal was a capital crime, and ordered us back to our rooms.

‘What is happening?’ I asked, not moving from where I stood.

‘Lord Elrond is... indisposed,’ he answered. ‘Now, go to sleep. Your duties will still be there in the morning.’

‘Indisposed?’ I echoed. ‘What is his malady?’

‘None of your business,’ he retorted.

‘Is it true he was weeping?’ whispered one of the maids, a girl with large green eyes who seemed rooted to the spot with fright.

‘And what about all the blood?’ The cook’s trembling finger pointed at Bruithros’ shirt sleeve, splattered with dark crimson stains.

‘Shall I fetch a healer?’ cried one of the pages, a gangly youth called Laergil whose hair was as mussed as a rat’s nest.

‘At once!’ cried the cook.

‘No!’ shouted Bruithros simultaneously. ‘Our lord wishes to see no one.’

‘That is utter nonsense,’ I objected, nodding to Laergil. Something in my face made the boy obey me, despite Bruithros’ angry objections.

‘All of you, leave!’ he snarled. The rest of the household shuffled away in twos and threes, muttering gossip. When we were alone, Elrond’s aide turned to me.

‘How dare you, Erestor?’ he hissed. I shrugged, unfazed, and crossed my arms slowly over my chest. ‘Very well! Our lord will not see reason. I am his most trusted assistant and yet he will not let me near. I have never seen him like this and I am at a loss as to what to do. So, you are most welcome to try persuading him to let a healer see to his cuts. I only saw a few scratches, anyway, despite all the blood. Good luck and good night!’

He strode wrathfully away. I knocked on the door.

‘My lord Elrond?’ I called. There was no answer, nor could I hear the faintest stirring. I pounded the door harder, several times. ‘My lord? Are you well? Elrond?’

I frowned, concerned at the silence. Despite more than two years of quiet compliance and diligent toil, Elrond’s coldness after the unfortunate sparring incident had not relented. We had exchanged a handful of stilted words during that time, and he consistently refused my petitions to be allowed more freedom, but now I sensed he was not merely ignoring me.

‘Damn, Elrond, open the door!’ I yelled. I knocked until my hands hurt. ‘To Utumno with you, Eärendillion!’ I pressed my ear against the solid wood, listening with closed eyes, but heard no sound.

Laergil arrived at a trot, panting. Gaerlin, the same healer who had stitched my scalp when I had first entered the city, followed the page more sedately, carrying a heavy bag. His calm, commanding calls were as ignored by Elrond as my own.

‘Bring me a crowbar, boy,’ I said to Laergil. His eyes opened wide with excitement, before he ran back downstairs.

While we waited, Gaerlin asked me about Elrond’s wounds, but I could tell him nothing. I was hoping I had not dragged him out of bed for naught. Soon, Laergil was back, triumphantly brandishing a heavy iron bar.

With one of its sharp ends, I dug a small gap in the wood between the door and the frame, and after a few attempts, with the three of us combining our efforts, we unhinged the door. Pushing it aside, we rushed into the room. Elrond was sitting on the wooden floor, blood trickling from his left hand to form a dark puddle. The window panes were completely smashed, and he held one of the shards in his closed fist.

He was unresponsive, though not unconscious. In the end we had to prise the sharp glass from his hand. I followed the healer’s instructions to assist him as best as I could, until the deep cuts had been cleaned, stitched and bandaged. Gaerlin was concerned about leaving but I promised to stay with Elrond until the morning, when he would return. Relieved, he agreed, and prepared a sedative draught, in case pain began to bother his patient.

I sent the page, who had crouched in a corner and fallen asleep under a cloak, back to his room. Then I barricaded myself with Elrond inside the chamber by moving a heavy cupboard against what remained of the door. I did not wish for a zealous Bruithros, guilt-ridden after deserting his lord, coming to disturb us. Sadly, I had guessed the cause for Elrond’s distress.

I handed him the cup with the pain killer.

‘Only time will soothe your grief, my lord,’ I said, ‘but you should have this brew now.’

His reddened eyes finally turned to look at me.

‘I do not need it. I want the pain. I wish to die, too. Just leave me alone.’

‘Yes, you do. And no, I shall not,’ I answered softly. ‘He would not want you to die. He would remind you of your choice, and admonish you to stay well out of Mandos’ sight.’

