INNOCENCE
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only Erestor’s family and the members of the Wandering Company belong to me.
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, for implied m/m interaction.
Please read Warnings before the Prologue.
Author’s notes:
Time: the year 3019 of the Third Age.
Erestor decides to take Lindir to Elostirion and then to the Havens. They spend here some time, hoping that the closeness of the Sea would heal Lindir.
This chapter is happening after the Siege of Imladris and Boromir’s death, timely in-between the Prologue and Chapter 1 from my Elladan story, ’’Hope, Born of Darkness’’, where Elladan is getting ready to join Halbarad and his Rangers and seek out Aragorn in Rohan.
My sincerest thanks to Isabeau of Greenlea for beta-reading.
Chapter 33: The Last Journey
Erestor rose to his elbow and looked down sorrowfully upon his sleeping spouse. Lindir’s eyes were tightly shut – as if he would fight his demons even in his sleep – surrounded by dark rings, his face haggard. His ethereal beauty, born mostly from innocence and from a heart that knew no sins, was marred now and fading away little-by-little with every passing day. Already he was but a shadow of himself, and he would be little more than a broken shell, ere the Quest of the Ring was finished – Erestor knew this with horrible certainty.
He felt drained, emotionally as well as bodily. Lindir had never been the demanding one in their marriage – in fact, neither of them had. Their life together was marked by gentle acceptance, deep love and slow-burning passion from both sides. But ever since that fateful day, Lindir seemed unable to get enough of the bodily proof of Erestor’s love, as if driven by some insane fear that his beloved would turn away from him in disgust for what he had done.
Erestor would happily give him everything he needed, no matter how sore and exhausted it might made them both – if it only helped. Yet it did not. No amount of passion could burn the stains of bloodshed from Lindir’s gentle heart, though he had grown more and more desperate in trying. He also lost his appetite almost completely, living on a few pieces of lembas, on dried fruit and miruvor alone (and even that only when Erestor’s nagging wore him out) – and he never sang again, nor did he touch his flute or his harp.
’’I only could sing of death,’‘ he answered flatly when being asked for the reason of his silence, ’’and of that we already have seen enough.’’
Glorfindel’s tales, told once in every week in the twilight of the Hall of Fire(1), seemed to lift his spirits a little – mostly when the ancient Elf told them about Valinor, the beauty and serene peace of the Blessed Realm, the gardens of Irmo(2) where he long dwelt after leaving the Halls of Mandos and where his own heart found healing, ere he had been sent back to Middle-earth. In those moments, the haunted eyes of the young minstrel became dreamy again, and Erestor, watching him with growing concern, had slowly come to a decision.
At the beginning if the spring season, when still no sign of recovery could be seen, Erestor went to Elrond’s private chambers to voice his request. He knew, there was no other way out of this disaster, and if he wanted to save his beloved, he had to make his move soon.
’’My Lord,’‘ he said, when Elrond asked him for the reason of his unexpected visit. ’’I ask for your blessings and that you allow me to leave your house.’’
Elrond looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
’’And where, pray you, do you intend to go? There will be war all around us, and the paths less than safe.’’
’’I know that,’‘ Erestor sighed, ’’yet I have to depart, nevertheless. I have to take Lindir to the Havens. If he stays here, his fëa(3) will flee in a short time. He cannot fight his demons much longer – and I cannot lose him. Not as long as there is still some hope that he might be healed in the Blessed Realm.’’
Elrond nodded his understanding. Who would understand better than he? Had Celebrían not chosen the same way to escape her suffering?
’’You wish to set sail for the West, then?’’ he asked.
Erestor sighed. “First, I want to take him to Elostirion. Mayhap looking into the Seeing Stone will help. But if it does not, then yes, we shall be on the first ship that sets sail for Aman.’’
’’And what if not even the beauty of the Blessed Realm can heal his heart?’’ Elrond asked gravely. ’’’Tis rare, but ’tis known to have happened before.’’
’’Then I shall I shall go to Mandos with him,’‘ Erestor replied without hesitation. ’’I would rather be a disembodied spirit with him than live on without him, even in the unblemished light of Aman.’’
’’You must do what you have to do,’‘ Elrond sighed. ’I have been hoping that you would wait for the rest of us; for many of my household intend to leave these shores once the Quest of the Ring is over.’’
’’I would gladly do so, atar(4),’‘ Erestor answered sadly, ’’for you have always been like a father to me, and this has been my home for nearly two Ages. But I fear that Lindir cannot hold on much longer.’’
