Leaving…and Return
By Vana

Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters, and the others are the product of my imagination.

This story is based in the assumption of Cassia and Sio: Elrond + Elrohir + Elladan + Aragorn/Estel = Family. If anyone has any problems with that…live with it.

“That’s it,” Estel muttered, his grey eyes flashing as he stomped into his room. “I can’t live like this anymore, I’m leaving.” Still grumbling to himself, he reached into his closet and yanked out a satchel. Stalking to his chest of drawers, the boy impatiently pushed his tangled dark hair out of his face before he dug into his shirt drawer. He came out with his hands full and jammed the shirts into his bag before attacking his trousers drawer.

Clothes packed, he snuck down the stairs into the kitchen and grabbed some dried food and stuffed it into his bag as well. He slipped back to his room, holding his breath as two tall elves passed by a hiding place of his. At last, safe in his room, he sat down at a tall desk and began writing on a sheet of parchment.

Dear Ada… He stopped, staring down at the graceful letters. Did he want to call Lord Elrond father anymore? Shaking his head, he scratched out that sentence and replaced it with,

Dear Lord Elrond,

I thank you for your kind hospitality all these years, but now I need to go. I cannot take living here much longer without going completely insane. Take care of Elladan and Elrohir, and do not look for me.

Estel.

Estel read over the letter again, smirking derisively when he looked at the elvish script that spelled out his name. Estel…what a deceptive name! He was no hope to anyone…why else would Elladan yell at him constantly? Why else would Elrohir look at him like he was a failure every time he messed up a little?

He left the note on the dresser, and shouldered his pack after strapping his knife belt on. With one last look around the room that had housed him since he came to Rivendell, he crawled out the window and shimmed down the tree that grew outside his window.

~~~~~~
Hours later…
~~~~~~

“I cannot find him anywhere, Father.” Elrohir slumped into a seat in his father’s office beside his identical twin. “He is not with the children at the lake, nor is he anywhere in the forest.”

Elladan finished his twin’s thought, as they so often did. “He is not at the training grounds or raiding the kitchen…the one place we did not look was his bedroom, as his door was closed.”

“All right,” Elrond lifted himself to his feet, looking rather tired. “I will go look in his bedroom. You two stay here.”

The twins started to protest, but Elrond just lifted a hand, stifling their protests. “I will go alone. Stay here.” Resigned, they settled back into their seats as Elrond left the room and headed up the stairs.

Elrond tapped lightly on Estel’s door, calling softly, “Estel?” When he received no response, he tried the door and found it unlocked. He pushed it open and looked inside. To all appearances, the room was as peaceful as if Estel had just stepped out for a moment…but his heart told him otherwise. Elrond’s sharp eyes caught on a sheet of paper left on the dresser, and he crossed the room to it. It had Estel’s clear, bold handwriting on it and Elrond’s name in the header. He snatched it up and read it.

When he had read it twice through, Elrond closed his eyes and pressed the brief missive to his heart. He had feared this; but he had never expected such a complete rejection. He could see the scratched out words on the top of the paper clearly, and the fact that they were scratched out hurt his heart badly.

He reread the letter, unaware that silvery tears were trickling down his face. He was so unaware of his surroundings that when a hand rested on his shoulder, he jerked, surprised. Elrond turned to face the owner of the hand…and came face-to-face with Elladan, Elrohir close behind his twin. “Did I not tell you to remain in my study?” Elrond’s voice cracked a little, but other than that, the only sign of grief was the tears still on his cheeks and in his eyes.

“You did…but we could not remain below for long.” Elladan’s voice was lightly reprimanding, but when his eyes fell to the letter in his father’s hands, his tone changed. “Who is the letter from, Ada?”

Elrond couldn’t even answer. He handed Elladan the letter, and the younger elf turned so his brother could read it too. It didn’t take long; both elves were fast readers, and the letter was very short. They looked up almost in unison and asked, “He is gone?”

Elrond just nodded, sinking to a sitting position on Estel’s bed. “He is gone.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Elrohir demanded, heading for the door. “Let us get a tracking party together and follow him!”

