The Littlest Warrior

Estel sat contentedly on a footstool near the fireplace in Cilinwë’s chambers, happily munching on a sweet biscuit, easily retrieved from Lady Nilya, and sipping on a cup of buttermilk. The little one’s eyes were wide with amazement as this was his first time inside his hero’s apartments. The grin plastered on his face was priceless, Estel was in warrior heaven. There was no doubt in his mind that he was the first, the very first person in his family to be invited into the sword master’s personal rooms.

Cilinwë was known as a very private elf, very much like his ‘Westor; for the most part he kept to himself during his off duty time. Oh, certainly he could be found in the Hall of Fire during those times when there were celebrations or parties, and sometimes after long stints of border patrol the sentries would gather there along with Lord Glorfindel to recount tales of their nights of duty, and to trade exaggerated stories of their encounters and their boredom.

However, for the most part, if he was not in the field, or training the younger warriors, he spent his time traveling between Lord Elrond’s extensive library and his sammoth. Estel knew that Erestor would visit from time to time as he and Cilinwë were long time friends, and on occasion Estel overheard conversations that suggested that Glorfindel also spent time visiting in the sword master’s rooms. However, to the best of his knowledge neither of his brothers or his Ada had ever been inside Linwë’s private chamber and he felt quite honored to be the first.

Estel sat as patiently as any three year old ever could, waiting for Linwë to finish his conversation with his tutor. He and the sword master had finally located Erestor as he exited the healing wing, and the Seneschal indicated that he had something private that he needed to discuss, so Estel had been asked to sit quietly while Erestor conducted some important business.

As he sat, his eyes traveled the room trying to take in everything he could, and there was a lot to see. Linwë had paintings, many paintings, paintings of almost everyone Estel knew, and some of people he’d never seen before. There was one of his Ada in his formal red robes, one of each of the twins, and another with the two together on horseback. There were drawings of Erestor, one of him at council meeting and another of him outside, sitting under a tree near the Bruinen.

There was a portrait over the mantle of an elf with a silver circlet on his head and he carried a long spear. Estel was not sure who he was, but he thought that he must be someone important because his was the largest portrait in the room. Positioned on the mantle were four smaller drawings of dark-haired elves wearing helms with various insignia; and just this side of the balcony door Estel saw the source of all these paintings, an easel sitting atop a drop cloth of sorts, that was covered in splattered paint. Aside the easel was a small table, also covered in a cloth, and atop it sat a variety of small pots and jars that held numerous brushes and finely colored chalks. Drawing and painting were two of Estel’s favorite things to do, and as he sat here now he wondered if Cilinwë would allow him to draw a picture.

On a side table near the window was a small drawing of a beautiful elleth whose long dark hair was elaborately braided around the crown of her head, Estel thought that she looked a lot like Cilinwë and guessed that she must be his Naneth as her smile was big and bright just like his. In a corner of the room there was a large wooden box with a cloth thrown over the top, and the child was dying to take a peek and find out what was inside; but he knew that would not be polite, so he kept his seat.

In the center of the dressing table lay a small hand mirror and a comb and brush set made with elaborate mithril filigree. They did not look as though they had been used, and another more modest set of tortoise shell lay on a table near the bed, giving testament to the fact that the mithril set was indeed for display only. Centered on the far wall of the room was a large four-poster bed with crisp white linens. It was not as big as the bed that Glorfy and ‘Westor used, and it didn’t have a top on it, but with all the pillows and thick handmade coverlets, it looked soft and comfy. On a desk near the balcony doors Estel saw several stacks of books, and a small pile of parchment situated near an inkwell which held a black plumbed quill. An elaborately carved wooden rack held an equally elaborate bow and a hand tooled leather quiver, and all around the room in different little groupings there were weapons, or more precisely swords. Swords of all kinds, some straight, some curved, some long, some short, some plain and others that were very fancy.

There were twin swords with silver hilts inlaid with some kind of dark colored wood; Estel recognized the wood from one of his lessons with Erestor as the kind called “Eb-nee.” The wood looked smooth, as did the silver colored metal into which it was set, and the swords appeared to have been handled many times. To one side of the mantle there was a set of daggers encrusted with small red jewels, the handles were inlaid with mother-of-pearl and on the other side hung Linwë’s baldric, which held the ivory handled short swords that he wore whenever he was on duty.

