Disclaimer: Wakabe Writing Firm doesn't own Lord of the Rings
A/N: Miss Natsumi is still have trouble with Rules, so I temporarily unchained her from the desk so that she could write something more fluffy than humorous. I do hope you enjoy. Michiko (Witch Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)
Storms are terrifying, especially when you're a kid. I know because I was once in a major freak storm before. Strangely enough, that storm ended up making me fascinated with them, and I grew to love them. Still, it freaked the f**k out of me as a kid before then. So I'm channeling that into this story-my fear of them as a kid. Hope you enjoy-Natsumi (Writer, Wakabe Writing Firm)
It was raining again. Though, to say it was raining was like saying that a gut wound hurt; it was an extreme understatement that was almost criminal. The rain came down upon the earth below with the fury of a woman scorned, unforgiving and unrelenting, harsh and damaging in the worst of ways. The thunder that raced across the sky ranged in color, from the angry hot whites to the cool and fiery light blues and even to the dark blood reds and passionate purples that commanded attention and acknowledgement of the storm's ire. The thunder that crashed and boomed over the expanse of land below the heavens was deafening, enough so that even the small and quiet whimpers of a little boy went unheard by those whose hearing could be claimed as being able to hear grass grow, if they wished to. And as that little boy huddled under his blankets, clinging to a pillow nearly as big as he was, he whimpered and wept, feeling the fear and panic of not only a child in the face of a storm loud and dark, but also of someone who does not remember the horrors once faced on a night so similar to this one but still mar his mind, causing dark memories to begin caressing his brain, making him have not-memories of what such a storm once brought to him.
When one particularly loud and angry pair of lightning and thunder had torn through the air, so bright that it had illuminated him beneath the safe haven of blankets, he had cried out, his voice small and thin with fear, a keen so wretched that had anyone heard, they would have felt their hearts break, if not shatter. His tears rolled down freely, but still he stayed huddled in his room, on his bed. He dared not peek out of his blankets, didn't dare to dream of even looking at the floor, much less put his feet to it so as to seek the safety that he knew lay just down the hall from his own room. He gasped and whimpered as the storm raged, for now unwilling to unfold himself from his position, curled around the pillow, clinging to it desperately. And still the storm raged on, uncaring of the trauma it dealt to that child, unconcerned with his quiet cries for comfort and love in the arms of his family.
Finally, it was too much for him, and after a particularly angry red flash of lightning and a boom of thunder that rattled his windows fiercely, he flew from his bed. Legs tangled with the sheets as he leaped from the bed, and he twisted and wrestled against them until at least, with a stumble that almost landed him onto the hard floor beneath him, he was freed from his confines. Rushing from his room, he threw open the doors, uncaring for how loudly they banged against the wall with the force that he had thrown them open in his growing terror. He fled a little down the hall, to the darkened doors that held his oldest brother, Elladan, and threw himself at it. When it refused to open, he clambered back up to his feet and began to bang upon them.
"Dan!" he screamed, his fear getting the best of him and making him forget about the rules of not shouting in the house. "Dan, please!"
Within the walls, Elladan lay in his bed, eyes opened in the elvish style of sleep, vaguely aware of the storm but too deep to really care for it. What he did become aware of, quite abruptly and rudely, was the sudden bang from his door, reminding him of a time when he had once flung himself at his parents' doors long ago. He blinked, and then bolted straight up in bed, head snapping to the door, where he heard his name being called. He jumped a bit as another flash and bang of the sky's fury came down again, and gave a quiet curse. It had been too long since Rivendell had hosted a true child here- not one of Isildur's heirs when they had come for tutelage under his family's roof, who were always older, beginning the transition from boy to man. He should have remembered that though Estel's night terrors had begun to fade, his more current fears that many children had- such as of storms and the dark and other things that he would grow out of- were very much present and would be until he learnt not to fear them.