Elrond shook his head. “Elrohir, he has several hours’ head start on us. And when he wishes to be hidden, he hides better than many elves I have seen. No, he will have to sort himself out…and return to us, if he so chooses.” Elrond could feel his heart breaking as he said the words he had prayed to never say.

The twins both stared at their father. After a few moments of silence, Elladan sighed and dropped into a chair. “You are right, father.” His tone was resigned. “I only hope he figures out that this is his family before too much time passes.”

~~~~~~~~~

Estel jumped down a small ledge, holding the edge of it for balance. Catching himself at the bottom, he looked toward the small human village he was aiming for. He had been to Strayton, the small village, a few times before. Thanks to those visits, he knew where the main areas of business were.

Estel’s long, purposeful strides brought him quickly to the blacksmith’s, the first place he was going to try.

Loud bangs reached his ears as he stepped inside the door of the blacksmith’s shop. Sharp, rancid sweat smells hit his nose and he sneezed once, the quiet sound lost in the overall chaos.

After his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, he walked silently through the shop to where the smith, large muscles bunching with each stroke, was hammering a piece of red-hot metal. Estel waited until the smith had doused the piece in water before saying softly, struggling with Common, his second language, “Excuse me?”

The smith spun, surprisingly agile for all his bulk, and stared at Estel. At 15, Estel was tall and gangly. He stood a good half-head above the smith, and his arms and legs seemed to be everywhere at once. Despite the typical teenage awkwardness, Estel carried himself well, almost gracefully. His quiet, dark eyes spoke of wisdom beyond his age, and his hair fell to just above his shoulders.

“Who’re you?” the smith demanded. “And how’d you get in here so quiet?” His tone was rough, but it was obvious that he thought before he spoke.

“I am Estel, sir,” Estel replied, bowing slightly in elvish-fashion, one hand over his heart. “The door was open, so I just walked in. May I speak to you for a moment?”

The smith grabbed a cloth and wiped his forehead clean, then said, “Talk away, boy.”

Estel swallowed, not allowing any of his fear to show on his face as he said, “I need a job, sir. I’m an orphan, and I recently got turned out of the last place I was living.” The trip to Strayton had sufficiently torn and rumpled his clothes so that he looked abandoned, and he had treated the clothes in his pack the same way, to make his story more convincing. “I’m a quick worker, and I’m fairly strong.”

The smith measured Estel with his eyes. At last, he nodded slowly and said, “I’ve been in need of an apprentice, lad. All right, you’re hired. I’ll give you a room to sleep in, and my wife will make sure you’re fed and those clothes will get mended. Your wages will be decided by how well you work.”

Those words marked the beginning of a hard, but enjoyable life for Estel. The smith, whose name was Tarmichal, and his wife, Minal, were kind to the young lad. Over the course of a few months, Estel developed muscles in places he didn’t even know he had *places*. He learned how to keep a fire in the forge going for hours on end, how to put a sharp edge on a plow or a sword, how to shoe a horse.

It was too good to last.

Estel was hammering a horseshoe; sweat running down his bare chest, when Tarmichal entered the blacksmith shop. Estel wasn’t an elf, but he sensed when his employer entered the room, and he glanced over his shoulder briefly before returning to his hammering.

Tarmichal put a hand on Estel’s shoulder and said quietly, “Put the piece aside, lad.”

The older man’s tone worried Estel. Tarmichal *never* talked in any tone quieter than a bellow in the shop, and he *never* told Estel to put aside a piece that was still hot. The boy set the horseshoe back into the fire and turned all his attention to the older man after wiping his forehead clean of the clinging sweat.

Tarmichal hesitated for a long moment, his hand still on Estel’s shoulder, before he spoke. “You may have noticed that recently there hadn’t been much to do, barely enough for both of us. Reason is…the crops are failing, boy. When the crops fail, farmers can’t bring their plows and horseshoe business to us. What I’m trying to say is…”

Estel interrupted quietly. “You want me to go.”

Tarmichal, startled, looked at the tall lad. Estel’s face was calm and smooth, giving away none of his emotions. The man had no way to know that Estel’s heart was breaking inside of him. “That’s…about the short of it, lad. I won’t throw you out with nothing, though.” Tarmichal picked up a sack that he had set down and handed it to the boy. “This has enough food to last you about a week…I’d do more if I could.”

