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Gates Of Dawn	By : Massanie Category: +Third Age > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 1907 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
CHAPTER 5: Escalation

CHAPTER NOTES

SCRIPTS:

'Thoughts'; ~visions~; **mind speech**; -l-Letters-l-

-l-

Dear Thalion,

I hope this letter finds you well, I certainly am, at least now that we have returned to Imladris.

I hope you will not be too pleased to hear that our journey was more an endless concatenation of nuisances than otherwise exhausting. Ironically enough I think at least my sanity would have been safer without such a guard as ours.

I tried to convey with all means known to me to let my wish for solitude be known but it seems that my fellow elves decided I was not to be trusted with the simple task of looking after myself.

I am sincerely hoping that they will tire of their superfluous protectiveness within the safe boundaries of Rivendell. It galls me.

But I do my very best to honour your sound advice and have so far managed to stay at least on the verge of politeness, especially when conversing with my elders and betters.

I took to evaluating my conversations again - rather in a similar manner I once did by the advice of Dírhael, when I was still an apprentice and trying to hone my skills in diplomacy and rhetoric - and I find that most often when I managed to divert my opponents, it was with carefully weighted words or none, the latter being certainly more effective.

I am working on the truthfulness and self-confidence.

But still I find them unpleasantly persistent.

Please do tell Celairdúr that I took his chiding to heart and am pushing myself up from the ground. On my own. Already I feel calmer and safer now with the familiarity that awaits me here.

Please let me know where things stand in Greenwood. Now that I am able to keep in contact with you without the fear of exposing you to my uncle's wrath I find myself anxious to do so.

Yours,

Erestor

-l-

Thoughtfully, Erestor laid the quill down and turned to the large windows in his study, watching the sun rise. Yes, it was indeed time he started to heed his brothers, time to push himself up again. Alone.

It was not that he wasn't grateful for the advice and help offered to him, he thought, or at least appreciate the good intentions, but they just weren't … he didn't want them. His reputation was already damaged enough as it was and it would be folly to believe that the guards who had taken part in his rescue and had witnessed his degradation at the hands of his family, had heard about his childhood from his lips, had seen him lost in nightmares; that they would actually have the decency to stay silent about all that. Foolish indeed. He would not count on It for a second.

No, soon word would spread over Imladris and - if he gauged the complexly intertwined, blood thirsty rumour mills of the elven realms correctly - to every elven ear that concerned itself to listen before the end of the year.

He needed to prove himself capable of rising above his past; and that he could only do alone.

For a moment though he felt guilty for half-lying again to Thalion about his mental condition. He *knew* that he wasn't well; ever since leaving the soothing, calming safety that his brothers had provided in Greenwood, he had been dangerously close to snapping. his condition had only grown worse during the journey with the obtrusiveness of the other elves and Gandalf and those damn nightmares. He could not allow that destructive behaviour to continue, the possible repercussions to his work, his social status, his life were literally unpredictable.

Unforgivable.

Tiredly he rubbed over his eyes. He hadn't slept at all. Always there had been that nagging fear that something would happen; like the assassination attempt in Mirkwood - and even though they later had learned that that elf had merely tried to feed him water from the Enchanted River and keep him from testifying, he didn't feel safe anymore, not even in his own rooms.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that someone had been in here, had searched them while he was trying to save the objects of his infantile infatuation. Many of his possessions had been moved and only roughly been put back into their original spots and places; someone had rummaged through his desk and someone had stirred the ash in his fireplace where he had burned what was too delicate for anyone to find. The idea that maybe something had survived the fire's destruction, that something had been found and *read*…

His chambers, his previously safe haven had been invaded and desecrated. How could he be safe there?

And he consciously concealed that from Thalion. Again lying, or at least not admitting the truth.

A moment later he jerkily brought his hands down and choked that trail of thought, weariness stealing the grace in his movements. There was no reason to worry his brother causelessly with reports about his nightmares, especially since he had no intention to fail in healing himself.

