No Home Here

Chapter Thirteen: Up So Soon?

Two tousle-headed young men tried their best to quietly push open the door of the elves’ room. From the looks of it the room hadn’t been entered since the night before: there were clothes strewn all over the place as if someone had dumped them out of a pack while looking for something else.

One canvas bag still lay on the bed near the window, and it was towards this that the boys headed. Exchanging a mischievous look, one of the boys sat next to the bed and gingerly pulled the top of the bag open, revealing a jumble of clothing and supplies hashed together by days of hard riding.

A long, ebony handle jutted out of the side of the mess of garments, and gingerly Gareth tugged at it until a long, sheathed knife was exposed. Beckoning his twin closer, the boy hesitantly unsheathed the bright silver blade, and both twins leaned closer to inspect the runes and decorations on the knife.

With a mischievous grin, Garren poked his brother’s shoulder, causing the awestruck boy to jump slightly in surprise. The dark-haired boy pointed over to the other bed, where an identical knife lay, scabbard attached to the belt the knife was obviously worn on.

Playfully the other twin darted over to the weapon on pulled it gingerly out of its sheathe before bringing it up into what he had heard older boys refer to as the “guard position.” His brother raised his ‘borrowed’ weapon as well, and soon the boys were mock fighting, blades never quite hitting each other for fear of making too much noise.

As they circled around the room, both twins were too caught up in the thrill of playing with such elegant weapons that they never noticed the creaking of the heavy wooden door. It was only when a slight draft from the hallway caught Gareth’s attention that he looked up, planning on closing the door.

His twin, noticing that his brother had stopped and was now staring at the threshold of the room, gave a small jerk of surprise and dropped the knife that he had been holding. Wedged in the small opening between the door and its frame was the boy that their mother had brought home the day before. His long, black hair was mussed up and stood at odd angles to his scalp, and his silver eyes were slightly glazed over as if he had just woken up.

He made an almost comical picture, Gareth’s worn old sleeping pants contrasting sharply with the soft, yet nevertheless fine elven tunic that he hadn’t been wearing before his brothers had arrived. As the twin men gazed guiltily at him, it seemed almost as if he had a look of disbelief on his countenance, as if he couldn’t quite believe that these strangers were truly sparring with his brothers’ knives.

Gareth let his arm drop down to his side, wondering apprehensively whether the boy would call for his brothers or just start lecturing them in his own odd tongue. Estel, however, slipped the rest of the way inside the messy room and began to walk towards the twins.

Without saying a word, he held out his hand palm up and kept on advancing towards the other young man, who unconsciously took a few steps back. Estel, with eyes slightly clouded by illness and sleep, failed to notice what was going on at floor level, his eyes fixed on the retreating boy in front of him.

Without warning, he tripped over something lying on the floor, briefly feeling a searing pain run through the sole of his foot He dropped instinctively to the ground, numb mind registering that Elladan’s knife had the edge of its blade digging into the arch of his bare foot.

A frown appeared on his face, and once again he cursed himself aloud for his edain clumsiness. Muttering, he gingerly maneuvered his leg so that it was in front of him, and with a wince slowly slid it out of his skin, curling his lip in distaste as blood began to well up in the narrow wound.

Looking around him for something to wipe the blade on, his eyes found that the twins were no longer in the room. That really didn’t surprise the young man: Estel supposed that if it had been him caught red-handed with someone else’s weapons, he wouldn’t have waited around for very long either.

‘Probably afraid that I will tell Dan and Ro.’ He thought with a shadow of a grin. Settling for cleaning the blade on the strap of Elrohir’s pack, he dug through the contents of the bag with his free hand. After a while he found his quarry: a pair of socks.

Slipping both socks over his bleeding foot, he extracted another pair from the bowels of the canvas pack and put one on the other foot, tossing the other back on top of the rest of the clothing and miscellaneous items in the bag.

Sighing, he pushed himself off the ground, scanning the small room with weary silver eyes for a moment before finding the knife’s sheathe. Replacing the weapon in its holder, Estel turned and limped slightly as he left the room.

With a scowl the young man absently realized that he would have to seriously correct his stride if he wished his little mishap to escape his hovering brothers’ notice. With a fair bit of effort the boy walked more slowly and applied equal pressure to each foot as he walked.

Coming to a heavily decorated landing and narrow staircase, Estel paused and leaned on the wooden banister. He could hear voices coming from downstairs, and a merry laugh floated up to the young man’s ears. Shaking his head, the boy tackled the stairs slowly, following the sounds of an animated conversation through the maze of hallways that the boarding house seemed to consist of.

Finally, after several wrong turns and what seemed like hours of retracing his steps, Estel came upon what seemed to be a cheery parlor. There were several men and women sitting on couches and in chairs there, along with Engle and his elven brothers.

As he hovered in the open doorway, one of the men, a blonde with bright blue eyes who looked to be about thirty, glanced in his direction before nudging Elrohir.

“Eh, Elladan, is that ‘im?” He asked with a slight chuckle. Elrohir’s head immediately jerked over to where the man was pointing, and for once the elf didn’t even correct the blonde man’s mistake.

“Estel!” He exclaimed, causing the real Elladan to jump about an inch off the chair he was reclined in. “Why are you up?” Spoken in Westron for the sake of those in the room who would feel uncomfortable about being excluded, the comment drew the attention of most of the people gathered in the room, including that of Engle, who had been bustling about with a bowl of something or other.

She saw Estel leaning on the doorframe and smiled, turning back to her original task when she saw that the young man’s brothers were already at his side and half-dragging him in the general direction of the staircase.