His lips curved into a sad smile.

‘Yes, he would. You did indeed know him.’ After staring at his hand, wrapped in white linen, he took the cup and drank.

I sat next to him and touched his shoulder, gently, so that he could withdraw if he wished to. He did not, so I wrapped my arm around him. With a deep sob, he buried his head in my shoulder and wept. I held him for hours, afraid to move, to disrupt his grief, until he stirred in my arms and, taking a deep breath, looked up through the window to the whitening sky.

I felt the wet patch of his spilled tears on my shirt, now that the warmth of his body had moved away. Caressing his hair, I pushed strands away from his eyes.

He began to speak, haltingly.

‘I was in bed, unable to sleep, when my insides abruptly plummeted into a gaping hole, an absence so cold that it burnt me, like the touch of steel in a frost. I told myself it could not be true, it could not happen. Not yet. The Valar had promised... I cursed them and Eönwë, and my parents, and also him, my foolish brother, for choosing to abandon me. I wanted to forget. I went mad. I felt it, I knew it, and I... I could not bear it.’

He began to shake again, and I squeezed my arm around his shoulders. We stayed like that for a long while. My pity was blended with my own memories of grief and my ever present longing. A knock jolted us both out of our reveries.

‘My lord,’ Bruithros called. ‘The healer has arrived.’

I heard the grunting and squeaking of several people attempting to move the blockage that held the door in place.

‘I will see them, let them in,’ murmured Elrond.

I removed the obstruction and pulled the door ajar. An anxious Bruithros stormed in and all but ran to his lord’s side. Nodding to Gaerlin, I left the room quietly. Unless I hurried, I would be late for work.

 

~ o ~

 

I did not see much of Elrond during the days following Elros’ death. As soon as he reluctantly declared the reason for his lapse of sanity, there was always someone fussing around him, from the King, his kinsman, to friends and colleagues who wished to offer their condolences. Bruithros had not spoken to me since the eventful night, and now he hovered incessantly around Elrond, no doubt ensuring that his every need was addressed.

I was relieved to be allowed to lose myself again into the background of the busy household and the bustling office. Being largely unnoticed suited my plans. Therefore, I was both surprised and concerned when Elrond summoned me about a month after his brother’s death. Bruithros escorted me to the door of the library as though he was leading me to my execution.

‘What trouble did you get yourself into this time, Erestor?’ he asked, shaking his head. As he left, I heard him mutter something under his breath about miscreants being due their just desserts.

With a sigh, I entered the room. Elrond was seated behind his desk, and I bowed respectfully before him.

‘My lord.’

He gestured at a nearby chair and I took a seat.

‘I have been informed of certain irregularities, concerning unauthorised communications to agents in our pay over the last year,’ he said. My spine stiffened.

‘Luinhir would not say whom he suspected, at first,’ he continued. ‘Only when I threatened to remove him from his post if he protected someone who might be endangering the realm did he relent.’

I winced at the thought of the pedantic wordsmith deprived of his beloved office.

‘It was me alone, my lord, without Luinhir’s knowledge or permission. He should not suffer for my offence.’

I hoped I did not sound defiant. Certainly, I was not contrite. Provided Elrond did not lock me away, I would bear his punishment gladly, even more if the notes I had already dispatched ended up yielding a result.

‘I wrote and sent them in my free time, my lord, and paid all due fees from my wages,’ I added. ‘You can check your ledger if you disbelieve my word.’

‘I already did,’ he replied. ‘A most unconventional way to spend your coin, Erestor. The purchase of those services does not come cheap.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I wear your livery and eat from your kitchen, I do not gamble or buy favours at the... inns around the harbour, my lord. How I choose to spend my silver is my business.’

‘Yes, I have observed you. Frugal and lonely, most of the time. I would agree your pastimes are your business, was it not for the small detail that the people you have engaged in your enquiries are in my pay. What if you were luring them to provide falsehoods to us? You would be walking a treasonous path.’

‘I have asked them to do no such thing,’ I retorted, as calmly as I could. ‘Your suspicions are unfounded.’

‘I know.’ He leant back in his chair, and pulled out a thick roll of parchments from the shelf behind him. I went cold when I recognised my own writing, then my blood began to boil. Had he ruined my patient efforts by intercepting all my notes?

