Title: Through the Ages
Author: Mawgy
Beta: Naresha (Thanks Darling!) (Also thanks to Keiless, for the first few chapters)
Dedicated to my Boney Arse *winks* *sheep*
Rated: PG (for bullying themes) (will eventually be NC-17)
Genre: Ansgt
Warnings: Bullying. Rape and humiliation in later chapters.
Pairing: (eventually) Erestor/Glorfindel
Summary: This story follows the somewhat sordid lives of Erestor and Glorfindel from their childhood in Gondolin to re-acquaintance in Imladris, where Glorfindel is a Lord and has power over everything and everyone, and Erestor, a lowly peasant.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money from this story… I just like to play with other people’s toys. :D
A/N: As far as age goes, I believe Elves age at half the rate of humans, so while Erestor is 20 in this chapter, he looks like a 10 year old.
Chapter 1
“Very good, Erestor. Who can spell ‘Gondolin’?” Tamarin asked. As the school year dwindled, the last week of term was spent reviewing the students’ retention of information and the ability to put it into context.
The small boy at the front of the class, directly under the tutor’s nose, shot his hand up. The other students scoffed at his eagerness to please and learn as they casually lounged at their desks, waiting for the school day to end.
“Anyone other than Erestor?” The teacher sighed in exasperation. It was not that he did not approve of Erestor’s enthusiasm for school, but rather that he wanted others to be given the chance also to improve their education, even if they did not care themselves. “Glorfindel?” he asked, noticing the blonde speaking to the boy behind him.
Glorfindel rolled his eyes at being singled out but stood none-the-less. “Gondolin. G-o-n-d-o-l-i-n. Gondolin.” He stated in a bored manner and then slumped back into his chair.
“Very good, Glorfindel. Now, who can spell- Erestor put your hand down, I haven’t even said the word yet,” Master Tamarin admonished gently while the other students snorted crudely. A rather pink-cheeked Erestor slowly lowered his arm as Tamarin sent a disapproving look to the rest of his class.
The year was almost over and Erestor was still as quiet and as disliked as he had been when he had first arrived. The rest of the students sat at least two rows back from him so as not to appear to be his friends. Tamarin suspected they were merely jealous of the younger child’s mental capacity. That, and the fact that their parents were still upset about Erestor’s relocation. It was a discussion the children no doubt heard constantly and perhaps took part in occasionally; their parents’ hatred passing on to them. However, that was still no reason to treat Erestor so cruelly, to make him feel inadequate in the place he spent most of his waking hours. Keeping him practically a stranger to those he had learnt with for the better part of a year was just unacceptable. Young though he may be, Erestor was beyond a doubt a highly gifted child.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tamarin knew class was soon scheduled to finish and that it was the second-last day for the year. “I think it rather obvious little work shall be completed today, class dismissed,” Tamarin said with a sigh, knowing he should not let the children out early, even though every teacher did so occasionally for a treat. The scuffle that ensued the moment the words were out of his mouth surprised even Tamarin. After almost two centuries of teaching, he doubted he had seen a classroom emptied as fast.
Returning to his desk, he looked up as he noticed a student still present, quietly reading.
“Class dismissed, Erestor. It is time to go home,” Tamarin said gently.
“Not true, sir,” Erestor said as he looked up from his book, his impossibly big dark eyes meeting his teacher’s. “Class does not finish until the main House Bell rings declaring it to be three o’clock. According to my calculations, there are still at least three minutes until then.” He continued reading.
The first time Erestor had ever spoken to him, using that same precise, knowing voice and dialect, Tamarin had been taken aback at hearing a child speak so sophisticatedly. Even more so a student of his! But as the seasons changed and the school year passed, he had come to the conclusion that Erestor was no ‘normal’ child. “Exactly what are your calculations?” Tamarin asked, perplexed as to how Erestor could so precisely tell the time.
Now it was Erestor’s turn to look confused as to why his teacher would ask him a simple question that had such an obvious answer. “Shadows, sir. When the bell rings the shadow of your desk reaches the exact corner of the floor meeting the wall. From this distance I predict it has a centimetre yet to travel.” Erestor returned to his book once more.