’’He is your soul-mate and therefore your first responsibility,’‘ Elrond nodded, ’’more so for he greatly depends on you. So do as you feel is best. I give you my leave and my blessings – though we shall sorely miss both of you.’’
’’No more than I shall miss you.’‘ Erestor, in a – for him – unusually spontaneous gesture, threw his arms around Elrond’s neck, in a manner such as he had not done since his childhood. Elrond hugged him back, glad even in his sorrow that his foster son had finally opened up enough to seek comfort from him.
’’When do you intend to leave?’’ he asked.
’’Soon,’‘ Erestor sighed. ’’Gildor Inglorion and his people are planning to leave for Mithlond in a few days. I hope Glorfindel will be willing to take over for me – as long as it still is necessary.’’
’’Certainly, he will,’‘ Elrond said. ’’You will not need much preparation, I deem. Neither of you has many possessions. Lindir has mayhap even less than you.’’
Erestor shrugged. ’’Some books, some clothes – naught else. We both keep the greatest treasure in our hearts, where it cannot be stolen or destroyed… or so I used to think.’’
Elrond nodded. The destruction of his first home, strangely, had resulted in a nearly complete rejection of material goods in Erestor’s case, and Lindir had been from birth someone who valued the beauty of Arda much more than any things made by hand. So nay, Erestor would have little trouble packing all their belongings for the long journey – even if Lindir could not summon up the strength to help him.
’’Have you spoken to Gildor already?’’ he asked.
Erestor shook his head and sighed heavily. ’’Nay, I wanted to ask for your leave first. But I shall do it, right now. ’Tis not something I look forward to, so ’tis best I do it right away.’’
’’True,’‘ Elrond agreed, ’’though I do believe you will find Gildor rather… supportive. He spoke to me of his concern about Lindir, whom he loves as a son, even if Lindir has not chosen to be adopted into his family. He will be glad to help.’’
’’I think that he never forgave me for being the reason why Lindir rejected his offer,’‘ Erestor said, ’’but I can live with his scorn. I am ready to endure anything, if I can keep Lindir in exchange.’’
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gildor Inglorion’s temporary home was a formerly-deserted house near the northern border of the valley, and the extended families that made up his Company dwelt nearby, in other houses whose former inhabitants had left Middle-earth hundreds or even thousands of years ago. They restored the airy buildings to their original beauty, and whenever they returned to Imladris (which was more frequently these days, for they hesitated to risk longer journeys at times of war), they added something to it, new wall-paintings or carvings, or a fountain that had not been there before – or even new saplings planted in the gardens.
The house of the last Finwëan Lord was as spartan as Erestor’s own home. Given the lifestyle of the Wandering Companies, they seldom had more belongings than what a few beasts of burden could carry. As Orgof, their eldest minstrel said jokingly, it helped them to focus on things of true importance.
Gildor himself seemed almost ready to leave. The rooms had been stripped of their few temporary ornaments, the bags packed and waiting in the antechamber, and the Elf-Lord wearing his usual traveling clothes once more. And he had that far-away look in his eyes (so heartbreakingly similar to Lindir’s own), the surest sign that he was on his way already – at least in his heart.
’’Erestor,’‘ he said in surprise, ’’what brings you to my humble dwellings? In all those seasons the Company has spent in Imladris, you have never felt the need to visit me – til now.’’
’’’Tis true, my Lord,’‘ Erestor nodded. “Yet though I am in your debt already for the saving of my life, I must once again ask for a great favor.’’
Speaking these words was hard for him, and Gildor knew that. And yet, no sign of irony marred the hard, perfect beauty of the Elf-Lord’s face.
’’’Tis about Lindir, is it?’‘ he asked quietly.
Erestor could only nod again. ’’He… he is fading, my Lord,’‘ he answered. ’’The Lord of the Valley gave us his leave to depart, and I... I wanted to ask you if we could join the Company. I would not risk traveling with him alone, not in these times.'’
’’You are heading for the Havens?’‘ Gildor asked.
’’Eventually,’‘ said Erestor. ’’First I want to visit Elostirion with him and ask the Valar for healing in that most sacred place. But we are not to return here. I very much doubt that he could find peace here again, ever. So I am planning to linger in the Havens for a while and see if being that close to the Sea will ease his pain. If it does not, we will board a ship and go to the West.’’
’’Mayhap ’tis the best thing you can do,’‘ Gildor agreed. ’’You are welcome to join us, of course. Lindir is family, even if he refuses to accept this fact, and since you are bound to him, in a sense you are family, too.’’
’’Even if you cannot stand me,’‘ Erestor laughed mirthlessly.
Gildor gave him a thoughtful look.
