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I Say, I Say, I Say :: Take Me Back
Title: I Say, I Say, I Say (Part 1 of 10)
Fandom: Tolkien/LotR
Characters: Erestor and friends (Thranduil, Legolas, Elrond, Gil-Galad, Glorfindel, OFCs and OMCs, various Valar)
CD & Song: I Say, I Say, I Say by Erasure – Take Me Back
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1223
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, just playing with them.
Summary: Erestor still grieves for the loss of his friends in Gondolin, but comes to find peace and hope in Greenwood and later, in the newly founded Imladris.
Author’s Notes: Second age Middle-earth. This corresponds with other stories that I have written in the PPB universe (http://pounce.queencheetah.com), meaning I’ve taken a few minor liberties (making Erestor a peredhel who is half-Noldor and half-Ainur, and making Thranduil old enough to have been born in Valinor). There will be some het, and implied slash. Talk of death, religion, and probably goats, knowing me.
I don't know if I can ever really post this on yahoo groups, because images are involved... eh, we'll see...-Zhie
PS - the image shows up craparifically on my journal; to see it better, hop on over to pounce
---
“You could have come here first.”
It is the same reaction I have received from each and every elf who knew me from Doriath. “Thank you, I know.” My reply is the same, but for him, I do not turn and walk away. “I was... too embarrassed to come here at first.”
“Why is that?” Thranduil, I have noticed, has not only grown incredibly since last I saw him, but he has matured. Beyond myself in some ways, perhaps. It is what separates the future kings from the peasants.
First I look down the hall, and when I see no one is there, I say, “Your son fought bravely in the fall of Gondolin; he led the survivors to safety. He braved so many perils, and then, returned to you here with the glory of a hero. I was not about to mar that return by bringing a coward to your door.”
“Erestor, you are being ridiculous.” Thranduil shakes his head. “The way Legolas tells it, you were taking up the rear position and fought until the balrog came.”
The word, that evil word, makes me flinch. I leave things be at that; there is no use arguing with Thranduil. Not now, not while my defenses are down. So, I bow my head, and hope he goes away. I should know better.
“You will be coming to dinner with us tonight, of course.” Thranduil walks to the windows that are high up on the wall, very near to the low ceiling and pulls back the curtain. “Adar said to tell you that you should take a little while to adjust and then think about what you would like to accomplish while you are here.”
“How is he?” I ask, uncertain of what I am to call Oropher. He adopted me in Doriath, to keep me safe and out of jail – something he never had to do. Something I do not think I ever fully appreciated while there. Although he never had to, he also told me I had the same right to call him father as his own son did, and as Thaladir had been given leave to. Thaladir never did; so I followed suit. It was such a small thing I could have – should have done, to show my gratitude. A simple thing that would have given Oropher a little extra happiness, and yet...
“He is still upset that you did not come to him first, no matter the reason.” Thranduil gave an elegant shrug. “It will pass.”
I hope he is right. Whether or not Oropher will take me back as his adopted son, at least I know I am welcome here. Of course, I would not be surprised if I am made to work in the kitchens washing dishes for a while.
My worries dissipated during dinner. When I arrived in the hall, Ilmendin and Legolas waved me to a seat between them. Oropher sat across from them, but his back was to me. Swallowing hard, I swiftly walked to the table and sat down, keeping my eyes upon my plate.
When the hall had nearly filled, Oropher stood and in his booming voice with hands folded and eyes to the floor, he led those in the room in a prayer over the meal. I will admit, I felt foolishly out of place, not knowing quite where my hands should be or if I should be saying the words with them or not. Somehow, I realized in awe, Oropher and his family had managed to convert the many Sylvan elves that had followed him from Laurelindorinan. On many occasions, Amdir mentioned that a host of Galadhrim had left his realm and traveled with Oropher. Among these, a guide he had called Saelbeth, a loss to the Galadhrim, he would say.
Now, I am shaking hands with this ellon, and I smile and nod as I should. He is pleased to meet me; I should sat something similar and so I do, though something about him reminds me of Gildor. My stomach clenches; to think of Gildor reminds me of...
“Erestor, are you alright?” Hisre, ever a mother, concerns herself with looking over my figure, and clicks her tongue. “You are paler than I remember! And how thin!”
