Work Text:
Caranthir knew he was pushing his horse too hard but he could not help it. For far too many years to think about there had been a hole in his heart, made all the wider by his Haleth's leaving. He refused to admit it to anyone but his brothers but he had begged on his knees before Eönwë to ask his help to return his son to them. Manwë's herald had stared at him for a long, long moment, something unreadable passing across his face.
Then Eönwë had knelt before him and bowed, shocking the breath from Caranthir's lungs. “This I cannot do,” he had said and when he had risen there were tears on his face. “I am sorry.”
Celegorm and Curufin had to drag Caranthir from the tent before he tackled the herald to the ground. Even now Caranthir was not sure if Eönwë would have stopped him or even put up a fight. There had been something so sad in that spirit's face, something Caranthir had never told Haleth, that had made Caranthir fear that their son was dead and alone in the Halls of Mandos, waiting for him. That thought had almost been enough to let his guard slip, to think that should he just...stop, that should he just allow these hordes to take his life, he might join his son in those dark Halls and know, finally, that Erestor was safe.
Something had stayed that thought, though. Perhaps it was Haleth, furious and blazing, as the years marched by, growing old as all Men did but still holding her beauty, her passion, her fiery heart. She had been the one to keep him there, her hope that Erestor was still alive, her belief that their son was not turned into some twisted thing at Morgoth's command. Caranthir had sworn an Oath to her on their meeting, an Oath that had cracked the strange chains about his heart that had lain there since their days in Aman, that no one had known of until that moment. That Oath kept him going still, that he would protect the peoples of Arda to the best of his ability, that he would oppose Morgoth in all his forms and through all his lieutenants, that Caranthir would work and work hard to bring light back into the world.
So Caranthir had stayed, even when his Haleth had breathed her last in his arms. It had been a bitter moment, knowing that his wife had gone Beyond and yet had not known what had become of their son.
And now, here, getting news that his son, his Erestor, was alive and with Celebrimbor in Ost-in-Edhil...a part of him felt as if he were floating, as if this was some sort of dream that could not be real.
The note from Celebrimbor had been frank in its description of his son. His Erestor did not know who he was, only his name. His Erestor had been tortured, horrifically so, for an unknown amount of years. That it may be possible that this elf simply had Erestor's name and was not, in fact, his son, though Celebrimbor thought it unlikely.
Caranthir knew it was his son. That cold spot in his chest that had been there since Erestor had been taken during a raid of their keep had warmed once more. Erestor was alive. All Caranthir had to do now was get to his side.
“Caranthir! Wait!”
He had long ago left his brothers in his wake. He would not be stopped, not for food or water, only to change horses when he could. He refused to wait one second longer than he had to. He had to get to Erestor's side. He had to.
“Caranthir!”
A part of him was not sure why his brothers were even following him. Maglor and Maedhros, yes, since Celebrimbor had asked for Elrond to join them in Ost-in-Edhil – somehow Erestor had known Elrond's name – but why the others had come, Caranthir did not know and did not care. He had one goal and anyone who tried to stop him or slow him down was getting a fist to the chin and Caranthir leaping over them to get on his way and that was that.
As he had demonstrated with Amrod. And Amras.
After what felt like a small eternity Caranthir could make out the city of Ost-in-Edhil on the horizon. Even his horse seemed to feel his elation, galloping all the harder as day turned to dusk and night began to fall. He reached the gates as the stars came out, throwing the reins at a startled guard before he sprinted into the keep, tearing through the hallways and taking the stairs two and three at a time, just so that he might get to his son's side faster.
It was Celebrimbor who caught him in the hall outside a closed door. Caranthir wanted to push him out of the way, wanted to kick that door down and get to his son's side. Glorfindel and Ecthelion caught his arms and hauled him away hissing, into the room on the other side of the hall. Celebrimbor shut the door behind him and leveled a finger at his nose. Caranthir wanted to bite it off.
“Be calm, uncle,” the brat had the audacity to say. Then his next words took all the fight from him. “Erestor is...fragile. He spooks far too easily and will react violently if you burst in like a storm off the sea.”
Caranthir sagged in Glorfindel and Ecthelion's hold. “He's alive.”
Celebrimbor's tense expression eased. “He is, uncle. And I do believe he is Erestor, though...”