Tamarin looked on the floor and followed the shadow of his desk, created by the sunlight streaming through the window. The silhouette was indeed stretched out towards the wall, barely moments away from touching it. Tamarin was about to suggest that Erestor should go home early anyway, but knew from previous conversations that skipping class time was something Erestor would not do.
Sitting down, Tamarin continued writing the reports that he was to give to the students tomorrow, indicating their progress to their parents throughout the year.
A few moments later the bell that indicated the end of another school day rang and Erestor silently stood up and began to pack his belongings neatly in his shabby bag. Once finished, he did not leave, but instead stood silently before his teacher’s desk, waiting patiently to be addressed.
Tamarin inwardly sighed, wondering why the boy hadn’t spoken to him just before. “Yes, Erestor?” he asked, putting his quill to the side so he could speak with the young one.
“I was wondering if there was anything you might recommend me to read during the respite from school, sir?”
“Erestor,” Tamarin suggested seriously, “perhaps you should leave the books for two months and spend time on more recreational activities?”
Erestor face remained impassive and he said nothing.
“Recreation; play, amuse, entertain, gam-”
“I am aware of what the word means, sir. I do not, however, understand why you evade answering my question,” Erestor interrupted.
“I do so only to suggest a manner for you to spend the Summer that will be unlike the way you passed time in Winter.”
Erestor continued to look at his teacher indifferently.
Tamarin sighed again, clearly not getting through to the child. “I shall have a list for you by tomorrow.”
“Thankyou sir,” Erestor said and walked back to his desk, picked up his bag that was literally falling apart and left. On the way home, Erestor saw the other boys in his class running around on the large open field, playing before going home for the day. He had no desire to join them, nor did the others want him to, and so he hoped to sneak past them while they were preoccupied. His efforts to remain quiet and hidden proved in vain, however, when one of the boys called out to him.
“HEY ERESTOR!”
Erestor stopped, knowing to run would only result in a harsher beating. He looked at the six boys now approaching him, the rest lingering behind and a cold dread overcame him as he knew from experience what was about to happen.
“Tell me, how do you spell ‘stuck up’?” one asked mockingly as the others formed a wide circle around the dark-haired Elf and gave Erestor a push. The other boys laughed as he stumbled back into Glorfindel.
“Get away from me, peasant!” the Lord of the Golden Flower’s son screamed and he shoved Erestor forward with all his might. The younger Elf fell to the ground, the sound of more cheers and laughter occurring around him.
Erestor hit the dirt hard and heard his bag split as it had been threatening to do for some time now. Tears welled in his eyes as pain from his hands and knees exploded through his body, but he forced them down, not wanting to give the others the satisfaction of having made him cry. Silently he began picking up his possessions and stacking them just in front of him. Picking up his broken bag he slung it over one shoulder and reached for his books.
A foot stomped on top of them just as he was about to pick them up.
Looking up, following the leg, his gaze coming to rest upon the face of Galdor, son of Galshor, Lord of the Folk of the Tree.
“May I please have my books, my lord?” Erestor asked in a slightly trembling voice.
“Kiss my boot first,” Galdor replied with maniacal grin.
Erestor swallowed hard, but bent forwards, puckering his lips as he neared the footwear. He lowered his lashes in shame just as Galdor kicked out, his foot connecting with Erestor’s mouth and the younger Elf fell back onto the ground in pain. All the children laughed as they ran back to their other friends, some spitting on Erestor as they passed.
Erestor held his hands over his mouth, protecting the injured flesh as his body curled into itself and he wept silently at the cruelty shown him.
After a minute or two, Erestor stood, not wanting to give the children a chance to come back and harass him more. He picked up his books and bag, and shakily made his way home.
In the classroom it was much simpler. There was a teacher to ensure that the other students behaved themselves. It was easy for Erestor to pretend not to feel the bits of parchment thrown at him, or appear not to hear the rude comments directed his way when the teacher’s back was turned.