Erestor snorted humourlessly. If he had known he would survive long enough to necessitate healing, if he hadn't thought of himself as a sacrifice, but *told* someone of his visions, there would be no need for healing.

"It's your own fault. Get over it!"

For some moments Erestor let the harshly spoken words sink before nodding to himself. With a conscious effort - that should not have been an effort at all - he controlled his movements and leisurely yet intently pushed the arm chair back as he stood and walked into his bed chamber.

Then he started to undress, carefully pealing layer over layer of fabric away and folding them neatly before setting them down on a chair in one corner of his chambers.

Minutes later Erestor stood in the middle of his room, his face void of any emotion as he gazed at his image in the head-high mirror. Cold eyes, circled from his lack of sleep, travelled over his nude body, half bathed in the deceptively warm light of a new sun, half veiled in shadows still.

Erestor felt uncomfortably vulnerable, the need to cover himself a nagging presence in his mind and with some difficulty he resisted the urge to look around and ensure that he was indeed alone. He would not allow his fears to rule his life. Right now, Erestor was alone in his chambers and he *knew* that and there was no logic reason for anyone to seek him out anytime soon. He had enough light now and enough privacy for the first time since 'the incident' to initiate what he thought of as 'curative self-finessing'. The first time and since he hated his fears with a passion, hated how weak they made him, there was no excuse for neglecting such an opportunity.

And this was the first opportunity because there had always been too many elves observing him in Greenwood and on their journey back, never leaving him alone. Their concerned eyes had followed him everywhere, even to his private chambers as he had been practically escorted there by at least half a dozen soldiers after the welcoming feast the day before, all of whom had been part of his rescue party. He had only barely managed not to attack them - at least verbally - until the cocky bastards would have drawn in their horns and fled.

He had hated himself for that and maybe that disgust was the sole reason why he had restrained himself in the end and allowed them to guard his steps to his chambers with a forced smile.

And yesterday night it had been too dark with candles being the only light source in the large chamber. Therefore this morning was actually the first chance to really assess the … damage done to his body during the past weeks and by doing that, relive and accept both how and by whom each of the scars marring his pale skin had been inflicted and to realise and accept that none of them had eventually cost him his life like he had always anticipated.

And maybe, just maybe to remind him that every single one of those scars was ultimately the result of his own incompetence. But that was not a line of thought Erestor would allow himself to indulge in consciously, being aware of the futility and destructiveness of self-accusations. No, this was about twisting his very memory of the past events, consciously steering the feelings and images in his mind into certain desired directions to evolve into something stronger, about facing his fears and overcome them by reasoning them out.

He owed this to his rescuers just as Celairdúr had told him, he had been given the gift of a new life and he owed it to everyone involved to seize it. But he would do this only his way, on his own terms.

Erestor was not yet convinced however that such a deliberate self-manipulation was even possible. He made a mental note to read up on Elrond's essays on mental traumata. For now he could only experiment by willingly facing his memories one by one. In chronological order, because order (natural or artificial) was ultimately nothing less than the foundation of everything peaceful.

Taking a deep, determined breath, Erestor turned his back towards the mirror and looked over his shoulder at the pale streaks on his back where the crude whip had bitten into his flesh. They had torn away his cloak and his shirt to do so, and for a moment he had thought they would do what they had done to Celebrìan, that they would take him, and his sanity and his life by doing so. But they had not, and he was infinitely grateful for that.

Even so, the pain from his prolonged torture … when he had had the visions about it, he had thought himself capable of enduring it. He could not have been more wrong. The agony had left him panting after a few strikes and when he had broken down, promising to tell them everything, Erestor had only been half pretending. He had only wished it to stop.

Erestor had told them all the details about the imagined conspiracy and the Orcs had been unable to withstand it like he had known they would. Who could withstand a good conspiracy anyway?

That had been a mistake. It had been too soon, too soon for them to abandon their game.

The leader grasped his chin in a painfully tight, cruel grip, digging his claws into his cheeks as he forced Erestor to look at him. His breath reeked, sickening his pain-weakened victim until Erestor thought he would vomit right into his face. That thought had amused his fogged mind somewhat and almost he had snickered insanely.

