Flame of the West

by Khylea

The time has come to reforge the sword of kings. Elrond reflects upon the passage of time.

Title: Flame of the West

Author: Khylea

Rating: G

Characters: Elrond and the twins in the current time frame, Arwen and Aragorn as a child in a flashback

Archive: Feel free, just drop me a URL where I can visit it please. I do not own Lord of the Rings. That belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I make no money from this writing. Pffft. Like my writing is good enough to make money.

Feedback: Would be delightful. Good or bad, though flames will be used to power the Balrog I will send after you for attacking me. Manon. hugs You're the best!

Summary: The time has come to reforge the Sword of Kings. Elrond reflects upon the passage of time.

Author's Notes: In order to make this story work, I had to take a few liberties with canon. Big surprise there...LOL...Though in the books, Arwen and Aragorn first met when he was twenty and saw her in the gardens, immediately falling in love with her, I needed to have her there sooner. So to attempt to not stray TOO far from canon, maybe she did visit Rivendell when Aragorn was just young and then didn't again until he was grown up. So when he saw her, he didn't really remember her. Or something.

The elven smiths who re-forge Narsil into And>úril were never specifically identified, so I wrote them as being the twins just because I thought the twins should have been in the movie. And who else would Elrond trust with such an important family heirloom right? Okay, so maybe that argument doesn't hold water, but regardless...I made them the ones re-forging the sword because I thought they should have been in the movie and that was the most logical place to put them. So there. Deal with it.

It never specifically says if the twins sail or not. It only says that Celeborn joined them in Imladris "for a time". But I believe they would understand how much grief their father went through losing Celebrían, Arwen, and Aragorn, and wouldn't add to his pain by staying behind indefinitely. And also, they killed orcs for many years, avenging Celebrían's injuries. Doesn't make sense to me that they'd never want to see her again. But neither do I think that they would sail at the same time he did, abandoning their sister and adopted brother. I tend to think that they would have stayed at least for a few years, helping Aragorn learn how to be a good king, and most likely would have stayed until both Aragorn and Arwen died. After Aragorn died, Arwen returned to Lórien and died there the next winter. I also don't think the twins would have abandoned their sister when she was grieving for her husband, and since it doesn't specifically say she was alone, I think they went with her and buried her after she died, then returned to Rivendell, collected Celeborn, and sailed to the Undying Lands. That's how I think it was anyway. If you don't fine. But don't expect to like this story much if you don't. Hehe.

Okay, shutting up now before the author's note gets longer than the story. LOL

All that is gold does not glitter,

not all those who wander are lost;

the old that is strong does not wither,

deep roots are not reached by the frost.

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.

"It is time...re-forge the sword..."

Arwen's words echoed through his mind as Elrond wandered the deserted hallways of Imladris, deep in thought. Time...time for Aragorn to take his place as King of Men, time for Elrond to let him go, to give up his responsibilities as the boy's...no, Elrond corrected himself...the man's adopted father.

Time had never seemed to pass so quickly in all the years of Elrond's long life. How had he grown into a man so quickly? It seemed as if just yesterday he had been teaching young Estel to read, had been helping Glorfindel to teach him horseback riding and sword fighting, had dried his tears when his brothers had inadvertently hurt his feelings from one of the endless pranks they had so loved to play on the young human.

He briefly paused in his wandering, stopping to smile fondly at a family portrait he had commissioned when Aragorn was just young. He vividly remembered how frightened and alone the young human had felt; his birth father slain by Orcs, his mother abandoning him when the stress of becoming a young widow was too much for her to bear. He remembered how Aragorn seemed to become aware at a very young age how different he was from his father and adopted brothers and sister.

Though his nightmares faded over the years, he could never escape the knowledge that he was not elven, and would never be. He would become sick, he would grow old, and he would die. But more than those thoughts, as growing old and dying are the furthest things from a young boy's mind, he saw how the others were different, and in his mind better than him. He was always slower, weaker, easier to tire, his archery less accurate. His lessons always took him longer to learn and were more difficult to retain.

As the years passed, he grew more and more withdrawn, feeling as if he was not really wanted. Though on the outside he appeared to be a cheerful, happy little boy, inside he wondered when it would happen. When Elrond would cast him out, would leave him as his mother and father had left him. Elrond suspected something was wrong, but in a rare lack of insight, attributed it to the boy missing his family, missing being with his own people. It was not until he caught Aragorn one day looking at a painting in the Hall of Fire that he realized.

The painting had been done shortly after Arwen's birth and showed Elrond and Celebrían sitting side by side on a lounging chair, smiling and holding the baby, the twins kneeling on the floor at either side of their parents, each of them with a hand on the blanket the baby was wrapped in. Puzzled, Elrond had watched the young boy for a long time before realizing that Aragorn was quietly crying.

