Chapter Text
Estel slammed the door to his room shut and gave it a solid kick just for good measure before stomping away and flinging himself face down on his bed. When this didn’t succeed in calming the twelve year old, he grabbed one of his pillows and hurled it across the room. It hit the opposite wall harmlessly and dropped to the ground with an unsatisfying flump . Gray eyes narrowed and small hands curled into fists as the boy glared at the watery light streaming in through the windows. On any other day he might have rejoiced at the sight of a gray cloud filled sky, one that promised snow, but today was not one of those days. His mother had left two days before, once again leaving him behind as she paid a visit to their relatives in the south. The sting of being refused the chance (again) to meet them had been soothed only by the promise of a visit from Legolas who would be taking a fortnight away from Mirkwood to recover from another grueling set of patrols. That was, it had been soothed until yesterday morning when Elrond had received a message that Legolas’ arrival might be delayed some days or even weeks thanks to a potential spotting of orcs along the southern border. It was at least a three days ride to the spot, the message had said, but more likely five or six and that did not even account for the return trip or the at least four day journey to reach Imladris after the fact. Legolas had set out post haste but might, perhaps, be on his way back to Thranduil’s halls in a day or so should his presence be found unneeded. This had been little comfort to young Estel who had proceeded to spend the whole day sulking and passive aggressively making poor work at his lessons.
Things had come to a head that next morning at breakfast when Lord Elrond, acting in all good faith, had made the error of asking his young foster son if he had slept well. An innocent enough question, it had served as the spark to the tinderbox that was Estel’s fragile mood.
“ Why would you care? ” He angrily demanded, throwing down his spoon and splattering the table with porridge. “ If you cared about me at all you wouldn’t keep me locked away in this house like a prisoner! What good is sleep when I’m not even allowed to do anything? ”
The room had fallen silent; the soft clatter of cutlery stilled. Glorfindel, seated nearby, uncomfortably cleared his throat and took a sip of his wine, while Erestor cocked an inquisitive brow. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a quick glance, their expressions unreadable.
“ Estel ,” Elrond began, his voice measured and soothing. “ This is your home, not a prison. We have only ever sought to keep you safe -”
“ Safe from what ?” Estel snapped. “ From the shadows outside? From some nameless danger you won’t even explain to me? I’m not a child anymore !” His voice cracked, the anger very nearly giving way to tears and he felt his chest heaving as if he’d just run a great distance.
“ Estel, that is enough .” Elrond’s voice now carried a hint of warning. “ I understand that you are upset. Your mother is away and Legolas is delayed in his arrival but that is no reason for -”
Whatever the elf lord had planned to say, it was the wrong thing for Estel suddenly rocketed to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. “ Don’t try to talk down to me and tell me how I feel! ” He shouted.
But apparently even Lord Elrond’s famously long burning fuse had now reached its end and he also rose to his feet, towering, cool, and eyes sparking. “ To your room, ion-nin! ” (My son). He ordered, voice tight with thinly woven control. “ We will discuss this later. ”
“ You can’t make me! ” Estel planted his fists and leaned across the table. “ You’re not even my real father! ” And then, with a furious look at all seated there, he’d added, “ None of you are my real family! ”
Elladan and Elrohir had shot one another looks that were equal parts hurt and offended; Elrond had said nothing at all. Estel had known at once that he’d gone too far but at that moment he didn’t want to care and had spun on his heel and quit the room, tears of frustration stinging in his eyes. Now, as he curled miserably into a ball on his bed, resting his head atop his folded arms, he had plenty of time to regret his words even if the anger in his chest had yet to settle.
Elladan and Elrohir would be leaving in a few days as well on one of their regular orc hunting trips. One which Estel, of course, would be forbidden from joining. It wasn’t fair! It simply wasn’t fair. They all treated him as if he were something fragile, easily broken. Why wouldn’t they see that he had grown up? The only one who never seemed to doubt him was Legolas. Oh! What he wouldn’t give to have the golden haired archer here right now. Legolas would know exactly what to say and while he no doubt would have disapproved of Estel’s little outburst at the breakfast table, he would surely be on his side as far as Estel no longer being a child.