He watched me struggle to curb my anger before he continued.

‘Do you believe me to be unjust or ungrateful?’

‘You are my lord,’ I replied, bitterly. ‘It is not my place to censure your decisions. Do what you must.’

‘What I must, Erestor? That would mean demanding that you tell me right now what or whom you sought with your undercover messages; as ever, you would refuse to answer, so that I would have no choice but to have you dragged before Gil-galad again. When he asked me, I should advise him to imprison you indefinitely, or at least until you confess your intentions, to prevent harm to our realm.’ He pierced me with his grey gaze. I gritted my teeth. ‘That is clearly what I must do, and yet I am remiss. Why, you may ask? Possibly because you rescued me from despair when all others were too afraid to confront me.’

‘I just did my duty to you,’ I answered. ‘No more.’

‘Allow me to disagree with you, Erestor. Your duty would have ended the moment Gaerlin left, at the very most. You could have called Bruithros and gone back to your bed. Instead, somehow, you knew the source of my pain and held me through the night. Your company, your silence, your embrace, they were all precious gifts, not deeds borne out of duty. Not to mention wrecking my door beyond repair.’ He smiled so genuinely that I returned the gesture without thinking.

‘I am sorry about the...’

‘Let me finish, before my words fail me. I owe you my gratitude, and possibly an apology too.’

‘My lord, there is no need...’

‘Indeed there is. I thank you for your care on a very dark night, Erestor, so dark that it almost drew me to madness. Then you chose to step back into the shadows, and my grief, my concerned King, crowds of solicitous visitors and my selfishness conspired to make me neglect you. I have been ungrateful.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I also ask your forgiveness for behaving unjustly towards you.’

‘Forgiveness? Oh, no, my lord, there is nothing to forgive. Why would you trust me, a stranger who will not declare his past or his allegiance, when you did not even wish for my service?’ My quarrel was not truly with him, but with those who had misled him.

‘Whatever your allegiance once was, you swore yourself to me. I... I feared you, the visions were... unexpected. Dark too.’ He shivered. ‘But the slight of your oath is unforgivable on my part. And later, I have...’ he bit his lip. ‘I have been harsh without reason.’

His eyes told me again what his body had once betrayed. Immediately, he looked away, embarrassed, and fidgeted with his quill.

‘So, Erestor, what can you do to help me resolve my quandary?’

‘I have never spoken an oath lightly, not even this one, forced on both of us. Can you not begin to trust me, my lord?’ I ventured.

‘I feel I must learn to, despite your obstinate secrecy.’ This time his smile was mockingly rueful. ‘Maybe a good start would be to lift the ban I imposed on leaving the city, though I still command that you inform me of any plans to travel outside the walls.’

I was awestruck with surprise and wonder, while dismayed at my new dilemma: a choice between honouring his faith and bolting without delay. Was this a test of some kind?

I had no time to ponder more, because he pushed a piece of folded parchment across the polished desk towards me.

‘This is my token of reconciliation and an offer of... friendship, maybe.’ His smile was shy. ‘I had each of your messages copied and sent on its way, even those written in that script we cannot read. I hoped to find out what you desire so greatly.’

A sigh of relief left my lips. I inclined my head to acknowledge his generosity, before picking up the note. When I unfolded it, there was the script of Kiinlúum, clearly copied by someone unfamiliar with it. I nearly dropped the note in shock.

I read avidly.

“My dearest son,

I am relieved to say that your mother and I survived the war and the executions, after fleeing from home in the middle of the night to a smaller village, further into the hills. We have planted a vegetable patch, keep chickens and goats and I teach at the local school. The previous teacher, a young man, was seized one night by the enemy, our new masters, and never returned. These are harsh times, my son, and many good people are dead because of greed, envy and intolerance.

I paused, angry and appalled. Taking a deep breath, I read on.

The father of one of my pupils has seen the city burned to the ground, still smouldering. Rumours do not reach these distant parts often, but it is not certain that our ahaw killed himself before yielding to the invaders, as they made us believe during those first days of chaos. I have heard whispers of a giant black leopard mauling him to death in his sleep, but those must surely be mere children’s tales, unless the god of the underworld has dragged him down to his lair. Both of the Bright Ones, friends of our unfortunate kingdom, have disappeared, no doubt slain by our foes.