But there was so much hate in that gaze as the Orc started to grasp the dimensions of the allegiance between humans and elves that had supposedly formed to bring down the orcish tribes in the mountains. And Erestor was afraid.

"Make sure that he'll live!" he barked at the other Orcs in the room without taking his yellow eyes from Erestor before he hissed at the elf in front of him.

"You'll accompany us when we battle your friends. You will watch us slay them all and know that you caused it. *Then* you can die."

And with that he had left to plan his counterattack, leaving Erestor in the hands of his subordinates who were grinning at him in cruel anticipation.

Erestor looked aside feeling sick, overcome with a flood of memories of cut skin, breaking bones, of the burning red-hot metal rod which *they* had pressed into his flesh, into his pain- and fear-sweaty skin.

"Such perfect skin. Nothing should be that perfect." An ominous hiss against his ear. And the beast's smell mixing with the stench of gore, sweat, fear and … waste. He groaned at the blinding agony, the sound giving another of those things a sudden, terrible idea.

"You elves love to sing, don't you? Sing for us!"

And he had 'sung' for them; he had screamed and screamed until his throat was too raw and his body too weak to react in any way and all the while their sharp nails had raked over the fresh burns.

And because he had already told them about the armies he had had nothing to give them anymore in hopes of release or a swift death. Erestor had thought they would kill him slowly and tortuously then. The following days had been a blur that he could not really decipher now and he had been surprised when Elladan had called him back from the brink of death.

But oh the pain had been so cruel, so unbelievably all-consuming.

Erestor's breathing was fast, too fast by now and he had to swallow around the lump forming in his throat.

Now he could not even remember the pain. Oh he remembered the feelings coming with it well enough, the tenseness of his muscles, the sheer terror; he could only vaguely recall exactly how unbearable the agony had been, how exactly it had felt, if it had been sharp or blunt, but he knew with a shocking certainty that it had flooded his whole body, that he had not been able to escape, that he had been *helpless*. He felt chilled suddenly and shivered.

"You were not helpless!"

The whispered words resounded in the large chamber. Rather surreal. And incorrect. Erestor had been helpless to stop them from torturing him, had been unable to stop his cousin from violating him, from stabbing him.

That loss of control had terrified him more than the actual pain or the abstract concept of death. Which was a somewhat unexpected realisation, yet not completely surprising. All his self-confidence relied on his ability to control a situation, to plan and have that plan work out.

"But it was your choice all along." He whispered once more into the silence. He had known beforehand what would await him. In the end he had been the one to decide to let himself be caught by those Orcs and face the torture. And he had succeeded, hadn't he? The Orcs had marched against the humans. The armies had nearly extinguished themselves. That surely must have been worth the torture of a single elven being?

And furthermore: he had survived…

Raising his chin defiantly Erestor took a calming breath and willed his heartbeat to slow down, and his breathing to even out. The eagle had come, he reminded himself, it had freed him, had brought him to Elrohír and Elladan, his sworn protector and they had healed him and had promised him safety.

Erestor's eyes were again drawn to the mirror and he turned around, gazing at the paling marks of the eagle's talons on his stomach, the proof of his rescue reassuring him somewhat. Thankfully he hadn't been conscious when he had received them.

His eyes darted from the round talon marks to the two ragged scars in his abdomen and he traced them with a pale finger, feeling the uneven, newly formed skin. The paler one was from the Orc blade, the pinkish, fresher one from Fiondil's elven blade. An elven blade of all things that had almost cost him his life.

That was the indisputable evidence of his shameful control loss. Erestor scowled at his mirror image, somehow regretting that his elven healing abilities would make the scars fade in time. No reminder would stay with him but the images that tortured him during…

Erestor jumped at a sudden noise and quickly backed away from the door leading to his living room and deeper into his bed chamber, his heart pounding madly in his chest with an unnamed, shapeless fear.

