Author's Note: Yes, so this wasn't posted on Friday as it was supposed to. Or even on Saturday. But I'll have you know I appear in a stage production of the musical "White Christmas", and we've been doing shows. Lots of 'em. And it's work. And it takes time. Today, we have two scheduled! But anyway, in the midst of all that, I still found time to snatch a bit of writing here and there. Aren't you all proud of me? ;) This one is dedicated to NirCele. If you all remember, I said that whoever was the first to comment on "Almost a Bad Day" would get a oneshot written from a prompt they provided. NirCele was the first, and she requested hers be about elves. So here we are! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Just taking them on a little flight of fancy with me, for awhile.
Eyes raised to the sky, as if appealing to the Valar, the slender elf let out a sigh. "Am I the only being in Arda that has to put up with this?"
"It wasn't my fault," came a retort close by.
The slender elf brought his gaze down to the dark-haired child watching him from the safety behind a tree. The babe's lower lip stuck out in a pout, even as the rest of his countenance spoke eloquently of his indignance.
Elrohir prayed to possess him with patience toward his new little brother. His father Elrond had taken in the Dunedain woman and her infant son four fleeting summers ago, after they had fled from the fell things in the wild that had slain the child's father.
Yet, a hundred years was but a blink in the life of an elf; four or five years was very short indeed. Elrohir had not yet gotten used to the little one whom Elrond had called Estel, and who -far sooner than would an elf- grew into a small child that called Elrond Ada, just as Elrohir did, and the twin princes his brothers.
The young eleven lord had never had a younger sibling, least of all a human one with incredible lack of wisdom. And certainly not one that had to be chased and searched for after he fled the scene of his latest crime. It had taken the elf, with all his prowess at tracking, a full thirty minutes to find the rascal out here in the gardens. Elrohir was seeing his inborn elven serenity challenged more and more as the days passed.
"Estel, I see no way in which the fault might not lie with you," he said, his voice smooth but colored with displeasure. "The sword of Elendil has not been profaned in its secred rest since it came to us. Yet today, I find it lying on the floor of the Hall of Relics, with one shard more than it had heretofore. Explain that, master Estel. Pray, whose is the fault, if not yours?"
The little boy crossed his arms petulantly.
"It's you's fault!"
Elrohir wasn't prepared for that accusation. He shook his head to ward off his surprise.
"And how is that?"
"You know Ada says you's not 'upposed to leave sharp fings where I can get 'em," Estel accused, sounding more distressed now than angry. No doubt he was beginning to realize how deeply he could actually be in trouble for this. Elrohir took a step toward him, alarmed that he hadn't even thought to see if his little brother had been hurt, but Estel scuttled backward, taking shelter behind a bench. The elf was once again exasperated.
"It wasn't left where you could reach it. You had to use four volumes of Illuvitar's Songs and The Silmarillion as a step-stool."
"You was 'upposed to be watching me!"
Well, he had him, there.
"What, has my twin been lax in his duty to our little brother?" Elladan's teasing, musical voice asked, as he leapt lightly down from a tree nearby. The twins had but just lately returned from a stay in the courts of their cousins in Mirkwood, and Elladan especially had been keen to learn their quick, agile ways, so different from the stately grace of Rivendell.
Elrohir felt a wash of relief at his brother's appearance.
"Rather," he corrected, "Our little brother has behaved himself right naughtily."
Elladan raised a mock-severe eyebrow at Estel, who looked on the brink of tears, but still kept just out of reach, with the bench between them.
"Is it so? What have you done, you little woodcock?"
Estel sniffed.
"I broked a thing, and 'Rohir, he is chasing me 'cause he say I bad." He raised a little hand to rub at his eyes. Both brothers started forward at the smear of blood left on the child's cheek when he drew his hand away.
"Estel! Are you injured?"
The floodgates opened, and Estel burst into tears. Elrohir strode around the bench, and Estel didn't draw back. He reached up for his big brother, and Elrohir swooped the child in his arms.
"Hush now, gwador nin," he said, gently, as Estel buried his face and sobbed into his shoulder, "No harm has befallen that cannot be mended. Don't weep." Elrohir rested a firm, comforting hand on the little boy's back, holding him closer.
He nodded once to Elladan, who had approached from the other side, concern sobering his handsome features. Elladan reached forward and carefully uncurled the little hands from where they clutched at Rohir's tunic. There were scarlet handprints staining the fabric, now.
Elladan examined the wounds firmly, but tenderly, to asses the damage.
"Ah, woodcock," he tutted, softly, "these must cause some pain."
Deep cuts crossed the inside of both palms, where a sharp blade had slipped through the clumsy grasp.
"We will take you home and see to these wounds, cub."
"Is...is I still in twouble?" Estel hiccuped, through the crying and sharp little gasps for breath. He always sounded younger when he was upset.
"I cannot say, but do not fret yourself overmuch on it, now. Shall 'Rohir carry you, or do you wish to walk?"
Estel's only answer was to cling tighter to Elrohir and hide his tear-stained little face against his neck. Elrohir and Elladan shared a loving smile for their baby brother. And they started toward the House.
"How did this happen, Aragorn?" the boy's mother asked, gently, as she cleaned the cuts with a soft, cool cloth.
Elrohir held him in his lap, as Elladan readied an ointment for the wounds and brought clean, white bandages. The lad hung his head, hiding his face behind a curtain of mussed brown hair.
