The Forbidden Child

Through Mind and In Heart

A week later, Estel was still in his cell, though now he was healed and well rested. He worried more for Arwen and his child more than we worried for himself. 

He had not received news on his wife's condition. Perhaps she was dead. The child, well, there seemed to be no way the child had survived.

This terrible possibility loomed over him and drove him to the point of insanity these many long days stuck in a prison cell.

On the seventh day of his imprisonment, he was awoken from a restless sleep by a guard. The elf barked through the grated door, "Estel! Lord Elrond orders your presence!" 

A moment of quiet followed as Estel struggled to his feet. 

"And I advise you do not attempt to escape as you so foolishly did last time. As you saw before, you will pay the price dearly if you resist," he added.

Estel's body creaked in protest as he got up. His bones had soaked up the chill from the dungeon floor and ached with a restless sleep. He said to the guard, "I stained the floor with your brothers' blood last time I tried to, as you say, foolishly resist." He smiled callously.

"Lord Elrond has quite the punishment for you, my friend Estel," was what the guard replied. 

His comeback was ominous.

Estel's steps were slow and staggered as he walked to the Throne Room where Lord Elrond awaited him. Dread filled him all up. At the Throne Room's entrance, the twins were waiting, serious expressions pasted on their faces. Estel instantly fired off questions, "How is she? Is Arwen alive? What of the child?"

Elrohir grimaced, shaking his head.

It struck Estel that neither of the twins were permitted to speak to him. It made Estel feel a little better, because it meant Arwen might still be alive. There was chance.

Estel looked between Elladan and Elrohir's grave expressions as they opened the double doors into the Throne Room.

The Throne Room was outdoors so snow coated everything except Lord Elrond's throne, which he sat at. The trees that surrounded the foundation were bare, the ice crystals sparkling like ornaments on their branches. The freshly fallen snow was left untouched, except for one pair of footprints leading up to the throne. The snow crunched crisply under Estel's feet, disrupting the fatal silence. He was shoved to his knees, arms still behind his back as he was forced to kneel in front of Lord Elrond.

The elven lord sat high and mightily. His eyes seemed darker than the black of night, rage and fury building like a storm in them. His crown looked as if it was made of thorns. His fingers dug into the arms of his throne, a terrible, wrathful expression etched deep into his face. Lord Elrond's gaze never left Estel or even flitted to the guard as Estel was forced to kneel before him.

"Leave us," he commanded.

"Lord Elrond, I know you must be upset with me," Aragorn began cautiously, aware of the dangerous ground he tread.

"Upset? How could I be upset with you? After all you have done, leaving me after my years and years of hospitality I treated you to? When all I wanted for you was your birthright? How could I possibly be upset after you courted my daughter behind my back, even though I forbade you to? After you were wed to her in a shrewd ceremony? After she conceived your child? Tell me, Estel, how could I possibly be upset?"

Anger built up inside of Estel and he blurted out, "Why have you forbade it? What hate fills your heart so that it prevents you from allowing a cheerful daughter? From looking upon your granddaughter without hate in your eyes?" Estel trailed off, "If she is alive. If they are both alive."