The girls never hurt him, though they made no effort to hide their hatred of Erestor, mostly by cheering the boys on if they stayed behind after class or during the lunch hour.
Galdor was the worst, closely followed by Glorfindel and Ecthelion. The rest joined in for the fun of it and because failure to abuse Erestor meant also falling victim to their bullying ways. Therefore, almost every day Erestor left school with a bruise that had not been there in the morning.
Erestor ran all the way home; hiding his bleeding lips behind his books as he entered. Not that it mattered for his father was not here, giving the Elfling time to clean himself up. Putting his things on the kitchen table, he then went to the bathroom to tend to the wound before taking his belongings to his room.
Well, his and his father’s room. Earane, despite working harder than ever, was not selling as many items as before, and had been forced to sell Erestor’s room to the people who lived next door, whom were expecting another child. As Erestor’s room connected to their house, all that was needed to make it a part of their home was to board up the door and create a new one so the neighbours could access it from their side.
Earane bartered long and hard about it, wanting the best price possible. But even then the money was all too soon depleted, and if work did not pick up soon he feared that he would need to sell the rest of their house and live in his workshop. Of course, all this was kept from Erestor. Earane despaired at how his son was being treated at school, but knew there was nothing he could do except wash the blood away and comfort him. Tamarin had sought Earane out one day, acknowledging that he knew of the children’s bullying, but as it was never executed in front of him, it was technically out of his jurisdiction. Yet he promised to step in should things ever get out of hand. Earane was grateful Erestor’s teacher had taken such a strong liking to his son, but knew not all would be as kindly to Erestor as he progressed through his education. With all that was happening at school, Earane did his best to hide their financial difficulties from Erestor, believing his son was stressed enough, he did not wish to burden a child more so.
Earane sighed, looking down at the circlet he held in his hands. It had been commissioned by Lord Galshor over two months ago and was finished in half that time, but the Lord was not satisfied with the final result and demanded Earane try again. Three times since he had taken it to the Lord, and each time, it had been rejected. Today, in the late afternoon, he had presented it once more, and again, it was deemed unsuitable. This time, however, Earane tried to ask for an advance on the payment. Having spent all his time, effort and money on buying the best equipment and materials for the headwear, he had nothing left over with which to look after his son properly, nor had he been able to buy food in over a week. The Lord sneered at his humble request before ordering Earane from his sight, Galshor’s son stood by his father’s side through it all, his mocking smile imprinted on Earane’s memory for life. He was just glad Erestor had not been there to see his humiliation but knew he would not be able to hide it from his son for long. No doubt Galdor would spread rumours of his disgrace tomorrow to the other students; yet another facet of his son’s life for them to use as ammunition against him.
Walking into the kitchen, he found Erestor once again making dinner for them both. Chicken broth from the smell of it, just like the past two nights… only thinner this time. Undoubtedly the soup needed watering down for there to be enough for them both.
“Ah, Erestor, I am rather full tonight… had a large lunch. Why don’t you eat all that?” Earane said, not wanting his son to go hungry.
“Father,” Erestor admonished, “you must keep up your strength. Did you go to the market today? You said you would three days ago when you delivered the circlet to Lord Galshor,” he added as he served the soup.
“I am sorry Erestor, I completely forgot,” Earane lied, not being able to bring himself to tell his son of their poverty, or his inability to sell his goods.
“Would you like me to go tomorrow after school?” Erestor offered as he began sipping his soup.
“Erestor, *I* am the parent, *I* am the one who is supposed to be looking after you, remember?”
“I know, but there is no shame in admitting you need help every once in a while. I am more than happy to be of assistance.”
Earane smiled lovingly at his son and cupped the young one’s cheek, a finger gently brushing over the swollen lips. “Surely I have been blessed by the Valar to have a child as wonderful as you.”
“I love you too, Ada.”
The two continued eating in silence.
TBC
A *BIG* thanks to those who read and reviewed the prologue. Hope you all found this chapter just as enjoyable.
Luv Mawgy
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.