Gilded Guilt - (Lord of the Rings, M)

[Garnet]

I got a request for another Elrond thing in my drabble thread, and this had been sitting in my drafts. It ended up being more than a drabble, less than a fic, because I am terrible. I dunno, dadfeels. And a lot of freaking E-names, what the hell Tolkien.

I didn't really pin an exact age on Aragorn, here, but it might be under thirteen, so I tried to keep the mention of symptoms as vague as possible. If it's problematic, let me know.

---

Much as he might bemoan the glacier pace of lingual and written studies over riding and swordplay, Estel had grown to foster a certain appreciation for this midmorning block. It was perhaps more exciting when he was assigned a tutor whose ire he could provoke. He'd worked his way through three already, driving them off with a sort of puckish satisfaction that only his brothers seemed to appreciate. On the days that Lord Elrond presided over the instruction himself, however, that was nice for different and fonder reasons. Even if he was forced to behave and attend to his actual work.

"H-WHFFH!"

"Bless you."

"Thank--...H-WHFFH!"

This time, Estel glanced up from his morning exercises with faint concern. He set down his pen and studied his father where he stood near one of the windows overlooking Imladris. Not that Elrond was overlooking much of anything, at the moment, as he bent his head and worked his nose side to side within the handkerchief. A small itch must be lingering just inside, unwilling to be subdued. That was the third sneeze since breakfast, in fact. Strange.

"Bless you! Ada," he began, with a teasing smile in spite of his uncertainty. "What's tickling you?"

"Would that I knew," Elrond replied with an airy sniff as he recovered himself. "But it is doing a very good job of it." He wrinkled and relaxed his nose, tentatively at ease with it, then fixed his son with a look. "The distraction is not a suitable excuse to neglect your studies, I'm afraid," he added, with eyes narrowed. Dutifully, Estel picked up his quill again, and pretended to write.

He needed to feign interest only a moment or two, before a thin, quivering inhale drew his gaze upwards. Elrond's calm and august features had crumpled into a grimace, nostrils caught in a helpless backflare. Estel found himself weirdly entranced by the break in his usual demeanor, and stared as he buried himself into the handkerchief again, muffling the force as best he could.

"H-WHRFFHH!"

That seemed to at last satisfy, gauging by his father's sigh afterwards, but Estel was increasingly more troubled. He fidgeted the quill between his fingers. He'd seen the Lord of Imladris sneeze a scant few times, before. They came on abruptly and powerfully in the presence of too much dust, or sometimes apropos of nothing at all. Typically, one or two good, thorough blasts was enough to relieve the irritant. Rarely did the incidents stretch out over the course of a morning or a day, not without apparent cause.

"You're starting to sound like I did, last week."

That had been the worst cold he'd had in... well, a while. They occurred with what he could only hope was normal frequency, for a human, and usually they slowed him little. He'd barely had the energy to stir from bed until a few days ago, however, and his chest still felt a little tender and raw from it. He recalled his father's hands testing his brow for fever, bearing cups of tea to his bedside and probing gently at the swollen areas just behind and below his jaw. Ever attentive.

A very vague, finicky little notion began to seed itself in the back of his mind, as he watched Elrond dab at his nose and swallow in apparent discomfort. He considered whether his father had seemed a little slower today, less with unhurried dignity and more with the weight of exhaustion. Was his color not so bright and healthy as usual? The faint, Elven glow a touch dimmed?

"I should hope not. Finish your work, ion nîn," he said, firm but not unkind.

Forgetting his suspicions, Estel bent obediently back to the parchment. Lord Elrond had an incredibly long-burning fuse, but it was not worth lighting over something so trivial.

Probably.

It was difficult to concentrate after that. With some effort that he frankly considered heroic, Estel managed to plow through the rest of it within the hour. He could find some pleasure in any time spent with his adoptive father. Still, he'd been stuck indoors most of the week, and his lungs were starved for fresh air, his fingertips bereft of dirt and sap and horsehair.

"A bit sloppy," Elrond remarked, looking over his figures. "But I can see you are about to squirm out of your chair."

"Please can I go, Ada?"