’’’Tis true that there is no great love between the two of us,’‘ he said, ’’but you have proved me wrong about your marriage. You have made Lindir very happy, and if not for you, he most likely would already have fled his body. ’Tis you and only you he clings to life for – and for that I am grateful, for I would hate to lose him, even if it was because of you that he refused to take his place in our family.’’
’’He would never fit in – what had happened during the Siege is proof enough for that,’‘ said Erestor quietly.
Gildor nodded. “I know that. I have known it all this time. That is why I did not object to leaving him in Imladris. He would never have survived in the outside world, not even in the South Haven or Mithlond or Lórien. Not without you. I accept that. It matters not whether I agree with his choice or not. It made him happy, and it made him safe.’’
’’Not any more,’‘ Erestor sighed.
To his great surprise, Gildor stepped closer, lifted his chin and kissed him on the forehead, very much in the manner a father would greet a son, returning home from a long and perilous journey.
’’We shall see that he receives the help he needs to heal – here or over the Sea, it matters not. Let us set aside our quarrel for his sake, son of Hargil, and allow me to welcome you in our family.’’
Erestor could barely guess how hard it must have been for the proud and noble (and more than a little haughty) Elf-Lord, by right the last High King of the Noldor, but robbed of his rank and title by bad luck, to utter these words. If Gildor was ready to step over his own shadow for Lindir’s sake, then Erestor could not be less gracious.
’’I gratefully accept,’‘ he said with a deep bow. ’’When do you intend to leave, my Lord?’’
’’In four day’s time,’‘ Gildor answered. ’’Can you be ready by then?’’
’’I can be ready in two,’‘ Erestor said. Gildor nodded.
’’Then you shall have two more days to say farewell to your home and your former life. For someone who has dwelt in the same spot for an Age and a half, it has to be rather hard, I deem.’’
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gildor had guessed rightly. Taking his leave from Imladris, from the people who dwelt here, from Elrond’s family above all, was very hard for Erestor. It pained him most that he knew he probably would never see Arwen and Elladan again, for they had made their Final Choice and were therefore lost for the world of Elves forever.
’’You have to listen to your heart, Erestor,’‘ Elladan told him, and there was great sorrow on his fair face, but also great peace. ’’Your mind can betray you, but your heart never will. You gave it to Lindir a long time ago, without knowing what it might cost you one day – it belongs you no longer, and you must follow wherever it leads you.’’
’’And where shall your heart lead you?’’ Erestor asked quietly.
’’To Minas Tirith,’‘ Elladan said without hesitation. ’’I have sworn an oath to protect the one I love and all that are his. Now that Imladris is safe again and my beloved is dead, I shall leave too.’’
’’When?’’
’’I know not. Not yet. Soon. As soon as I can find some company – for I would do a beleaguered city little good all by myself.’’
Erestor nodded absently, his mind occupied with his own worries.
’’What is it like?’‘ he asked.
Elladan frowned. ’’What is what like?’’
’’Losing someone you are soul-bound to,’‘ Erestor whispered, knowing that he still might suffer the same loss.
Elladan sighed. ’’Like being cloven in half. Part of you dies with him. It happened to Father, though Mother did only depart. But in my case, ’tis temporary only. He is waiting for me beyond the Rim, and sooner or later, I shall follow.’’
He paused for a moment; then he took Erestor in a tight embrace.
’’I shall miss you,’‘ he murmured, ’’but grieve not for me. I shall not be alone when my life reaches full cycle – I hope you will not be either.’’
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The farewell said to Arwen in private was just as short and meaningful. The Lady of Imladris was not one for shedding tears – and her heart was occupied with her own worries. To Erestor’s great surprise, the Lady Aquiel joined the Company, for she wanted to go and say in Mithlond for a while.
’’I want to give Elrohir some time to think,’‘ she explained, ’’at least until his father’s departure. If he does not come by then, I shall go to the West, leaving him his silver ring behind(5).’’
Gildor seemed delighted at the chance to travel with his beloved niece once more, and even Lindir’s eyes lit up for a brief moment when he heard the news. He and Aquiel had been close from the moment on the young Elf-Lady came to Imladris – and one would be hard-pressed, indeed, to stay in low spirits in her company. So Erestor was very grateful that the Lady Aquiel chose to travel with them (even if he felt sorry for Elrohir), hoping against hope that she would be able to lift some of the darkness from Lindir’s deeply troubled heart as no one else had.