He straightened, scrubbing his face impatiently dry of any lingering tears. If no one would listen to him, if they couldn’t see that he was ready to take on more than just lessons and chores, he would show them. He would go to Mirkwood! Legolas would understand. Legolas always understood. And what better way to prove to everyone, even Elrond, that he wasn’t a child than to set out on his own? His heart quickened at the thought with equal parts excitement and fear. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, glancing toward the door and cocking his ear to ensure no one had come to check on him. A smile graced his lips as he pictured the look of shock on his foster father’s face when he would ride back into Rivendell alongside the prince. That would show them.
Quietly, Estel began gathering what he thought he’d need. He shoved a spare tunic and leggings into a small satchel along with a waterskin, a loaf of bread from the kitchens he had filched the day before, and an apple. He hesitated briefly before adding a carving on a small wooden circle, a gift from Legolas on his last visit. The prince had explained that it was the heraldry of his house and that of his father. He’d promised it would always bring him luck and now Estel hoped that was true, for luck he would need. In any case, should he be taken by a Mirkwood patrol he hoped it would mark him as a friend of Legolas. Lastly, he grabbed his small dagger and strapped it securely to his belt. A sudden, unbidden surge of guilt rose up in him. The dagger had been a gift from Elladan on his last birthday. Elves did not celebrate their own birthdays and so, for as long as Estel had been old enough to understand it, the fact that the twins and Elrond had always taken the time to remember his own had been something touching. The twins and Elrond who he had so recently spoken so cruelly to. Shoving the feeling away he glazed around the room trying to decide if there was anything else he ought to take with him. He stripped a sheet off his bed, folded it as best he could, and added that to his satchel supposing that, should any injury befall him, it could be made into bandages. As an afterthought, he shoved one of his pillows under the remaining sheets and blankets and arranged it just so that it gave the impression (at least he hoped) of a small form curled up in bed. That would perhaps buy him a bit more time. He donned his winter coat and stuffed a pair of gloves into his pocket should he need them later. Wrapping his cloak around his shoulders he did one last sweep of the room before flinging open his window, shuddering at the cold wind that greeted him.
The hardest part was going to be leaving undetected, he decided as he peered out the window and into the courtyard below. A tangle of vines grew along the stone walls of the house, swaying gently in the breeze. He’d climbed them before often enough but never yet for something so daring. Taking a deep breath, he swung one leg over the sill, testing, as he always did, the strength of the vines. Satisfied that they would hold, he began his descent managing to pull the window closed behind him. The climb down was nerve-wracking not least for the fact that his heart was racing and his hands were shaky at the thrill of avoiding detection. The cool winter air nipped at his fingers as he clung to the vines, but he made it to the ground without mishap. He crouched in the shadows of the courtyard, listening for any movement or voices. Satisfied that no one had spotted him, he darted toward the stables, keeping close to the walls to avoid being seen.
Inside the stables, the warm, earthy scent of hay and horses greeted him. And he took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of being out of the wind for a moment. It was a feeling, he realized, that he was not often going to be treated to for the foreseeable future. After satisfying himself that he was indeed alone, he crept forward to Celebrinal’s stall. She was a dark, sturdy mare with silver feet, as her name might suggest. He’d call her as such, not just for her coloring, but also for the long-lost princess of Gondolin, who Elrond told him numbered among both of their ancestors. He remembered a day, at the end of a frustrating training session, when Glorfindel, in an attempt to sooth the stormy mood of his charge, had recounted to Estel all that he could remember of King Turgon’s daughter. She had been, according to him, as fair as the moon, tall as the white tower of Gondolin and, at least to his mind, only Luthien or Melian herself could ever hold a candle to her beauty.
He was abruptly nudged out of his mindless wanderings by a nose at his shoulder and gently stroked the animal, nuzzling close to the horse's face. “Shh, girl,” he whispered as she nickered, grabbing the saddle from where it hung on the nearby post. “I’m not supposed to be in here just now.” The process of saddling Celebrinal took longer than he had hoped as he struggled to remember how to properly adjust the girth, but eventually he managed it and stood back looking proudly at his work. “I think that should do it,” he whispered into the horse's ear, giving her a pat. He retrieved an apple from the large sack that hung on the wall and then, on second thought, unhooked the whole sack. As Celebrindal munched contentedly on her reward for silence, he managed to secure the sack to the back of the saddle. It was a long way to Mirkwood; Legolas said it usually took him around four to five days and that at top speed and with minimal rest for the horse. Celebridal was a fine and noble steed, as hearty as any war horse or Mirkwood mount but he didn’t really know the way. The trip was going to take him a bit longer. Perhaps a week, his young brain reasoned, and if that was the case, a loaf of bread and a single apple wasn’t going to be nearly enough. He felt slightly guilty at taking the whole sack as there were plenty of other horses in the stables who would no doubt have very much enjoyed them, but it wasn’t as if Rivendell was wanting for apples. Even now in the winter, they always seemed to have enough squirreled away to indulge comfortably until the lightening of spring and though he would soon, no doubt, grow tired of the taste, it was better than starving to death in the wild.