He quickly got out of bed and slung his robe over his bare-chested form (he only ever wore sleep pants at night when at home) and quickly crossed the distance from his bed to the door. At that point, though little time had passed, the calling of his name had begun to include the sound of sobbing, and Elladan all but ripped open the door that dared to separate him from the distressed child.
No sooner had he opened up the door that he found the little three-year old banging his head against his knees in his attempt to get closer to his brother, whom had always held him in the safety of his arms when harm came to him, or fear. Reaching down, Elladan quickly scooped him up, shushing him gently as he rubbed his back, bouncing gently in place as he attempted to soothe the fear that had overcome Estel.
"Estel," Elladan whispered into Estel's ear, as his little brother buried his face into the crook of his neck. "Little one, what is wrong?"
Estel did not answer, too busy trying to bury himself even further in his brother, very aware of how the storm had yet to taper off in its intensity. Elladan was not overly bothered by this, and instead sought one that he knew would be able to help him calm down the child quickly, though perhaps not as well as their ada. He went from his room, and opened the door to the room across from his own, which housed his own twin. As he did so, a brilliant flash of white illuminated the room, causes Estel to freeze and emit a sound somewhere between a whimper and a squeal. Elladan made no comment on it, instead choosing to continue to rub at his back as he went to wake his twin.
Who had apparently beat him to the punch. For Elrohir was already at the door, a robe covering him, his hair still slightly bedraggled and mussed, eyes a little less awake than Elladan's, but no less concerned. Elladan smiled, and shifted Estel in his arms.
"Look, Estel," he prompted his little brother. "Look who we have here. It's Elrohir."
"Ro?" asked a small voice, still buried in Elladan's shoulder. Very cautiously, he peeked out of his little hiding place, tears still streaking down his face, but at a much slower pace now.
"Hello, tithen pen," greeted Elrohir, smiling despite the sudden awakening after a long day. It seemed to ease Estel, because he immediately relaxed, and uncurled a hand from its death grip on Elladan to reach out for his twin. Elrohir took it, and in a gesture that had long since become a ritual between the three brothers, he brought the little hand to his mouth, bestowing a kiss upon the palm, and then curling the fingers up to hold onto that kiss. Estel smiled, a bit watery, but still smiled.
"Would you like to sleep here tonight, tithen gwador?" Elrohir asked, as Estel finally began to let go of the fear that had gripped him earlier in his flight to safety. He nodded vigorously, which brought soft smiles to his brothers' faces. The three of them quickly situated themselves in Elrohir's bed, with each twin on one side of Estel, effectively enveloping him in their arms. As he stiffens at another flash of threatening white across the sky, the twins each press against him a little more, making sure that he is snuggled securely against them, between them, where he can feel the gentle rise and fall of their chests as they make sure to breathe calmly, helping to bring his own breathing back under control, deep and slow. He presses his cheek against Elladan's chest, and then brings his hand up, his palm resting easily and slightly curled over the spot where Elladan's heart resides, pulsing steadily with all the love and care he has for this child that has his heart in his tiny little hands, small but so strong.
"He is so precious," Elladan cannot help but say aloud, his face a study in awe and love and softness for the child.
"Indeed he is," whispers Elrohir back, as he slowly swoops in to kiss that mop of curly and unruly dark hair. As though he knew that they were speaking of him, Estel mumbled in his sleep, and turned so that his cheek now rested on Elrohir's shoulder. Both twins laughed quietly at this.
"Already so young, and yet he has ensnared us so easily."
"And he will catch many more hearts."
"Yes."
The twins settled down quickly after that, each smiling down, unseeing, at the beloved child between them. So quickly did they fall back into the realm of dreams, that they did not hear the sound of their door opening, nor did they see Lord Elrond peak inside, and smile at the sight that greeted him. And as he gazed upon them, he smiled, then turned back, closing the doors of the other two rooms that were now void of their occupants for the night. Morning would be by soon enough, and the storm would be but a memory, soon replaced by the sound of shrieks of joy and the splashing of feet in puddles. For now, it was time to sleep.