The knocking resounded once again through his luxurious quarters, causing Erestor to release his shivering breath, annoyed with the interruption, furious at his jittery nerves. But still his heart seemed unwilling to slow his anxious, furious beating, as he wondered somewhat panicky who would dare to intrude on his privacy this early in the morning and for what reason.

For a moment he could almost see the hooded and masked forms of several blond ellyn standing there - he just knew they were blond, even though he couldn't see the pale locks - see them waiting for him to open the door and walk into their trap once again.

"Counsellor Erestor! My lord, are you not up yet? Breakfast will be opened soon."

Releasing a shivering breath, Erestor growled lowly in his throat, his relief at hearing the rather innocent reason fading into nervous anger. Damn it! He had lost himself to his memories so long that he was now going to be late for breakfast and draw attention.

"Idiot!" he hissed in self-deprecation before quickly starting to throw layer on layer of his formal – yet for him utterly familiar and *safe* - robes.

Erestor fervently wished his heart would stop beating so hard.

Again he heard someone pound on his door, the sound seeming somewhat more insistent this time.

"Counsellor Erestor!"

"One moment!" He hissed aggressively into the silence that had followed as his unknown guest was listening for a response, the comment probably not loud enough to be heard. Swiftly he let his anger override his fear, it was so much easier to deal with.

"Counsellor? Is everything all right?" The voice filled with alarm – which in turn had Erestor's temper seething beneath the surface within the moment.

"I am on my way!" He snapped at the door and heard the shuffling noises subside.

Hastily he started to lace the cord at the front of his robe, all the while striding on bare feet through his bed chamber and across the living area to the door leading to Imladris' corridors.

With a quick movement he turned the key and dashed the door open. Immediately his irritated glare fixed itself on the group of elves standing just outside his chambers in the corridor, each face bearing the same startled expression at his rushed entry (at least he hoped it was not the surprise at his rushed appearance, he was still barefooted after all).

For a moment he had to swallow the urge to bang the door closed again and suppressed a shiver. Half a dozen ellyn. Battle-tried soldiers. Their bulky frames towering over him - if not in height than certainly in the sheer physical strength that lent them confidence. But he managed to recall well enough how he used to make them cringe before him, scared just from the nasty sting of his tongue.

If only he managed to send them away, he'd be fine.

Briefly Erestor wondered if he should ask them for the reason of this early interruption (breakfast starting soon was no legitimate reason for nearly smashing his door, let alone being in front of it in the first place) or if maybe he could get away with just staying silent and shutting the door after fifteen seconds unless one of them managed to break from their stupor and speak up within that time. It might work…

Deciding that this would be more than rude and that Thalion was right and that discourtesy was indeed an open display of weakness – which he did not possess – he faced the one standing closest, shoving aside his fear, and let his face become his comfortable blank mask of superiority and gave a very curt nod in welcome.

"Tauron. What is it that brings you to my chambers? It must be a rather urgent matter if you could not wait to seek me out in my office at a more … appropriate time, especially since breakfast is about to start."

Erestor made sure to accompany his words with a soft snarl that should tell them that he was not to be approached except with work related matters. There, at least another scholar would recognize this as a hint as broad as the great sea Belegaer, even those soldiers should be able to grasp it.

Unfortunately for Erestor he had not yet truly realised the impact of the newfound insight his fellow elves had gained into his personal affairs and as such was so far not used to attach any value to the repercussions of 'the incident' and include them into his thought process.

And the soldiers in front of him seemed to be rather willing to overlook his hostility as they were taking in his angry but tired expression and the rumpled state of his hastily donned clothing.

Only Erestor was surprised as Tauron cocked his head and smirked at him, so completely unperturbed it was rather disconcerting. "Oh no, lord Erestor, you misunderstood! We were merely passing by and thought we could accompany you to the great hall? You already said: Breakfast is starting in a quarter of an hour."

Erestor blinked at the soldier's impertinence. "I am perfectly able to recall the way to the great hall."

"But of course!" Another of the soldiers said, smiling winningly at the chief counsellor.

"We just thought to pick you up since your chambers are almost on our way."