Estel nodded slightly, taking the sack and slinging it over his shoulder. “Thank you for everything, Tarmichal,” the boy said quietly, clasping the older man’s shoulder. “I will never forget you.” He picked up his shirt, and, with nothing more to say, he left.

He slept outside that night, resting against the thick, comforting trunk of an oak. When morning came, he began walking from business to business, offering to work for food. All the businesses, one after another, told him no, some politely, and some with a slammed door. All of them had their own reasons. Some told him that they had enough workers as it was. Others told him that they would barely have enough food and work for their own families.

At last, Estel came to the tavern, the last business in town that he hadn’t tried yet. He stood outside a moment, trying to pull his courage together, before pushing open the doors and walking in.

As it was still late afternoon, the tavern was almost empty, save for a few men exchanging stories over mugs of ale. All talk stopped as the men turned to face the tall lad that had just entered, small sack in his hand. “Whatcha doin’ here, lad?” one of the men called. “Ain’t ya a bit young to be drinkin’?”

Estel spared the questioner with a small smile as he said, “Aye, I am too young to drink. Where might I find the bartender?” His cultured voice, nurtured by years of living with formal elves, cut through the last of the noise and laughter.

“Aye, lad, ‘e’s thataway, back in the kitchen,” answered another man, raising his mug in a toast to the boy.

“Thank you,” replied Estel, bowing slightly in elvish fashion. As he headed in the direction the man had indicated, talk rose up behind him.

The bartender was, as the older man had indicated, in the kitchen. His big, red face was covered with sweat, and he had to look up to see Estel’s face well. “What kin I do for ye, lad?” he asked, moping some sweat off his broad face.

“Are there any jobs open here?” Estel had a habit for getting straight to the point. “I’m a fair hand with animals, I could serve, if that is needful…or I could do anything else.”

The bartender studied Estel with his close-set eyes, set in rolls of fat. Truth be told, the man did need a stable boy. His old stable boy had left for some better job just the day before.

“Come wif me, lad…what’s your name, by the by?” the bartender asked as he led Estel out of the kitchen and outside.

“Estel, sir.” Estel kept up easily, his long legs taking one step for every two of the bartender’s.

“Well, Estel, ye’re in luck today. See, my first stable lad left just yesterday, and I’m in need of a boy. Yer duties would be muckin’ out the stables, holdin’ hosses for their owners, tendin’ to tack and that sort o’ work.” The innkeeper pushed the door open and beckoned Estel into the stable. Estel obeyed, still trying to puzzle out the barkeeper’s unfamiliar language. He had gotten better at Common in the last few months, but he had never heard that accent before. After a moment, the translation became clear, and the wrinkles on Estel’s forehead cleared.

The bartender showed Estel around the stable, and the boy had to fight back feelings of disgust. The stable was full of old manure and rotten hay. One quick glance told the boy that there were *hours* worth of work here, possibly even days. But, he had no better options. He *couldn’t* go back to Rivendell, and there were no other places for him to work.

Within moments, Estel was installed as the stable boy and was put to work immediately mucking out the stable. The day disappeared swiftly, marked by the wheezing breaths taken by Estel and the drops of sweat that rolled down his bare torso.

Only when it was so dark that, even with his keen eyes, Estel could barely make out his own hands, did the boy stop and head for the inn. His stomach was one large, empty hole right then, and he would pay any price for a plate of well-cooked food.

He was worse than disappointed when the bartender informed him that there simply wasn’t any food to be spared for a stable lad when it was so needed for other guests. When Estel asked, a bit heatedly, what he was supposed to eat, the bartender told him that horse food was good enough for him.

There was no sense in arguing, and Estel trudged back to the stable with a blanket under one arm. Apparently, he was supposed to sleep out in the stable with the horses, cows, and pigs.

A month slid by like that. Estel never found food enough to satisfy him, but he learned to go to sleep even when his stomach ached. He had dropped about 15 pounds in the month, and he was constantly dizzy.