Within seconds she has portioned food onto my plate, and I have not the heart to tell her that I no longer eat meat. Just the smell of it reminds me of the burning, the screaming and the dying, the stench of baking flesh. I take a deep breath and thank her. My eyes are still averting themselves from Oropher.
I miss answering the question that Saelbeth asks, so Legolas speaks for me. “He was a Captain in Gondolin. His was the only company of fighters on horseback – with the exception of Salgant, who would not have made it three minutes in a battle on foot. Erestor’s troops were archers – you should have seen them ride as they shot at the demons that were attacking from the air. It was incredible.”
Feeling Saelbeth’s gaze on me, I can tell what he is thinking. ‘This? This was a Captain of Gondolin?’ Hisre’s observations are correct – I am not what I once was, even in Doriath. I can see my ribs beneath my skin when I undress before a mirror; my hair has thinned and is no longer sleek and black, but coarse and little more than a muddy grey. There is no laughter in my eyes, and barely any light, either. And always, the cold. I know what it is – but how I have come to begin fading so slowly, I do not know. My grief over the loss of the city and those I loved is great, but there was no one to whom I was bound. In the back of my mind, there is one idea, but I push it away and bury it, just like I buried him. The prospect of where that path leads frightens me, so I deny it with every ounce of my ability.
“Ion-nin, would you mind passing the salt?”
I barely hear Oropher’s words, lost in my daydreaming, until Legolas gives me a nudge. I glance down the table, and note that both Thranduil and Thaladir are too far away to hear, and deep in their own conversation.
Sitting within reach of my right hand is a jar of salt. Shakily, my hand picks it up and still keeping my head bowed, I hold it out to Oropher.
“Thank you.” He takes the jar and sets it down, then speaks to Saelbeth. “He is the third I mention to you; of course, Thranduil is the first and yet the youngest, and Thaladir the second and next oldest, and Erestor was a bit of an unexpected blessing. My father told me once after my sister ran off and married her true love without his permission, that if I was wise I would have two sons instead of two daughters or a son and a daughter. Well, now I have three – just a little unconventionally. The fact that two of them were raised by other parents saved me the stress.”
A tear falls from my eye as I realize how forgiving of a father Oropher is. I blame it on the onions. Adar and I both know better.
Fandom: Tolkien/LotR
Characters: Erestor and friends (Thranduil, Legolas, Elrond, Gil-Galad, Glorfindel, OFCs and OMCs, various Valar)
CD & Song: I Say, I Say, I Say by Erasure – Take Me Back
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1223
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, just playing with them.
Summary: Erestor still grieves for the loss of his friends in Gondolin, but comes to find peace and hope in Greenwood and later, in the newly founded Imladris.
Author’s Notes: Second age Middle-earth. This corresponds with other stories that I have written in the PPB universe (http://pounce.queencheetah.com), meaning I’ve taken a few minor liberties (making Erestor a peredhel who is half-Noldor and half-Ainur, and making Thranduil old enough to have been born in Valinor). There will be some het, and implied slash. Talk of death, religion, and probably goats, knowing me.
I don't know if I can ever really post this on yahoo groups, because images are involved... eh, we'll see...-Zhie
PS - the image shows up craparifically on my journal; to see it better, hop on over to pounce
---
“You could have come here first.”
It is the same reaction I have received from each and every elf who knew me from Doriath. “Thank you, I know.” My reply is the same, but for him, I do not turn and walk away. “I was... too embarrassed to come here at first.”
“Why is that?” Thranduil, I have noticed, has not only grown incredibly since last I saw him, but he has matured. Beyond myself in some ways, perhaps. It is what separates the future kings from the peasants.
First I look down the hall, and when I see no one is there, I say, “Your son fought bravely in the fall of Gondolin; he led the survivors to safety. He braved so many perils, and then, returned to you here with the glory of a hero. I was not about to mar that return by bringing a coward to your door.”
“Erestor, you are being ridiculous.” Thranduil shakes his head. “The way Legolas tells it, you were taking up the rear position and fought until the balrog came.”
The word, that evil word, makes me flinch. I leave things be at that; there is no use arguing with Thranduil. Not now, not while my defenses are down. So, I bow my head, and hope he goes away. I should know better.