"I'm afraid I have to decline." Erestor gnarled, grinding his teeth together. "I am not yet ready."

"No problem, counsellor. We'll wait."

Erestor found himself at a loss for words, something that he was certainly not accustomed to. He had not expected the soldiers to be this … persistent but had rather hoped that their bothersome protectiveness would wane once they had reached the safety of Imladris, once he wasn't their *duty* anymore. After all, that's what he was, wasn't he? It was only their sense of obligation and probably their guilty conscience that made them act that way.

Valar, how he wished they would just go away! Their presence started to feel oppressive, threatening. They were too many, too much built like the soldiers they were, too unimpressed with his acidic words, too unusual and unpredictable in their behaviour.

Straightening himself even further, Erestor took a step back to blindly reach for the door handle, indicating that he considered their conversation over. He dearly hoped they would not see his shivering hand. "Don't. I would not want to inconvenience you. Please go ahead."

Just as Erestor started to close the door, Tauron reached forward with one hand to lay it on the doorframe to stop him. It was a small gesture, really, he had only intended to keep the conversation going, to keep the advisor from isolating himself. He had not meant to startle him like that. And he honestly did not understand what exactly was happening as Erestor paled and hastily shied away from him.

For a moment Tauron was too stunned to move and then before he could, one of his friends had managed to wake from his stupor and rushed past him.

"Lord counsellor?"

It seemed as if the concerned voice made Erestor realise what he was doing as he clamped a hand over his open mouth and turned around to escape the damned worried glances.

"Are you all right?" Tauron asked as he and the other soldiers slowly made their way into the room, closing the door behind them to ensure their privacy.

Erestor jumped at the quiet noise, fighting not to run from the room. He managed not to move, not to turn around. It was harder than he thought as all his instincts screamed at him to keep his enemies in sight.

They had closed the door. They were standing right in front of it, blocking the only way out. His eyes darted to his bed chambers, he could reach them but the others were so close behind him, so close that he would not have the time to lock himself in before they would reach the chamber, too.

He felt unable to move, frozen in indecision.

Then he startled as the question of his well-being was repeated and feeling sick to his stomach from disgust and fear he reminded himself that it was utterly ridiculous to think they would chase him down, and if they would not, then he could chase *them* away.

"I am fine." He said gruffly, but his voice still trembled. He *knew* he wasn't, Erestor thought indignantly. But it was his bloody right: damn it, only mere minutes ago he had violently dragged all his traumatic memories back to the surface; the sudden movement towards him had startled him, that was all there was to it … he just wasn't fit to deal with it right now! Some minutes to gather himself, just a few minutes…

"And that had better not be the sound of the door closing; because you will all go now. All of you" Erestor swallowed as he heard his voice shiver and tremble and took a calming breath. "And if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I will make you realise that there are worse fates than death!"

By the time Erestor had finished, his voice sounded strangely close to tears, even for himself. It was the one thought that managed to penetrate his current angst-ridden mind, that others would hear of this and that the image of strength and determination he was trying so hard to erect again around him would shatter.

A pair of strong hands grasped his shoulders and turned him around and even while he desperately tried to get away - caught in fear and shame and anger - he was drawn against Tauron's solid chest and held close. "Leave me be! Just leave…" He half begged, half demanded, fighting against the restricting hold.

But Tauron only shushed him, starting to murmur soothing nonsense into his ears and the arms around him tightened in response and the dark haired soldier nestled his body against his own, caging Erestor's arms between them.

The mixture of anger and terror flared again in Erestor's chest. He hated and feared the position the physically superior soldier had put him in, the bodily closeness, the helplessness. He felt caged. oh, but he would break out, he thought indignantly, his anger proving to be stronger than his fear.

He willed his body to still in his captor's arms, understanding that he had not the strength to fight free. But if Tauron would not let him go soon, Erestor knew his panic would overwhelm him finally.

Stiff and tense, his hands clenched into fists pressed between his chest and Tauron's firm pectoral muscles he looked over the soldier's shoulder at the other men and saw them stepping back with something like apprehension.