The Elf gave his shoulder a fond squeeze. "Be gone with you, imp."

He vacated the study in so much hurry that he was clear of the doors before remembering to bid a goodbye. Looking back, he felt a queer drop in his stomach to find Elrond already steepling his nose into the handkerchief. He twisted hard at the waist with the force of two vigorously suppressed sneezes.

Surely it was not possible?

His mother might know. Elrond certainly would. He could not bring himself to ask either. The creeping sense of shame was too great. Instead, he went seeking out his brothers.

He found Elrohir first, saddling his horse out by the stables. Elladan couldn't be far off, but one twin would suffice for now. Most who lived in Imladris still couldn't tell the pair apart, even after decades or centuries. It didn't help that they wore each other's clothes or braided their hair similarly. Even when they chose to wear a different style, they would often switch out part way through the week, merely to toy with people. Estel had never had much trouble, though the twins seemed continually impressed with his perception. He thought it only too obvious which of his brothers had a slightly narrower set to his eyes, which walked with a gait that favored his left side, which bore a small, nigh-invisible scar nicked just under his jaw.

Elrohir caught his eye as he was settling the lightweight Elven saddle to his mare. "Estel! Are you done sniffling and hacking at last? Come hunting with us."

At any other moment, he might have leapt to the opportunity. Lindir had mused in passing, once, that identical twins could be so focused on one another to the point of social exclusion. Elrond's natural sons had either passed through that phase already, or they had made a concerted effort to involve him. He never felt unwelcome in their presence, despite the rifts of race and age.

Occasionally, privately, he wondered if they had ever born him any ill will. Elrond had taken an immediate and unquestioning paternal role in Estel's life, as far back as he could remember. Though there was no attachment between the Elf and Gilraen beyond courteous friendship, the twins received no share of motherly attention from her in turn. It seemed somehow unfair for him to borrow of their father without giving anything back, although he knew it was better thus. He had never known his own sire, yet the space Celebrian had left behind was palpable, even unspoken. He wished he had met her.

He deflected the invite with a question, as he reached for the mare's soft nose. She snuffled his hands, lipping around with hope for treats.

"Could a Man make an Elf sick, 'Ro?"

Elrohir put on a very solemn, thoughtful expression as he tightened the girth and checked its fit. "Well, sometimes you do sicken me when you are straight out of bed in the morning and have not yet bathed." Estel scowled. He found an acorn nearby and flicked it at his brother. Elrohir ducked a second too late, laughing as it pinged off his shoulder. "Ai! He is too quick and too cruel, Vanyë! Save yourself!"

The mare tilted an ear back at her rider's dramatics and whuffed with disinterest.

"Be serious, 'Ro! If I caught an illness, could you get it from me?"

Elrohir shrugged with bewilderment. "I should think so, at least more easily for our shared blood. But look, I am fine. So is 'Dan," he said as he mounted to his horse with a graceful sweep of motion. Even if his adopted family was only half-Elven, they had never seemed to bear the hardships of their mortal ancestry. Estel's shoulders dropped with dismay.

"It's not you," he said, defeated. "Adar's been sluggish and sneezing all morning."

That brought a slight shift to his brother's expression, though it seemed more one of light, fond amusement than concern. "Truly? And you think yourself the cause." When Estel shrugged glumly, he flashed a lopsided grin. "Well, you're probably right."

"You're not helping!"

Elrohir laughed, but he walked Vanyë close enough that he could lean down and rumple his younger, human brother's hair. "Oh, Estel, it was only a cold. I think you both shall live. Anyway, it would do him good to take some time off."

"You know as well as I that he won't."

Elrohir straightened in his saddle again. "Well, then I leave the convincing up to you, muindor. If you're sure you won't come?"

From a ways up the trail, on the ridge, he caught the pale shape of Elladan's horse, already seated as well. No doubt he'd been waiting impatiently on his brother. Estel waved them both on.

"Next time. Good hunting," he bid, with an Elven gesture of affection: a hand touched to the spot beside his breast, then swept out with palm upturned. Elrohir returned the motion, fond, and from up on the ridge he could see his twin mirror it. Then he put heels to flank, and in a clatter of hooves was riding on.