After sneaking out to the fountain to fill his waterskin, he led the horse out of the stable on foot, careful to avoid the watchful eyes of any sentries. Once he was sure he was out of sight, he mounted Celebridal and turned her toward the trees. The main gate would be too obvious a route, so he guided Celebridal along a narrower path through the woods, one he’d often taken during his short rides around the valley. This was his first time alone though as always before he had had the company of his… the twins, Lord Elrond, or one or another of the Rivendell lords. At the edge of the house grounds he drew rein and paused. His stomach was twisting with last minute nerves. Maybe this had been a bad idea, it was not too late to turn back. He could slip back into the stable, return Celebrindal and sneak back up into his room before anyone realized that he was gone. The horse nickered nervously as if she somehow shared his thinking but this only served to fortify the young boy’s wavering resolve. “Not you too.” He growled, kicking her sides and urging her forward into a reluctant trot. “I’m not a child anymore, I know what I’m doing.” He shushed the voice in the back of his head that continued to express its doubts.
As he rode, the familiar landmarks of Imladris began to fade behind him, replaced by the looming expanse of the Misty Mountains in the distance. The sky was growing darker, clouds thick and heavy with the promise of snow, but Estel pressed on. His heart pounded with each step Celebrindal took, a mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. For the first time, he felt truly in control of his destiny. He would make for the mountain pass and from there take the Old Forest road. Finding the Elven Halls would be easy enough after that. And who was to say? Perhaps he would even be fortunate enough to meet Legolas en route. Yes, he would make it to Mirkwood, find Legolas, and prove to everyone that he was more than just a child to be coddled and protected. For now, though, the shadows of the trees closed in around him, and the chill in the air finally forced him to dig out his gloves as the cold seeped through his cloak. Estel pulled it tighter around himself, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains and behind him, the Last Homely House East of the Sea, faded away into the trees.
Elrond sighed as he set aside yet another paper and rubbed wearily at his forehead. The argument of this morning weighed on him in more ways than one. Estel was not the first human child to find a home under his roof since the days when he had bounced a young Valandil on his knee, but it had been some centuries and it was times such as these that he feared he may have lost his touch. It was a tricky decade, he knew, ten years old to twenty and fall outs and disputes were bound to happen but it never did make them any more pleasant when they did occur. This breach appeared to be especially severe given that Estel had broken his usual pattern following such eruptions. A usual pattern that would have seen him shuffle into Elrond’s study over an hour ago, head bowed and eyes tearful, to offer a mumbled apology that was often accompanied by a hesitant gaze from under dark lashes. A gaze that questioned perhaps, if this would be the time that his foster father would decide not to forgive him. Of course, he was always forgiven. He was forgiven even now and had been ever since he had stamped his way out of the dining hall with a face like thunder and a growl to match. Forgiveness in this situation was not in question but the act of seeking it, a lesson that the Lord of Rivendell had sought to instill in all of his children (mortal or otherwise), was for the moment found to be lacking as one hour bled into two and that was unlike Estel. Temperamental though the young adolescent may have become, he had always possessed a remarkable degree of self awareness, even from quite an early age. Prone to the slips and spills and occasional tantrums of young human children yes, but aware of his shortcomings and always seeking remission with the appropriate measure of contrition. The Half-Elf sighed, coming to terms with the fact that adolescence was well and truly upon them with all its stormy emotions and unpredictable twists that had a way of upending even the most carefully laid plans– and the most exhaustive supplies of patience. Elrond could not help but wonder what exactly had triggered Estel's unusually stubborn silence this time. He knew his son well enough to sense it was unlikely to be mere petulance; there was something deeper at work, though it remained elusive.