As he finished his biscuit he reached down to retrieve his cup and to his shock and horror he missed the handle of the cup and wound up tipping it over, spilling buttermilk all over the beautiful antique rug in front of the hearth. Both little hands came up to cover his mouth and quiet the loud gasp that threatened to escape his lips. Tears filled the boy’s eyes as he watched the ever-widening puddle of milk splay out and then soak into the obviously expensive carpet.

There it was then…he would never be allowed back into Linwë’s rooms again, all he had to do was sit still and eat his biscuit and he could not even do that right. As he looked over his shoulder towards the doorway he could see that Erestor and Cilinwë were still deep in conversation; what was he to do? Desperately he looked around the room trying to find anything that he could use to wipe up the milk. Finding nothing, he did the only thing he could think of to do…he unfastened his tunic, pulled it off over his head and began to use it to sop up the spill.

Estel worked diligently trying to get the milk up, but that part of the liquid that spilled on the floor just seemed to get bigger and bigger as he wiped at it. By this time tears were rolling down the boy’s cheeks, the more he worked the larger the puddle seemed to get. His tunic had become little more than a cloth to spread the offending liquid, and he knew now that there was no way he would be able to clean it up. Linwë would never speak to him again, of this he was sure. Kneeling there in the middle of the mess turning his ruined tunic over and over in his hands, the knees of his leggings soaked through, the child began to cry wholeheartedly. Hearing Estel’s sobs, Erestor and Cilinwë rushed back into the room to find the half-dressed child sobbing uncontrollably.

“Estel…” Erestor exclaimed, “…what in Arda?”

Wailing, Estel rose running to Erestor wrapping himself around his protector’s knees.

Burying his face in the seneschal’s legs the words were muffled but could be understood as they were broken up by sniffles. “I dinna (sniff) mean (sniff), to do it ‘Westor…I swearrr!”

After regaining a small measure of composure the words continued, “It fell… (sniff) …and, I… (sniff)…couldna clean it up! It was… on...da...rug an I couldna…clean it up.”

Now thoroughly upset, the little voice continued, “I messed up ‘Linwë’s rug…and now I canna come back…(a hiccup)…I won be his little warrior….any…more!” Estel broke down into full-blown sobs.

As Erestor tried to unwrap Estel from his knees Cilinwë quietly walked over to the table and retrieved the pitcher that sat there, returning to the hearth he called Estel to him.

“Estel”

The little one buried his face deeper into the Seneschal’s robes and cried on. Finally Erestor was able to pry the boy loose, and knelt down beside the child. As he was about to speak Cilinwë interrupted him, “Erestor…please…allow me…this is between Estel and me.”

Erestor looked up at the pitcher in the warrior’s hand and though he was reluctant to release Estel to be chastised by anyone, he knew that the child would never learn to face life without fear if he didn’t start now.

Turning the child around to face the sword master he said “Estel…Master Cilinwë is speaking to you.”

Expecting the worse, the teary-eyed child turned with his head down in shame, and raised heartbroken eyes to look at the master of swords through long wet lashes.

“Estel come here.”

Hesitantly the child moved forward, remembering only now what Erestor and his Ada always told him about facing your punishment for the bad things you did in the world. Cilinwë knelt beside the still crying child and asked, “Estel…is this the same milk that you spilled on my carpet?”

The little one nodded his head in the affirmative, terrified of what punishment Cilinwë would issue. Having received his answer the master of swords slipped his arm around Estel’s waist and proceeded to turn the pitcher upside down, slowly pouring almost a full ewer of milk out onto the carpet as he spoke.

“Estel, the milk is not important to me…and I do not care about the carpet…I care about you. You are important to me Melyanna, I would not care if you spilled 10 ewers of milk on that rug…you are always welcome here, and you will always be my little warrior, no matter what.”

“For weal?”

“For real.”

Estel threw his arms so tightly around Cilinwë’s neck that he almost knocked him over.

“I wuv you Linwë!”

“I love you too little warrior,” he said as he hugged the child and soothingly patted him on his back.

“Now,” he said smiling, “…we shall have no more of these tears…right?”

Mustering the most serious look he could; Estel gave his apology and his explanation.

“I sorry Linwë, I dinna mean to do it, honest, it was a acci.. acci…,” unable to come up with the proper pronunciation of the word, Estel leaned in and cut to the chase, “…the cup did it.”

Erestor and Linwë burst into laughter while Estel stood there mystified, wondering why all the grownups around him seemed to find the things he did so funny.