In their wake, Estel considered the strangeness of his father with any illness. So often, it was the other way around, with Elrond ever a patient and talented healer.

Gilraen did her best. She could soothe a nightmare or kiss a scraped knee, but Estel was rarely content with nightmares or scraped knees.

Last winter he'd been bedbound with something especially vile that left him unable to hold down food or water for days on end. He scarcely remembered a moment of it, but he did recall his mother's face grey with fear when he'd come out the other side, subsisting on draughts drip-fed to him by Elrond. He'd lost nearly a stone by his mother's account, and the fever had burned through him like dragonfire. Two summers before that, he'd broken his arm after jumping off one of the lesser waterfalls, at the twins' urging. Their look of guilty horror had been worth it. His adopted father's expression less so, as he grimly splinted and socketed his bones back into place. Six months later, he'd gone out riding with Elrohir and nearly lost all the fingers of his left hand. He'd dropped a glove somewhere along the way and been too stubborn to go back for it. Upon returning, his frostbitten skin had welled up with great, orange blisters that swallowed each knuckle. Elrond had patiently lanced them days later, while Estel clenched his jaw and fought tears of agony. The ring finger was still a little stiff on that side, and he considered it only too fortunate that he favored the opposite hand for swordplay.

Elrond had assured him that he was exactly as healthy and only slightly more accident prone than any other child of Men (and he was willing to ascribe that much to the bad influence of his own natural sons). Even keeping those words close to heart, it was difficult not to feel vulnerable and sickly when surrounded by the ageless immortality of Elves.

Turning from the stables, he went in search of his mentor.

Unfortunately, Elrond's schedule was a relentlessly busy one. Despite tagging along in Lindir or Erestor's wake for the better part of the afternoon, he could not manage to catch his father for more than a fleeting moment in between engagements.

"So persistent today, Estel. You saw him just a few hours ago. Are you not well?"

"No, I am," he said, as he trailed after the Chief Councillor.

"Something urgent?"

"Not... precisely." He supposed Elrond couldn't make himself too much worse simply soldiering through meeting and treaty. Still, a well of worry bubbled away in his chest.

"Then I'm sure your brothers would be only too happy for your company," Erestor replied, wrought with exasperation.

In frustration, he'd finally abandoned his pursuit and gone to take supper with his mother.

The Hall of Fire that evening bore all of its usual minstrels and story-tellers, but was notably absent of his father. Estel lingered for a few tales, restless, but neither his head nor heart were engaged. He wished, now, that he'd taken up Elrohir's invitation to join them on a few days of hunting. Eventually, his unease got the better of him, and he rose to seek out the Lord of Imladris's own chambers for one last sweep.

To his surprise, the great doors were just slightly ajar, and firelight flickered from within. There was space just enough for him to slip through without widening the crack, and making the carved wooden panels betray him. Estel hesitated a moment. An open door had ever been an open invitation to friend and family. He was not... entirely sure that this counted, but he angled sidelong and ducked into the foyer all the same.

He lingered there in the shadowed antechamber and let his eyes adjust. In the room beyond, he was gratified to find his father's figure standing in silhouette before the hearth. Gratified, but aggrieved to realize that he was struggling against the approach of a sneeze. Again. Head back and revealed in profile to where his son lurked, Elrond had a hand half-curled against his nose, fighting its wrinkle. He seemed to be very much on the losing end. Estel had a sudden, vague sense of wanting to brace himself against something, as the Elf's eyes gathered shut. He abruptly transitioned from staying the explosion to finding something with which to field it.

He didn't quite make it before the urge overwhelmed. Expression crushed with irritation, Elrond wrenched towards the hearth with the most violently relieving sound Estel had yet heard.

"hh'WRRISSCH-ue!"

Well. It sounded like he'd needed that. A glittering haze of droplets caught the firelight and evaporated in the air, and in the stricken, crackling quiet that followed, Estel tried a weak, "Ada?"

His father looked up with plain surprise, a handkerchief half-unfurled to tend the aftermath of his sneeze. He brought it abruptly to his nose and wiped once. He could see now, even at a distance, the faint tinge of soreness it had acquired, pink and raw. It had clearly been troubling him for most of the day. "Forgive me, Estel. I didn't hear you come in." No small lapse, for the sharpness of Elven ears. "What is it?"