The last two days were an endless anguish. Of course, Erestor would do everything to keep his beloved alive – and heal him, if it was possible at all –, but Imladris had been his home for roughly four and a half thousand years, and his heart was bound to every tree, every stone of the valley. His ancestors were not a travelling folk like Gildor’s people, they rooted deep in the very bones of the Earth where they lived, and Erestor himself clung to his second home even more after having lost the first one in such a terrible way.
’’You should not do this, not for me,’‘ Lindir murmured, helping obediently yet impassively with the packing of their few belongings. ’’You should not give up your home.’’
He did not say ’’our home’’ any more, and that alone reassured Erestor more than anything that his decision had been right.
’’Nay, dear heart,’‘ he said, kissing his beloved gently, ’’my home is where you are. ’Tis true, I shall miss Imladris terribly, but in the end, ’tis only a place. There will be other places, mayhap even more beautiful ones. As long as you are with me, I can live any where.’’
Lindir opened his mouth, inviting him in, desperately eager to please, and they ended up making frantic love on top of their nearly-packed bags once more, regardless of the open balcony or Erestor’s recently-healed injuries.
Riding would be a torture after these last moons, Erestor thought, stroking the swollen and bruised lips of his spouse with a gentle thumb. Thank the Valar that Gildor’s people prefer to travel afoot – even if it makes us more vulnerable. I only hope my bad leg will serve me properly.
Not that he had been truly concerned about their safety. The archers and swordsmen of the Company were hardened fighters, most of them having seen many of the wars in the last two Ages, and were used to defending themselves on their endless journeys. The craftsmen among them were just as tough – and even their women could handle a bow or wield a sword as well as any warrior.
And despite all the long years gone by, Erestor could still remember what Gildor Inglorion was capable of in battle. That minor skirmish that was now called the Siege of Imladris was but a little sword practice for him who had earned the respectful epessë(6) ’’Golden Dragon Prince’’ during the Last Alliance of Elves and Men.
’’Worry not!’’ the Lord of the Company said when they finally gathered at the western gate of the valley (gate being a figure of speech, of course – it was simply an arched passageway among the rocks, hardly wide enough for a beast of burden to pass through), ready to depart. ’’Lindir is the last twig of the once huge and proud tree of Noldorin Kings. He is cherished and loved and treasured among my people. We would all die ere we let him be harmed.’’
Erestor nodded, thankfully clasping Gildor’s forearm in the ages-old warrior’s greeting, then he went to say his farewells to his friends and Elrond’s family one last time, with a shy and once more frighteningly impassive Lindir in tow. It was a short but painful process, performed through long, tight embraces, chaste kisses on cheeks and murmured words of comfort and blessings.
Finally, Erestor tore himself free from Elrond’s arms, turned away and took his place in the patiently waiting line of the Wandering Company. Gildor looked at him questioningly.
’’Ready?’’
Erestor nodded, not trusting his voice, clasping Lindir’s hand, as much for his own support as for Lindir’s.
Let us go, he begged the Lord of the Company wordlessly; let us go now, while I still have the strength to leave. Ere I run back to the house and hide under my bed.
Gildor seemed to understand his wordless plea, for he nodded to his most experienced scout, an archer of Nandorin descent named Durithel who usually led them on their way, to set on. Durithel, almost as ancient as Orgof and once a border guard in Ossiriand, nodded his agreement and stepped through the narrow passageway, leading his horse by the bridle.
The others followed him in a long line, one by one passing the gateway, leading their beasts of burden in a similar fashion – and as they began to walk on the other side, the clear, ringing voice of the Lady Aquiel arose, invoking the prayer of Varda that the wandering Elves always sang when beginning a new journey.
Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady
clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!
The others fell in, singing in Sindarin against their custom, mayhap for Erestor’s sake, mayhap simply because they wanted to say their farewells to the valley and its dwellers in this manner.
Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea.
O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!
O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.
It took Erestor a moment ere he recognized Lindir’s soft, reluctant voice joining in during the last stanza – and his saddened heart began to fill with cautious hope.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, this was a fairly short chapter – but necessary. Next we shall see the Company on their way and – maybe – even the White Tower beyond the Shire.
End notes:
1) See: ’’A Tale of Never-Ending Love’’.
2) One of the Valar, twin brother of Námo/Mandos. Also called Lórien, after his dwelling place.
3) The soul or spirit of an Elf; the body or physical aspect is called the hröa.
4) Father, in Sindarin – remember, Erestor is Elrond’s foster son, even if he doesn’t say so by every given choice.
5) More about Aquiel and Elrohir’s quarrel in: ’’A Tale of Never-Ending Love’’, Ch.1. Part 2: ’’Of the Coming of Elves’’.
6) Nickname.