He was not aware of the oppressive gloom that was creeping up around him so menacingly, sucking up the light, negating it. He did not see how he, Erestor, was becoming the centre of the chamber, everything around him vanishing in darkness as if not important enough to gain the light's attention which was focusing solely on him, on the magnetic power he had become, and it made him seem so imposing, a terrible greatness, looming over the other elves in the chamber.

"I want you to leave!" Erestor snarled at them, daring them to stay and face his wrath.

He felt Tauron's arms retreat immediately and watched the elf scramble backwards and for a moment he felt a grim satisfaction at this success.

Then Tauron's eyes met his and the blank and naked fear staring back at him startled him, shocked him. He looked to the other soldiers regarding him with that same expression, but frozen into immobility and backed away. Despite his confusion at their reactions, relief flooded him in torrents. They might fear him for whatever reason, but they would also leave him alone.

In that moment the soldiers broke from their stupor as one, managing to breathe again, if a little bit fast and agitated, as the darkness receded, the light snapping back into place. Erestor stared back at them, confused, relieved and just a little bit afraid and irritated, but mostly soaring on the feeling of success, drunken from just being able to freely breathe again.

"I want you to leave" he said again, each word hard and determined. "And never to return to these chambers."

There was a moment of tense silence as Erestor waited for the men in front of him to react in some way, any way, willing them to at least *stop staring*.

"Erestor?"

Erestor bowed sideways a little bit, to look around the tall forms of the soldiers, barring the view of the doors, where - to his utter dismay - Gandalf was watching the little drama unfold with an unreadable expression. Honestly, couldn't they at least confront him one party at a time instead of teaming up against him?

Absently he wondered when the wizard had entered, what he had heard and seen - it seemed that no one had noticed him opening the door: some of the guards had whirled around as the unexpected intruder spoke up, but some like Tauron had only thrown a glance over their shoulder and Erestor had seen the surprise from the profile of their faces. But now Tauron and a few others were staring at him again, *observing* him, he noticed with unease, waiting for his reaction. Obviously his orders to step out of his life had been ignored. Surely they didn't think he would be tamer now just because of Mithrandir's presence? That was not acceptable.

For a moment the nameless fear at the others' interest in his person spiked again through the layers of anger and rage, but only for a moment until his father spoke again in a strangely strangled voice, drawing his attention away from the guards.

"What are you doing, Erestor?"

Erestor narrowed his eyes dangerously, still craning his neck to be able to see the old wizard, strangely glad at the distraction and he leaped at it immediately.

He could use the ire of his father going too far: Gandalf should know when to back off if their relationship was to work.

"This is none of your business, Mithrandir." He snarled.

"You *must not* use this gift unless to help others - directly or indirectly - *ever*!" The wizard took a step forward and around the group of elves still hindering his view.

For a moment Erestor wondered what the old Maia was speaking about, but then he decided that he didn't actually care right now and he chuckled lowly, dangerously. So the wizard already thought he could order him? He would teach him otherwise.

"You have no say in any of my doings, Istar!" He drawled, choosing to address the Maia with a title as impersonal as he could think of. "In fact, you have no business in being here whatsoever. Kindly refrain from invading my home uninvited again and take those " he gestured to the other ellyn "with you. I have no desire for the company of meddlesome …"

Erestor made another vague hand movement, trying to think of a word to describe them without being too insulting (He had originally wanted to say 'imbeciles', but if Elrond or Glorfindel found out they would definitely not be amused over such a slighting of Imladrian soldiers or an elf friend).

"disturbers of *my* peace." Well, that was at least true, and not too offensive either.

Erestor already regretted his consideration as Tauron and his friends were obviously unperturbed by that and he glared at them, his rage flaring like cold fire in the pit of his chest - which didn't seem to impress them either. Now with the Maia at their backs, they had apparently found their courage again.

Tauron made to speak then, but Gandalf forestalled him

"It is my business as your father if you are abusing the gifts of your heritage!"