Estel took a hesitant step into the room, his thin shoulders sagging. "I meant to apologize."

Reading the fractured distress too well on his adoptive son's face, Elrond tucked the handkerchief away and flicked an arm open. "Whatever for, ion nîn?"

Estel closed the distance between them in another three strides, more urgent than his wary edging at the door. He went into the embrace without hesitation, and pressed his face to his father's side. The weight of his arm settling around him made his eyes prickle shamefully. "For getting you sick," he muffled into his robes. Even through them, he felt Elrond's ribs rise with a slight breath.

"You didn't--..."

Estel picked his head up just fix his father with a frown that brooked no arguments or platitudes. Elrond paused, reconsidering.

"Perhaps," he admitted, after a beat. "But it is no great hardship."

Estel had known he wouldn't be cross. Of course he wouldn't. If either of his brothers had caught it, he never would have heard the end of their snarling and complaining. Somehow, Elrond's quiet absolution felt even worse, and the prickle became a sting. He shuffled within the loose embrace and pressed the heel of a palm quickly to one eye, desperate to halt the well.

"Estel?"

"It's just," he began, but his voice cracked. The rest came out in a bleary torrent, like an unclogged rain gutter pent up with emotion instead of dead leaves and mud. "You looked after me, you're always looking after me. More than my own mother! I take up all of your time and then I make you sick. I'm not even your real so--..."

"Estel!" Elrond banked his sentence sharply, before the word could fully form. He went down to one knee, a hand to either shoulder, and met the boy's eyes beneath the wild tangle of hair he'd ducked behind. "Is this truly how you feel?"

"No," he lamented quietly. "Maybe. Sometimes."

"Then I have been remiss in my affections," Elrond said, sniffed softly, and caught the curve of his cheek in one palm. It was warm and calloused where dozens of swords over thousands of years had left the mark of their hilts. "Estel, you know that I look after you out of love, not obligation. Nor do I begrudge your mortality and all of the ailments that come with it."

"I know," he agreed, and leaned shut-eyed into the touch. "Goheno nin, Adar. I have never seen you ill, and I hate to be the cause of it."

"It happens with some regularity," Elrond replied, expression shifting towards amusement. "Whether or not you are involved." He leaned to one side, to add in a conspiring tone close to his son's ear: "In truth, I am happier to catch your cold than that of a poor-mannered diplomat that cannot cover their mouth."

Estel broke with a weak laugh, and leaned forward to twine his arms around his father's shoulders. Elrond rested his jaw gently on his in turn.

"I know it is difficult to live among a race not your own, ion nîn, but you are as real to me as any of my children."

"Then you should let me meet the rest of them, some day," Estel huffed, as he tightened his embrace. He listened, regretful, to the discreet sound of a sniffle beside him.

"When her grandmother is done spoiling her, perhaps," Elrond said. "That may be a century or..." A heady pause, "...or two." He sniffed again, with a pull of wetness, and tapped the center of the boy's back. "I do think you should let go, now, Estel, before..."

Estel lingered a second, uncertain whether to be hurt or not, until he felt the shift in his father's breathing. He released him hastily, and stepped back just in time to see Elrond hide a desperately sneezy expression into one arm.

"H-WHFFH!" A beat, inhaling wildly with the glint of tears visible at his eye corners. And then... "H-WHFFHH!" He had never heard anyone sneeze with such ticklish urgency, ill or otherwise.

"Bless you!" How long had he been holding that off, for the sake of reassurance? He stayed his tongue until Elrond seemed recovered through a series of slow, groggy blinks. "Ada, please. Teach me how to make that tea, then get some rest. Let me look after you in turn."

The Elf-lord rose at last, until he towered over his son once more. He sighed as he gathered his mantle of dignity back about him, invisible and solemn. Nearly. "Before you consume yourself out of misplaced guilt?" A corner of his mouth tilted, and his hands rested to Estel's shoulders. "Yes, I think you'd better."