"I wanted ta play 'fight the monsters', and kill lots of bad things like El and 'Rohir. But I broked the sword that I not 'upposed to hold, and it cutted me," he mumbled.
"Ah," the Dunedain woman replied, taking the bandages from Elladan and carefully wrapping the little hands. "That blade is famous and mighty, but once the integrity of a blade is broken, it shards more easily. One day, my son, you will fight. But not yet. Now it falls to you to practice patience and obedience when something is forbidden you."
"Is Ada gonna get me in trouble?" Estel asked, pitifully. Apparently this was the first and foremost concern on his mind at the moment. His mother leaned in and kissed his forehead, brushing the hair out of his face as she did so.
"Why don't you go and tell him what happened, love, and see."
"He is in his library," Elrohir said, "Come, we will take you."
Elrond stood in the stream of light by the great windows of the old room. The walls, floor-to-ceiling with books, were familiar and offered a quiet, friendly companionship. Elrond loved the library, and during his long life he had read every one of the volumes lining the shelves.
As he stood by the window, he held a single parchment in his hand, thoughtfully considering the verse upon it, written in a hand other than his own. Aragorn's mother had given it to him upon the arrival of her and her son. It had been written by Arathorn.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless again shall be king
Elrond had something very precious in his charge. Estel. Hope for the world of Men. In a few short years the babe who now ran about laughing would lead men into battle against the darkest foes of Middle Earth, the shattered sword of his fathers whole and new at his side. Elrond had the foresight. He had seen it.
It lay with him to guard and nurture this child into the man he would become. He was hope. One of the few dwindling hopes in the world. But his was a hope that shone clean and bright, not dimmed with doubt or weakness as some.
A soft knock drew Elrond back from his ponderings, and he turned to face the room.
There stood little Estel in the doorway, between Elrond's twin sons, each hand holding one of theirs. But there was something wrong. Estel was too somber; Elladan and Elrohir's hold on their brother was loose and ginger. The little hands were swathed in linen.
Elrond bestowed a warm smile on his sons and opened his arms to Estel.
"Come, Estel, I have not seen you today."
The little boy went willingly enough into his foster father's embrace, though he kept his eyes downcast in shame.
"Is you well, Ada?" he mumbled.
"I am, but I see you are not," Elrond said, kindly, kneeling down to Estel's level and taking a bandaged hand between his own. "What happened during your adventures this morning?"
"I cutted my hands on the sharp broke sword. And another piece came off when I drop it. I'm sorry, Ada."
He took a strand of Elrond's flowing locks in his hands and played with one of his braids. Elrond looked up at his sons for clarification.
"The sword of Elendil, in the Hall of Relics," Elrohir said.
"Mm," Elrond said, raising his eyebrows and turning back to Estel.
"Is you mad?" the boy whispered. Elrond smiled.
"I think that you have experienced how unpleasant it is not to heed instruction, my son," the elf lord replied, indicating the bandages. "Does it pain you?"
Estel nodded, looking intensely relieved.
"Elrohir will take you to rest in a moment and give you something to ease the discomfort. But you know now that it is wise to listen to the council of your elders, do you not?"
"Yes, Ada!" Estel replied, emphatically. He snuggled closer, hiding a yawn. The morning's stress was catching up, and it was, after all, close to time for his nap. "I not touch it again."
"Did you know, Estel, that that sword is yours?"
Estel pulled back to look up at Elrond wonderingly.
"It mine?"
"One day you will carry it into battle, forged anew, and it will not break for you. It will be your time; you will face evil, but it will not overcome you. That day has not yet come, Estel. But it will be here sooner than you think...and sooner than I wish."
"I fight, like 'Rohir and El?" Aragorn asked, excitedly, glancing toward his two big brothers. Elrohir felt a swell of pride and affection. Emulation was the highest form of admiration.
Elrond smiled, quietly.
"Yes. You are the hope, Estel. The hope to vanquish the evil."
Aragorn yawned again, and Elrond picked him up, handing him to Elrohir.
"Sleep well, little Estel."
The blue eyes drifted closed almost instantly, the sweet, innocent little face peaceful in sleep. Elladan and Elrohir met their father's look with smiles.
"Children must be children, and forgiven for being such," Elrond said, softly. "This time is precious; it will not last forever, and too soon will be cast off for manhood."
And as Elrohir carried the little boy up the stairs to the airy bedchamber, and laid him there, with the soft breeze from the open window stirring the dark hair...he was glad to have a baby brother, for however long it lasted.
Author's Note: Ta-da! My first oneshot from a prompt. :) Lemme know how you like it! Oh, and also: I mentioned in one of my other stories that I am trying to get a Christmas oneshot done for each of my fandoms. I have an idea for a "The Hobbit" one, but I still need ideas for A Team, Thor and Loki, Sherlock, and maybe Forever. I might have that one covered...or I might decide not to do it. Haven't made up my mind yet. So, all of you guys, start thinking! And message me your ideas!
P.S. NirCele, thank you so much for being such a loyal, encouraging reviewer. :) I hope you enjoyed the story.
P.P.S. John Mitchel, thanks so much for coming back! I wondered what happened to you. :) Sorry life's been crazy, but I am so happy my stories make it at least a little bit better! :) 3