Our new lords claim that our misfortune, the misery they have wrought, is no more than the just punishment of the true gods for harbouring demons and worshipping the Sun-god, Giver of Life. And yet, how can I ever kneel to the darkness they force us to embrace, empty and cold?

I will not give you a return address because I am sending this letter in secret, and it would not bode well for your mother and me if it were intercepted and traced back to us. I hope it arrives safely and finds you in good health. Do not worry about us and do not even think of coming back.

Your loving father.”

At the end, my hands were shaking, my eyes unseeing. The parchment was crumpled in my clenched fist.

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ I choked as I rose hastily to my feet, knocking the chair over.

‘What is the matter? Erestor?’ cried Elrond, following me anxiously as I ran out of the door, out of his house, wishing to be free to fly and lose myself into the furthest corner of Eä.

‘The just punishment of the true gods,’ indeed.

 

~ o ~

 

After leaving Elrond’s house, I ran to my favourite place in the city. I climbed the parapet of the city wall, and rushed past the startled sentries until I reached the base of the northern harbour tower. There, as in uncounted times before, I gazed east, across the foaming waves that ceaselessly crashed upon the stone beneath my feet. Their rhythm had lulled me into a precarious sense of tranquillity in the past, but not today.

Today, rage at the cruelty of Manwë and his brethren and pity for the fate of a realm and its people, vibrant, beautiful and kind before their ruthless destruction, erupted anew. My whole being clamoured for justice, even revenge, but they were both beyond my reach. Like the waves beating on the stone, I was powerless against the Valar, and my fury slowly abated into grief. And yet, there was no time for mourning. Icy coils of dread began to choke my heart at the thought of what Mairon might do in his wrath, beyond ripping open Chimal’s throat.

Once more I ran through all my plans of escape from Lindon, and chose the one I would commit myself to, that very night, when I heard quiet steps approach. I turned round to see Elrond standing a dozen paces away, looking over the wall into the city, so as to not impose upon me uninvited.

An unexpected fondness for him warred feebly against my newly made resolution, and succumbed under the weight of my desperation. I had once promised Melyanna I would care for him, and yet, I must break that pledge too.

He noticed my reaction to his presence and came closer.

‘What is it, Erestor? I feared the note might bear ill news, if the story that came with it about a mortally wounded man, a fugitive from a realm wrecked by war was true.’ I shook my head. ‘I will not pry,’ Elrond added hastily, ‘but maybe there is something I can do.’

‘You cannot…’ I bit my lip, wondering if speaking up would only ruin my chances. But there was genuine concern in his eyes, and he had given me the note as proof of his trust and willingness to make amends. ‘Yes, there is, my lord.’

‘What is it then?’

‘My lord, I need to…’ Still, I hesitated. He reached out to put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Tell me.’

‘I need to leave.’

He did not answer, and neither did he take his hand away. Instead he steered me gently toward the stone battlement where we both took a seat.

‘You come here often,’ he said. ‘And always on the night of the new moon. You flee from friendships and company and never speak of your past, as though you carry too heavy a burden.’

He saw the grimace that must have twisted my face, and patiently waited for an answer, but I gave none.

‘All of us have lost something, Erestor,’ he insisted, attempting a new angle of attack. ‘If the loss is too great, and the burden too heavy to bear, maybe it is time for you to sail West. My foresight alone is not enough to chain you to Ennor. You have my leave to take ship, if that is your wish.’

My laughter, soft but bitter, startled him. His brow furrowed above his eyes, harder now.

How could he know that his well-meaning words were like twisting the knife in the wound? And yet, I could understand the reasons that had led to his false conclusion. Since my arrival, I had behaved as though life in Lindon were no more than a period of servitude to be endured, without joy or pleasure to be found in being alive.

‘I am grateful, my lord, but Aman is barred to me,’ I replied at last.

‘So, when you spoke of leaving you did not mean…’

‘I merely need to leave Lindon. To find someone.’

I was surprised when he did not ask for details or immediately deny my request. Instead, he rose briskly to his feet. Out of deference, I did the same.

‘I must return to work, Erestor,’ he said. ‘Take the rest of the day off.’

I bowed and watched him walk away. A few steps later, turning round, he called out.

‘Erestor, I want to trust you. Do not do anything rash.’

Only when I nodded, reluctantly, did he leave at last.