Though he knew Aragorn was likely to be embarrassed by being caught looking weak, Elrond's fatherly instincts won out over his caution and he approached, kneeling down next to the boy and brushing his tears away.

"Do you miss your family, Estel?" he asked softly, stroking Aragorn's tangled brown hair.

He nodded, sniffling. "A little, my lord." Elrond nodded and wrapped a comforting arm around the boy's slim shoulders.

"They loved you very much, Estel."

"Then why did mama leave?"

Elrond sighed. The boy had never asked these questions before and though he knew sooner or later he would have to answer them, he wasn't sure exactly what to say. "Your mother was afraid, Estel. She was barely an adult herself when your father was killed. Suddenly she was alone, with a young son to raise. She did not think she could take care of you properly."

"But why here? Why not with other humans?"

"Your father and I had been friends for a long time. She knew I would look after you, but did not know other humans who would have." He neglected to mention the main reason Gilraen had brought the young heir to Imladris; how he would have to be carefully sheltered and protected, his identity kept secret from Sauron and his minions.

"Lord Elrond?" Elrond inwardly flinched at the use of his title. He had hoped that the boy would begin calling him father as he grew more comfortable with his new elven family, but it had not happened. He had not wanted to insist, refusing to try to replace Arathorn in the boy's life, but wondered now if he should have. Something told him the tears were not just from missing his own parents. Did the boy not feel a part of the family? Suddenly he realized. There were many portraits of Elrond's family, both of his forebears and his descendants, but none of Aragorn, and especially none of Aragorn with his adopted father and siblings. Elrond inwardly swore at himself. No wonder the boy felt left out. How could he have been so blind?

"Yes, Estel?"

"May I go now? Glorfindel has asked to see me for another riding lesson."

"Of course."

With a slight bow, Aragorn turned and slowly walked away, his shoulders hunched, reaching a hand up to wipe away fresh tears.

"Estel?"

He stopped and turned. "Yes, my lord?" Elrond held out a hand, motioning him closer, frowning as the boy shuffled his feet, keeping his eyes downcast as if he expected to be scolded for something.

"Do you like that picture?" he asked, indicating the portrait on the wall.

Aragorn nodded. "It is pretty."

"Yes it is, but it was painted a long time ago. Do you think perhaps we should do a new one?"

The boy looked confused. "But why? It is a picture of your family."

"No, it is a picture of how my family used to be. Celebrían no longer lives with us, and Arwen is no longer an elfling. And we are missing someone. Someone very important and very special."

"Missing someone?" His eyebrows drew together as he contemplated. "Who? Who is missing?"

"You are, Estel..." Elrond paused, unsure how the boy would take the next words he wished to speak, but deciding to take the chance. "...my son..."

Aragorn's already large eyes widened further at the word. "Son? You...but...I am not..." he stuttered, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. Elrond pulled him closer, gently stroking his cheek.

"Yes you are, Estel. You are my son, just as Elladan and Elrohir are." Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead, throwing all caution to the wind and deciding it was time to tell him. Making the boy understand that he was part of the family was suddenly far more important than to avoid looking like he was trying to replace Arathorn. "I love you no less because you are not elven." He smiled reassuringly. "I did not take you in because I owed you a favor, as I have heard some of the others whisper, thinking you cannot hear, not taking into account your sharp ears." He gently caressed Aragorn's very round, very non-elven ear. "I took you in because I wanted another son, and because I loved you from the first moment I saw you..." He was now caressing the boy's cheek. "From the first moment I saw you, my beautiful Estel..." he whispered.

With a loud sob, the boy launched himself into Elrond's arms. "I love you too, Lord Elrond."

"Estel...please...will you not call me ada? As your brothers and sister do?"

Aragorn pulled away slightly so he could look into Elrond's eyes. "You want me to..."

"Yes I do, Estel. I would never try to take the place of your father. There will always be a special place in your heart for him, as there should be. But now that he is no longer able to care for you, I have come to love you, just like he did. I would love to hear you call me father."

"I...I would like that," he said softly, sniffling and scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes to wipe away the tears. Then with a small smile, he took Elrond's hand. "Ada."

Elrond blinked back tears, afraid his heart might melt, and before he knew what he was doing, was pulling Aragorn into a tight embrace. "My son...I love you so."

"Ada," Aragorn said softly. "I love you too, father. I thought you did not want me as your son, I thought that was why you never asked me to call you ada."

"No Estel, that is not it at all. I did not want you to think I was trying to take your father's place. Do you understand?"

With wisdom far beyond his years, the young boy nodded. "But he is gone now. And I think...I think if he had been able to tell us, he would have said he wanted me to have another ada."