“What?”
“He forgets,” Celebrimbor shook his head. “Sometime the words he just said. Sometimes he will repeat himself. Sometimes he doesn't know where he is or when. You must prepare yourself, uncle. His condition will shock you and I do not know if your grief for what has been done to him will...upset him.”
Caranthir let out a shuddering breath. “Let me see my son,” he said. He did not want to beg.
Celebrimbor shut his eyes for a moment before he moved forward, taking Caranthir's hand in his. “Come. I will take you to him. Just...be prepared.”
All Caranthir could see was that closed door before him as Celebrimbor led him from the room. Then that door opened and the scent of medicinal herbs hit him like a wave. There were elven healers, along with dwarven, huddled at a table on the far side of a sitting room. Then he was being led through another door, where a banked fire in the hearth kept the air summer warm. On the bed was a slight figure, his arms outside of the blankets, just as his son had slept when he was too warm but not enough that he wished his blanket to come off. It made tears prick in Caranthir's eyes.
He pulled away from Celebrimbor's hold and approached on soft feet, taking a seat on the bed next to his son. His gaze traced that narrow face, pale and scarred, his dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks. Caranthir took the elf's right hand in his own and turned it over, checking the inside of the wrist. There, just underneath the thumb, was the constellation of freckles that Haleth would kiss when Erestor was a baby just out of the bath. It mirrored the Menelmacar, something that had given Caranthir pause when he had first seen it, and then later had told himself that his son wore such a mark because he would be at Caranthir's side, fighting against their great enemy to the bitter end.
Now, however, it was a sign that this was indeed his son, his Erestor, returned to him at last, just like the stars set high in the sky.
“My son,” he whispered and bent over that too-thin wrist, wanting to weep with both joy and grief.
“Ah,” said a soft voice. Caranthir glanced up to see that his son was awake and watching him with hazy eyes. “You,” he said. There were...there were lights in his son's eyes, lights the like of which Caranthir had not seen since...since...
“Erestor,” he said.
“I know your face,” Erestor whispered. “She said...she said...”
“Yes,” Caranthir felt tears streak down his cheeks, heedless of them. “Your mother would say that. Do you remember?”
“Remember...” His son's gaze slipped past him, tracking something only he could see. “What a strange word. Re-re-re for the past, mem for memory but the ber the ber the ber is it is...”
Caranthir bent forward. “Erestor –”
“It is here,” his son went rigid on the bed. Caranthir jerked back as Erestor whirled up out of his blankets, faster than Caranthir could see, pushing off the frame hard enough to crack it in two as he hit the window –
And went leaping out.
“Erestor!” Caranthir hit the window edge, one hand reaching as if he could stop that fatal fall.
But it was not his son's crumpled body on the keep's cobblestones below that he saw. Instead he saw a dark figure on a monster streaking through the air, his son tangled with it, a blur of shadows against the night sky. Something happened, some twist and pull that Caranthir could not track but then something was falling from that monster, two somethings, one that hit hard like a wet sack of bones and the other...the other landed hard but in one piece, his thin white robe spreading with dark patches as Erestor stared at the crumpled form on the ground. The beast in the sky shrieked, the scream causing all others to cry out and cover their ears, before it streaked away into the dark.
Caranthir had no idea how he got to the courtyard, only that he did. He went to his knees next to his bleeding son, gathering him in his arms even though Erestor was stiff in his embrace. “Erestor,” he breathed against that tangled hair. “What is going on?”
“It doesn't get to have you,” his son said. There was something...some power in his voice that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. “None of you. I won't let it.” Then Erestor went limp and it was all Caranthir could do to scream for the healers and hold his son in his arms.
By the time his son was in a different room, one deeper inside the keep and far more defensible, Caranthir learned that when his brothers had arrived, just in time to see his son's fight with the monster in the sky, that body he had seen fall to the ground had vanished like smoke on the wind. No one knew where it was or if someone had moved it or if it had just disappeared.
In the end Caranthir set himself into a chair at his son's side, his sword at the ready, with one eye on the window, settling in for a wait. His brothers arrayed themselves in the room about him but Caranthir did not bother to answer their questions or tell them what had happened. All his attention was on his son –
And on whatever threat might come at him next.