One day as he was cleaning out a horse’s stall, the boy leaned against his pitchfork and closed his eyes, trying to still the dizzy spinning of his head. “What am I doing?” he murmured to himself in Elvish. “I don’t belong here…if I stay much longer, I will probably die. But what do I do?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elrond stood on one of the balconies overlooking the valley of Rivendell, his quiet grey eyes searching in all directions. This had become one of his favorite places to be, and he spent hours there, searching for any sign of his human son. Even after all these months, he had not given up hope that Estel would return.

Just thinking about the mischievous boy with dancing grey eyes shot through with silver throwing a pillow at Elladan or Elrohir brought quick tears to his eyes, and he lowered his head, allowing them to fall without shame.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and the Lord of Rivendell turned his head to meet the steady gaze of Elladan. “He will return, Ada.” Elladan’s voice was gentle.

“Had you heard the news from the town where he is believed to be?” Elrond couldn’t help the faint bitterness in his tone, but Elladan understood. “There is a horrible famine in that area, worse than I have ever seen in my entire life-time here. And my son…Estel…is down there in all that.” His long, graceful hand waved toward the human town.

“If nothing else, Ada, it will serve to convince Estel to come home faster than it would have otherwise.” Elladan’s voice was practical, but inwardly he was weeping too. In the few years Estel had been there, Elladan had become quite attached to the young boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Estel curled in on his empty stomach and tried to sleep in spite of the pain. After hours of that, he sat up angrily and shoved his hay nest apart. “That’s it,” he said softly, “I can’t do this any longer. I belong at home. But…will Ada accept me back after I left the way I did?” The boy’s heart bled at the words, but he bit back the pain as he thought of a solution. “I know…I’ll offer to be one of the hired hands. Maybe I’ll get some decent food then.”

His mind made up, Estel headed inside and informed the bartender that he was leaving. In the process, Estel learned some new words in Common that he blushed just to remember, but the bartender finally threw him out of the building on his ear.

Rubbing his ear ruefully, Estel headed down the road toward Rivendell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When morning came, Estel was almost to Rivendell, his strength slowly returning with every step taken that brought him closer to home. When he came within eyeshot of the beautiful building, he paused and organized the speech in his mind. “Lord Elrond, I have dishonored you and I have dishonored your house. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Please, make me as one of the hired hands.” Satisfied that those words covered all the ground he wanted covered, Estel took a deep breath and continued toward the ornate house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elrond propped his chin on his hands and sighed, wondering if all his hope had been in vain. Just as he was about to turn and head back into the house, he caught sight of a bare-chested, dark haired figure walking toward the house.

Hardly daring to breath, the elf lord focused on the figure. Sure enough…

Never in the memory of anyone in the house had the dignified, proud elf lord ever ran. That record was broken that day. Elrond dashed down the stairs, raced around corners and finally reached the door. His heavy robes nearly tripped him; he discarded all the extra weight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Estel looked up and saw a most uncommon sight. Lord Elrond, dressed only in a black tunic and grey leggings, ran down the road toward him, shouting his name. Estel stopped, blinking back tears, as he watched Elrond run toward him.

As Elrond reached the boy, Estel dropped to his knees and whispered, “Lord Elrond, I have dishonored…” he never got any farther.

Elrond bodily hauled the young man to his feet and held him tight in his arms. The elf lord’s hand pressed the dark head of the young man to his chest; Estel could hear his father’s sobs clearly. Those sobs touched off an answering emotion in the boy, and he clung to his father’s tunic, crying.

When Elrond got his breath back, he shouted for anyone to hear, “My son has come home! My son is home!” Feeling Estel’s tears soak through his tunic, he gently lifted the boy’s head and brushed the tears away. Elrond’s voice was filled with tender forgiveness as he whispered, “My son…do you know I still love you?”