“Elrohir, let me go.” Protested the dark-haired boy weakly. This fetched a snort from one twin and a shake of the head from the other, neither of whom paused a moment in their attempts at removing their baby brother from the company of those in the bright room.

Most of the men and women in the parlor were now smiling as they watched the confrontation between the brothers: to them it was but a bit of humor to brighten up their evening and add flavor to their drinks.

But for Elladan it was not a laughing matter at all. He almost growled in frustration at his younger sibling. The fact that he was up and about less than a day after such a taxing illness was confusing to the dark-haired elf. He shouldn’t have woken until the next morning at the absolute earliest. Nothing that the half-elf could think of could possibly have raised the child from such a slumber.

But even if he was walking about, all the movement couldn’t possibly be anything but detrimental to the young man’s health. Elladan knew it, and he knew without asking that his twin was also aware of the fact that Estel easily could have died if he had been left untreated for much longer. They were blessed as it was that his cold and fever hadn’t erupted into a full-fledged bout with pneumonia.

The elf was sure, however, that his younger brother certainly had no clue how perilous his situation had been, and in fact still was. He growled quietly, pondering the idea that perhaps Estel enjoyed making his life miserable. Elrohir, as if reading his twin’s mind, smiled at his brother over Estel’s dark head.

“Deep breaths brother, we don’t want to startle anyone.” Elladan smiled, realizing just how overprotective he was being towards the child. Estel looked up with a pout evident on his boyish face, looking between the twins as if sizing up whether they would release his before or after they completely cut off the circulation to his forearms.

“Promise that you will behave, tithen gwador?” He asked the young man with only a hint of a grin gracing his fair features. Estel nodded solemnly, and his arms were released. Instantly a hand on his back began to steer the child down the hallway and back towards the stars that he had decended only a few moments before.

As they left several nondescript farewells were aimed at the elves and the younger brother that they had seen so briefly. The attention of the majority was held but briefly before returning to whatever matters had been the focus of discussion before the interruption; namely the storm.

Estel could hear the chatter pick up in velocity once more as they padded up the stairwell, the boy trying not to cringe as his foot supported more of his weight every time he proceeded up a stair.

‘Who would have thought that a cut would trouble me so much after all that my body has been through these last few days.’ He thought absently as they finally reached the top of the stairs and he was propelled straight towards his room.

As soon as the door to the dark room was pushed open, the twins went into healer mode, leaving Estel to sit on the bed and watch blearily as they bustled around the room. In a matter of minutes the efficient elves had gotten a fire started in the hearth, warmed a cup of something that Estel was downright afraid of, and went making things more comfortable for their brother.

Elrohir disappeared for a moment to retrieve something for the young man’s congestion from his pack, while his twin busied himself by tucking Estel under several layers of blankets that had gravitated to the bed during their short stay in the house. After checking the concoction simmering near the flames and restlessly brushing the draperies so that they hung straight, Elladan finally gave up and stuck his head out into the hallway.

“Ro, what on Arda is taking you so long?” He hissed into the empty hallway, knowing that his twin could easily hear him from the next room. Elrohir’s slightly muffled voice drifted back to him.

“Sorry.” He muttered in a disgruntled manner. “Gods-cursed vials have all rolled under the bed. Pack must have gotten upset in all the hurry.” Estel gave into a brief bout of chuckles, which, as they were wont to, turned into a coughing fit.

Elladan was immediately at his brother’s side, pulling the young boy back up and leaning him forward. Trying to shift so that Estel could brace himself against his arms, Elladan began to fret as honking coughs plagued the young man.

“Elrohir! Now!” He seethed.

“Coming!” The other elf called from the neighboring room. A brief scuffling sound was heard, and then Elrohir reappeared, rushing through the doorway with a glass vial clutched in one hand. Floating over to the bed, the elf attempted to loan his brothers support even as he hurriedly uncorked the vial and held it under the man’s nose.

For a moment there was no reaction, but slowly the coughing relented and Estel was once again pushed without a fuss back against the pillows, all dignity having fled as he hacked his lungs out onto his brother’s shirtsleeve. With a small sigh Elrohir carried the vial of clear liquid over to the fire, where he poured it in one of several light traveling bowls that were scattered hodge-podge on the hearth.

Moving it onto the metal rack above the flames, the elf left it there with full assurance that the liquid would heat up and fill the room with the fragrance and healing property of the potent herb extract. Removing the full mug from the same rack, he carried it over to where Elladan was sitting on the edge of the bed. His twin received the cup with a smile, and with a wry grin waved the brew in his younger brother’s line of vision.

“And we all know what this is, don’t we baby brother?” Estel frowned tiredly: now that he was in bed all his body seemed to want to do was sleep. Already the boy’s eyelids were drooping, and he barely trusted his mouth not to yawn and give away his weariness.

He simply nodded morosely and swallowed the hot liquid that his brother poured into his mouth. Once there was nothing inside the cup save the dregs of whatever ‘mystery herbs’ the twins had decided to put in the fluid, the cup was removed and the tired young man turned his head towards the wall housing the window.

The curtains were drawn over the glass panes, but Estel fancied he could see the stars even through the material. Elladan followed his gaze, wondering distantly what his foster brother could find so interesting in the pattern of the window hangings. True, it was a nice pattern, but still, nothing that should captivate a young boy’s mind for any period of time. To think of it, it didn’t captivate his mind, and he was far older, though the elf wondered vaguely if men were supposed to become more engrossed by curtains as they matured.

Startled back to reality by his twin’s slight throat clearing, Elladan looked down to see that Estel had already fallen asleep. Not able to resist, the elf ruffled his long, dark locks one last time before getting up gingerly off the bed and exiting the room, shutting the door softly behind him.