Erestor felt his jaw drop. He had not had visions for some days now, only nightmares, and the ones he had had since fleeing from his family four centuries ago he had always ever used to help defend his fellow elves. Even the other elves in the room obviously felt that Gandalf had overstepped an invisible line as they carefully regarded son and father with apprehensive looks.

"How dare you! How dare you imply that I misused my so-called gift!" He spat the last word as if it was pure poison.

And to him, it was, at the very least it had poisoned the minds of his family members and had destroyed his childhood, his life, had led to his torture, sexual abuse and almost to his death. It had literally destroyed his life, causing him scars that would maybe need decades to fade and would probably never heal fully.

Bitterly he gritted his teeth as he again remembered in clear detail what had happened to him as a result of this gift. If Gandalf thought that he had invited the visions, wanted them, then he was so inexcusably ignorant, it was disgusting.

"Leave if you distrust me so immensely! You have no commitments towards me. You sired me, nothing more! That doesn't implicate any responsibilities and I certainly don't want you to just take them; nothing ties you to me. If you have any complaints against me, lodge them to my superior, lord Elrond."

For a moment Gandalf closed his eyes as if in pain. How could it have come to this and so fast? When he had felt Erestor's powers and rushed to his chambers he would never have expected to see what he had: Erestor, great and dark and terrific, towering over the elven guards cowering in front of him. His son had used his voice and power to intimidate them, to scare them.

And he could not bear the thought of his own flesh doing that without any sign of holding back, completely unrestrained: Even now the soldiers had not recovered totally, were still silent in their shock, observing them reservedly.

And then everything had gone out of control when he had, in his own shock, destroyed what little trust Erestor held in him and his son now refused to see the error of compelling others with his voice, instead he was shattering the delicate link between them, the fragile relationship they had begun to build. 'He is like a feral cat' he thought, 'hissing and snapping at everyone coming too close'.

If he had only acted more cautiously, more advisedly …

Erestor took a step back, towards the doors that presumably lead towards his bed chambers and snarled at them again "Leave now! Just go!"

'A feral cat in self-defence', why had he not seen that the first moment when he had entered Erestor's chambers? It was so obvious. He must have been frightened with those soldiers in his sanctuary and lashed out in the only way he saw to defend himself.

"By Este, Erestor. I want … I think I understand why you did it, but *please*, speak to me, there was no need to…"

Maybe it was the indecisiveness that swung along with Gandalf's voice, maybe it was the deep rooting anger over being unjustly reprimanded for using his gift of foresight when he had sacrificed so much for the sake of others, when he had never used it for selfish reasons, never; whatever the reasons were, they overrode Erestor's fear and disquiet - and his reason - like a blazing firestorm and he only wished them all *gone* and did not wonder why Gandalf would bring up his visions now, that maybe, maybe he was speaking about something else entirely.

"Go Istar!" Erestor ordered, his voice clear and firm and hard like mithril and his face was set in an expression of endless, cold and honest contempt that seemed to cut right through Gandalf, making the wizard draw back a step.

"Erestor…"

"Fine. Since you obviously won't leave, I will." The young elf snarled and turned to include the witnesses to their fight into his glare. "Make sure that I won't see you within these chambers ever again! When I return, you will better have left quietly and without touching anything or life might become rather uncomfortable for you."

Erestor strode towards the door and past the stunned soldiers, making sure to keep them between himself and his father. He did not look at him, refusing to see the hurt in those expressive eyes that, he knew, could ensnare an unsuspecting viewer with compassion or pierce him with that intelligent, unwavering attentiveness that just saw right through a person's soul; or would be able to slaughter his anger with the anguish they *might* hold.

Erestor squished that thought ruthlessly. When he had reached the door he turned around once more.

"And Tauron" he spoke venomously, then paused, ensuring that he would have the other's attention "don't you *dare* to touch me again!"

He was not sure if one of his self declared guardians or - Manwë forbid it - his father heard the slight tremor in his voice, but he didn't stay to find out either.

CHAPTER END NOTES
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- 6
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Gates Of Dawn