Edited July 11, 2019 by Garblin

[TheGreatCatsby]

Hnnnnngh. *Melts*

Perfect, as ever.

[BlueGirl]

I love your sneezy Elrond! Particularly the way he tries to muffle his sneezes in front of Estel.

Guilty, insecure little Estel is very cute too!

[RiversD]

Eeee! New Garnet fic!

Ooh, yes! I love explorations of Aragorn's time with the elves (not that I've read many, admittedly), and yay for "we're family, okay? Blood has very little to do with this." relationships. Always a good start if I'm looking to be sucker-punched in the feels (see, I go into these things with eyes open, for all the good it does me).

"Bless you! Ada," he began, with a teasing smile in spite of his uncertainty. "What's tickling you?"

"Would that I knew," Elrond replied with an airy sniff as he recovered himself. "But it is doing a very good job of it."

Yoooouuuu know exactly what you're doing, here, you cheeky so-and-so. And you're doing a highly competent job of it too.

Please don't stop.

Elrond's calm and august features had crumpled into a grimace, nostrils caught in a helpless backflare

Okay, "helpless backflare" has destroyed me. I'm not sure whether to steal it or request that it be sealed away to prevent its power ever being used in the service of evil.

A very vague, finicky little notion began to seed itself in the back of his mind, as he watched Elrond dab at his nose and swallow in apparent discomfort. He considered whether his father had seemed a little slower today, less with unhurried dignity and more with the weight of exhaustion. Was his color not so bright and healthy as usual? The faint, Elven glow a touch dimmed?

Aah, slipping a block of- highly evocative- description in as part of a character's POV for added emotional weight, are we? I see what you're doing. And I refuse to be destroyed by it. *folds arms defiantly and melts into a puddle regardless* Drat.

Looking back, he felt a queer drop in his stomach to find Elrond already steepling his nose into the handkerchief. He twisted hard at the waist with the force of two vigorously suppressed sneezes.

Well, I felt a queer drop in my stomach too, but I suspect for entirely different reasons.

I really liked the relationship lil' Aragorn has with Elrohir and Elladan. They manage to treat him like a much-younger brother, even with the staggering age gap.

"Ai! He is too quick and too cruel, Vanyë! Save yourself!"

Case in point. All the affectionate teasing is wonderful.

I won't quote it, because length and such, but your account of baby Estel's parade of booboos and Elrond's patient picking up of the pieces was a joy to read.

An open door had ever been an open invitation to friend and family. He was not... entirely sure that this counted, but he angled sidelong and ducked into the foyer all the same.

Mortal cheek. I thoroughly approve.

Elrond had a hand half-curled against his nose, fighting its wrinkle.

Okay, the whole sequence that this is a part of has killed me dead. So dead I cannot find proper words for it. So there, I guess.

Expression crushed with irritation, Elrond wrenched towards the hearth with the most violently relieving sound Estel had yet heard.

"hh'WRRISSCH-ue!"

Well. It sounded like he'd needed that.

... I think something just exploded inside my chest. My ghost will get back to you on this one, because holy sensory flambée Batman.

And then daddy Elrond oh my gosh. He's just so... fatherly. With the *you clearly need a hug, c'mere* arm that Estel understands immediately, because adoptive father/son bonding forever, okay?

And "fractured distress"? I'm not sure if I'm more affected by the phrase or by my writerly jealousy of it.

Estel picked his head up just fix his father with a frown that brooked no arguments or platitudes. Elrond paused, reconsidering.

"Perhaps," he admitted, after a beat. "But it is no great hardship.

CAUGHT. Aw, changing tack in the face of "dad, I know you're sick, just admit it." This is too adorable, stoooop. Don't.

"Is this truly how you feel?"

"No," he lamented quietly. "Maybe. Sometimes."

My heart. Why must you do this to my frail emotions, Garnet? Why?

Especially when you follow it up with pure sneezy hngfghn. How dare you exploit my weakness for interrupted hugs and moments of "I-should-hold-this-back-until-you-are-sufficiently-comforted"? How dare you.

He had never heard anyone sneeze with such ticklish urgency, ill or otherwise.