He read the same line at the top of the document three times before flicking it aside in a rare display of frustration and resting his head on his hand. Gazing out the window of his study he took in the gray clouds that filled the sky beyond. Snow was to be expected and would no doubt, among other things, further delay Prince Legolas’ arrival which could only serve to further sour Estel’s already dour mood. Rising with uncustomary abruptness, he quit the room that had suddenly become stifling and made his way down the hall towards Estel’s room. If his son was not going to make the first overture of peace, he decided, then it was up to him to take that step. Estel’s words that morning had stung not only because they were untrue but also because Elrond feared that somehow, he had been remiss in his affections. Though they had been spoken in anger and designed to wound, he worried the barbs hinted at a deeper insecurity his adoptive son felt surrounding his place in the family.
He stopped outside the door and, one hand on the knob, knocked lightly. “Estel?” He called, “Estel, might we speak?” Silence. He knocked again, a bit harder this time. “Estel? Estel, can I come in?” Again, nothing and he felt a chill run down his spine the cause of which he could not place. He cocked his head, perking up his ears for any sound within the room but caught nothing, not even the rhythmic sound of breathing or a faint shuffle of footsteps. “Estel? Estel, either open this door now or I am coming in. Which will it be?” He gave it another few seconds before turning the door knob and entering the chamber beyond.
The room appeared as it often did before the maids got to it. A stray tunic on the floor, several half finished books scattered about as Estel had lost interest in them. Estel’s training bow was leaned against the bedside table with its small quiver beside. The bed was slightly disarrayed and a small lump lay off to one side. Brows furrowed, Elrond approached, peeling back the covers carefully just in case it did in fact turn about to be a sleeping Estel. He did not wish to frighten his son by flinging back the blankets with reckless abandon. But instead all the Elf Lord found was one of Estel’s many pillows with no sign of the boy. Spinning around he listened again for any sound of movement but heard nothing. “Estel?” He called out, in case he had somehow missed it. “Estel, if you are hiding in some attempt at a joke then I must inform you that your humor is very poor taste, ion-nin .” (My son). Nothing. He was not there, that was the only explanation or Elrond was not an elf. He could have gone out perhaps? Estel often sought solace in the company of the horses or climbed the trees that bordered the western paths when he wished for solitude. But then, why the pillow?
Heart now well and truly pounding, he hurried from his son’s room, down the stairs and out into the courtyard. The air was cold and though it did not bother him, elf that he was, he noted that he could see his breath rising in the air.
“ Hir Elrond.” (Lord) He turned as Glorfindel’s familiar voice hailed him. The Elf Lord was ascending the main steps, blond hair swaying in the breeze. “Out for a turn in the gardens as well?” His face quickly sobered as he took in his lord’s drawn one. “What’s happened?”
“Have you seen Estel?”
Dark brows furrowed. “I… have not.” Came the hesitant reply. “I thought him still in his rooms, licking his wounds after… this morning.”
It was uncommon to see the Balrog slayer look so very uncomfortable but Elrond had no time to dwell on that fact, much less find any humor in it. He opened his mouth to explain when the sound of hurried footsteps and an equally hurried “ Hir Elrond,” cut him off.
Laerorndir (Summer Tree), one of the stable keeps, was hurrying up the path towards them. For a moment, Elrond wondered if he might have seen sign of Estel who was on quite friendly terms with the raven haired elf, only a few years older than Elladan and Elrohir, but something in Laerorndir’s face quickly dashed those faint hopes. “ Hir Elrond,” he bobbed his head and swept his arm out in a hasty salute. “I was just coming to look for you.”
“What is it, Laerorndir? Speak.” Elrond’s tone brooked no delay or discussion.
“We’re missing a horse, Hir-nin ,” (My Lord) Laerorndir said, sounding somewhat flustered now. “I can’t say how it happened. Nothing is amiss and no one informed me of having any intention to take her out. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding but I-”
“Which horse?” Elrond interrupted, feeling his stomach begin to crawl with dread.
“Oh,” Laerorndir gave a rare blink, only now seeming to realize that he’d neglected to volunteer this information. “Celebrinal, Hir-nin . Master Estel’s horse.”
If someone had told him right then that Rivendell was under attack, he might have felt less faint than he did in that moment. He must have looked as unsteady as he felt because Glorfindel grabbed quick hold of his elbow. “Elrond?” He asked, dispensing with formalities as the full weight of the crisis sank in for him as well.
The dark haired lord turned to his longtime friend, brown eyes stricken with a rare glint of fear. “He’s gone, mellon-nin . He’s gone.” (My friend).