That was too much. Estel broke into tears again and whispered, “But I don’t deserve it…I ran away.”

“No, no…my son, I love you. Never forget that…” Elrond cradled the boy’s head to his chest again, rocking from foot to foot.

“Ada…” The word was a mere whisper as the boy passed out in his father’s arms.

“Estel? Estel!” The elf lord shook his son a little, concerned. Carefully, he picked him up as he had when Estel was just a toddler, one arm braced under his shoulders and the other braced under his knees. For the first time, he noticed just how much weight the boy had lost in his time away from home. Elrond’s lips tightened in concern as he carried Estel through the door of Rivendell.

“Elladan! Elrohir!” The elf lord’s voice ricocheted through the house, rousing the twins and dragging them down the stairs.

“Yes, Ada?” The identical twins spoke in perfect unison, making a face at each other.

“Estel is home…but he is severely malnourished.” Elrond’s tone was clipped, but his face was filled with relief. Even as sick as Estel was, it was good to have him home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Estel didn’t take as long as some might have expected to recover. His body was naturally strong, and with proper nutrition, he was on his feet again within a few days. Once the family was sure he would be all right, they held a feast in honor of his return, and Estel sat with Elrond at the head of the table, dressed in fine clothes with understated, but definite, dignity.

After the feast, Estel wandered through the gardens, watching the stars and thinking. Elrond found him in a secret alcove with a clear view of the sky. “What are you thinking about, ion-nin?” he asked, settling beside him.

“I was just thinking how very lucky I am.” Estel’s voice was soft, and he never tore his gaze from the sky. “I have a family that loves me no matter what…even when I can’t figure out why.”

“It is not hard to love you, Estel.” Elrond tugged gently at one of his braids, thinking.

“Can you answer a question for me?” Estel finally looked at his father, the starlight making his eyes appear bright silver. Elrond was certain that not all the shininess in Estel’s eyes was from the stars.

“Certainly, ion-nin.” Elrond drew one of his knees up to his chest, making himself comfortable.

“Why?”

Elrond blinked. “Why what?” he asked.

“Why do you love me? Why did you take me back without any questions asked? Why didn’t you accept my offer of making me a hired hand?” After Estel had been awake for a bit, he had managed to finish his speech from earlier. Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir had stared at him, stunned speechless. When Elrond had recovered his breath, he very firmly told the boy that Estel was a son, not a hired hand, and that was the last he wanted to hear of that kind of foolish talk.

Elrond slid an arm around his son, tugging on him gently until the boy gave up and rested his head on his father’s chest. The vibrations from Elrond’s words rumbled gently in Estel’s ear as the elf lord said quietly, “Because I chose you, son of my heart. Because you belong here as a son, as my son, not as a hired hand. Can you not accept that I love you for who you are, not for what you can do?”

Estel was silent for a long time, only his uneven breathing telling Elrond that his son was still awake. At last, he said, “It’s hard, Ada, especially since I’m so much weaker and slower than Elladan and Elrohir.”

“But that is not how I judge you. I judge you by what I see in your heart, and I am well pleased by what I see there. You are a gift from Iluvatar, and a treasure.” Elrond’s fingers gently stroked through the boy’s hair.

“Thank you, Ada…” Estel’s voice trailed off as he fell asleep against Elrond’s side. With a smile, Elrond carried the boy to his room and tucked him in tenderly.

Standing in the doorway, he looked at the sleeping face of his son, illuminated by the small glow-lamp on his nightstand. The elf lord couldn’t help but notice that Estel’s face, normally childishly chubby, had thinned and hardened in his time away. ‘He is growing up,’ Elrond thought sadly. ‘I will miss my little boy…but I cannot wait to see what kind of man he will become.’

Murmuring a soft prayer to Iluvatar, Elrond turned away and closed the door. He was content. His son was home, and for the first time in months, the elf lord could sleep in peace.

The End

A/N: I wrote this story after hearing a song on the radio. The artist’s name escapes me, but the chorus goes like this:

And then he ran to me,
Took me in his arms,
Held my head to his chest,
Said ‘My son’s come home again.’
Lifted my face,
Wiped the tears from my eyes,
With forgiveness in his voice he said,
‘Son. Do you know I still love you?’