*bursts into flame*

*spirals away from the keyboard to combust discretely elsewhere*

Edited April 1, 2015 by RiversD

[AngelEyes]

Garnet elf-fic!!!!!!!!! *Happy Dance* Glorious as ever.

[TaurielRiver]

I thought I should try to restrain myself from pouncing all over you like a crazy person for writing this, but whattayaknow, looks like I AM a crazy person, and I have a serious lot of pouncing to do right now!!

This was all so incredibly touching, and that really isn’t even a strong enough word for it. From the first instance where he calls Elrond “Ada”… oh gosh, my heart can’t take it… and that’s barely half a page in! And then, “ion nîn” too! The endearing use of these terms in this context is going to kill me alone.

The idea of his ‘puckish’ antics (which are totally only amusing to the brothers!) is so delightfully, innocently mischievous- such a fitting precursor to that just-under-the-surface glint we always see in Aragorn’s eye!

And I can’t believe just how much affection I have right now for Elrond being all stern but warm. Such a small detail, but I love his only-ever-so-slightly chiding assessment of the work as ‘sloppy’, then his kind, knowing recognition that the young ones can only sit still so long.

And this fun thought of Elrohir and Elladan pulling a few twin tricks here and there, but Estel having a bit of an in-road to their respect and closeness through his acuity… (aaand "Well, sometimes you do sicken me when you are straight out of bed in the morning and have not yet bathed."… hah!)

Followed by all his worried seeking (and bothering the Councillors… ), building up to this completely heart-stoppingly warm moment of him running into Elrond’s side. Ohhhhh nooooo… I can just imagine this again and again, so sweet. And this line: “The rest came out in a bleary torrent, like an unclogged rain gutter pent up with emotion instead of dead leaves and mud.” Such affecting imagery, oh how I feel for him!

But Elrond swooping in with the most perfect response in spite of his own ailment… I think I could pretty much live on these beautiful moments of care alone. So moving.

And “Goheno nin”… oh my god… it doesn’t stop, my heart… (this last lovely second of urgency at the end too. I absolutely need to wrap Elrond in a blanket now. Like, right now!!)

[a red nine]

Oh, if this isn't the most sweet little thing! So adorable, I love your works that have a family aspect. The father-son relationship you present here is just so delightfully precious. I like your fics with Thranduil because he's so gosh-darn attractive, and this appeals to my other interests of just nice, happy, fluffy, wholesome goodness. It almost makes me want to read LOTR - almost. Too long for me. I'll just stick to your reenactments thanks. They tend to focus on what I care about more anyway.

"It's just," he began, but his voice cracked. The rest came out in a bleary torrent, like an unclogged rain gutter pent up with emotion instead of dead leaves and mud. "You looked after me, you're always looking after me. More than my own mother! I take up all of your time and then I make you sick. I'm not even your real so--..."

"Estel!" Elrond banked his sentence sharply, before the word could fully form. He went down to one knee, a hand to either shoulder, and met the boy's eyes beneath the wild tangle of hair he'd ducked behind. "Is this truly how you feel?"

"No," he lamented quietly. "Maybe. Sometimes."

"Then I have been remiss in my affections," Elrond said, sniffed softly, and caught the curve of his cheek in one palm. It was warm and calloused where dozens of swords over thousands of years had left the mark of their hilts. "Estel, you know that I look after you out of love, not obligation. Nor do I begrudge your mortality and all of the ailments that come with it."

"I know," he agreed, and leaned shut-eyed into the touch. "Goheno nin, Adar. I have never seen you ill, and I hate to be the cause of it."

"It happens with some regularity," Elrond replied, exp<b></b>ression shifting towards amusement. "Whether or not you are involved." He leaned to one side, to add in a conspiring tone close to his son's ear: "In truth, I am happier to catch your cold than that of a poor-mannered diplomat that cannot cover their mouth."

Estel broke with a weak laugh, and leaned forward to twine his arms around his father's shoulders. Elrond rested his jaw gently on his in turn.

"I know it is difficult to live among a race not your own, ion nîn, but you are as real to me as any of my children."

Bwaa! This was so precious! Okay, that's all. WAH! Thanks!

Edited April 2, 2015 by a red nine