“You will be coming to dinner with us tonight, of course.” Thranduil walks to the windows that are high up on the wall, very near to the low ceiling and pulls back the curtain. “Adar said to tell you that you should take a little while to adjust and then think about what you would like to accomplish while you are here.”
“How is he?” I ask, uncertain of what I am to call Oropher. He adopted me in Doriath, to keep me safe and out of jail – something he never had to do. Something I do not think I ever fully appreciated while there. Although he never had to, he also told me I had the same right to call him father as his own son did, and as Thaladir had been given leave to. Thaladir never did; so I followed suit. It was such a small thing I could have – should have done, to show my gratitude. A simple thing that would have given Oropher a little extra happiness, and yet...
“He is still upset that you did not come to him first, no matter the reason.” Thranduil gave an elegant shrug. “It will pass.”
I hope he is right. Whether or not Oropher will take me back as his adopted son, at least I know I am welcome here. Of course, I would not be surprised if I am made to work in the kitchens washing dishes for a while.
My worries dissipated during dinner. When I arrived in the hall, Ilmendin and Legolas waved me to a seat between them. Oropher sat across from them, but his back was to me. Swallowing hard, I swiftly walked to the table and sat down, keeping my eyes upon my plate.
When the hall had nearly filled, Oropher stood and in his booming voice with hands folded and eyes to the floor, he led those in the room in a prayer over the meal. I will admit, I felt foolishly out of place, not knowing quite where my hands should be or if I should be saying the words with them or not. Somehow, I realized in awe, Oropher and his family had managed to convert the many Sylvan elves that had followed him from Laurelindorinan. On many occasions, Amdir mentioned that a host of Galadhrim had left his realm and traveled with Oropher. Among these, a guide he had called Saelbeth, a loss to the Galadhrim, he would say.
Now, I am shaking hands with this ellon, and I smile and nod as I should. He is pleased to meet me; I should sat something similar and so I do, though something about him reminds me of Gildor. My stomach clenches; to think of Gildor reminds me of...
“Erestor, are you alright?” Hisre, ever a mother, concerns herself with looking over my figure, and clicks her tongue. “You are paler than I remember! And how thin!”
Within seconds she has portioned food onto my plate, and I have not the heart to tell her that I no longer eat meat. Just the smell of it reminds me of the burning, the screaming and the dying, the stench of baking flesh. I take a deep breath and thank her. My eyes are still averting themselves from Oropher.
I miss answering the question that Saelbeth asks, so Legolas speaks for me. “He was a Captain in Gondolin. His was the only company of fighters on horseback – with the exception of Salgant, who would not have made it three minutes in a battle on foot. Erestor’s troops were archers – you should have seen them ride as they shot at the demons that were attacking from the air. It was incredible.”
Feeling Saelbeth’s gaze on me, I can tell what he is thinking. ‘This? This was a Captain of Gondolin?’ Hisre’s observations are correct – I am not what I once was, even in Doriath. I can see my ribs beneath my skin when I undress before a mirror; my hair has thinned and is no longer sleek and black, but coarse and little more than a muddy grey. There is no laughter in my eyes, and barely any light, either. And always, the cold. I know what it is – but how I have come to begin fading so slowly, I do not know. My grief over the loss of the city and those I loved is great, but there was no one to whom I was bound. In the back of my mind, there is one idea, but I push it away and bury it, just like I buried him. The prospect of where that path leads frightens me, so I deny it with every ounce of my ability.
“Ion-nin, would you mind passing the salt?”
I barely hear Oropher’s words, lost in my daydreaming, until Legolas gives me a nudge. I glance down the table, and note that both Thranduil and Thaladir are too far away to hear, and deep in their own conversation.
Sitting within reach of my right hand is a jar of salt. Shakily, my hand picks it up and still keeping my head bowed, I hold it out to Oropher.
“Thank you.” He takes the jar and sets it down, then speaks to Saelbeth. “He is the third I mention to you; of course, Thranduil is the first and yet the youngest, and Thaladir the second and next oldest, and Erestor was a bit of an unexpected blessing. My father told me once after my sister ran off and married her true love without his permission, that if I was wise I would have two sons instead of two daughters or a son and a daughter. Well, now I have three – just a little unconventionally. The fact that two of them were raised by other parents saved me the stress.”
A tear falls from my eye as I realize how forgiving of a father Oropher is. I blame it on the onions. Adar and I both know better.
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