"I think so too, Estel. Your father was very wise."

Aragorn smiled a little too knowingly for one so young, and Elrond's heart caught in his throat as he realized the young boy was growing up quickly. "Both of my fathers have been very wise."

Elrond nodded, the tears falling freely now, and pulled Aragorn into another hug. For a long time they stayed like that, the elven lord and the young human, simply enjoying the touch of the other, trying to push away the misunderstanding that had grown between them. Finally Elrond stroked the long brown hair of his son and gently pulled away.

"So what do you say, Estel? Would you like to be in a new family picture?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I would."

Elrond kissed his forehead. "Good. Go to your lesson with Glorfindel now, and we will have one done next time Arwen visits us."

Aragorn smiled. "Yes, Lord..." He hesitated and bit his lip, embarrassed at his slip up. "Yes, ada..." Slightly bowing once more, he ran from the room.

Elrond shook his head, bringing himself out of his daydream, looking again at the picture. Though he had been enthusiastic about being in a family portrait, Aragorn had not realized that it would require him sitting still for several hours while it was being created. He smiled as he remembered having to corral the boy and practically hold him down when Aragorn grew bored and ran off to play with his friends. He was still amazed that the portrait had come out as well as it had considering Aragorn had to be painted in two sessions.

Time...how had time passed so quickly? The boy was now a man, a tested warrior and leader and, if his visions held true, soon to be King of Men. He was not surprised when his wanderings brought him to Aragorn's bedroom, still sitting ready for him though it had not been used at all since the night before the Fellowship departed for Mordor, and in fact had been used little since Aragorn first left to explore the wilds upon reaching maturity. Elrond had needed that stability, needed to believe that his son would return and sleep in the soft bed, take a book out onto the balcony and read by the waning light of day, even when he stayed away for months or years, traveling to Gondor or Rohan or even Far Harad.

With a deep sigh, Elrond pulled closed the door. Aragorn would not return; he had to face that. Either he would be killed defending Middle Earth, Valar forbid, or he would survive the war, see to the downfall of Sauron and take his place as king. But he would never again sleep in this bed, nor would he quietly steal down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to sneak an extra dessert back to his room or help his brothers play tricks on Erestor or Glorfindel or Lindir.

"Ada?" A soft voice to his side pulled him from his reverie and he turned to see two identical faces watching him with concern. "Missing Estel?"

Elrond nodded. "Aye, I am, Elrohir."

"It is quiet without him here," his brother added. "Particularly with everyone else having left for the Grey Havens." Elrond nodded again and continued his wandering, his sons trailing behind, talking softly between themselves, concerned. In the last few days, since Arwen had returned, refusing to accompany the others to the Undying Lands, Elrond had taken to wandering the deserted halls of Imladris, gently brushing his fingertips across a railing or looking longingly at a portrait or statue. Though he knew it would soon be time for him to make the journey as well, he seemed reluctant to leave the sanctuary he had kept for so many years.

Though he never spoke of it, his sons knew part of the reason for his hesitation. What would be his place in Valinor? In Arda he was needed; he was a wise ruler, a compassionate leader, a powerful healer. He was needed and loved for his work. But he would be among his own kind in Valinor. Healers would not be required; elves did not sicken and there would be no war or strife, there would be no injuries to treat. There were no kingdoms to rule, no cities to take care of; their needs were taken care of by the Valar. There would be no need to plan food supplies for the winter or see that Glorfindel had enough warriors to train to protect the borders, or that Erestor had enough ink and parchment for transcribing letters to the other elven realms.

Finally his wanderings led him to the huge picture of Isildur facing down Sauron and his expression became unreadable as he stared at the painting for a long time, before turning to gaze at the shards of Narsil.

Time, it was time. He knew Arwen was right. Aragorn was no longer a boy, was no longer even a young man. It was time for him to assume his destiny, foretold so long ago. He slowly ran his fingers along the shining blade, careful to not cut himself as he knew the blade was still sharp. He felt a presence at either side and turned to look at each of his sons for a moment before looking up into the face of the Lady Elbereth, whose altar had kept the shards for so many years.

"Ada?"

For a long time, Elrond said nothing, staring up at the lovely face of the Lady.

"Ada? What is it?"

"It is time, Elrohir," Elrond said softly, turning to face his sons. Though a casual onlooker would have thought them identical, to those who knew them well, there were subtle differences in the twins. Elladan preferred sword to bow and thus was more heavily muscled across the chest, while Elrohir tended to allow his hair to grow longer and braided it more elaborately. And, as a concession to the constant visitors to Imladris, they had agreed to wear different colored hair clips; Elladan's was blue, Elrohir's red. "Reforge the sword. Théoden's armies will marshal at Dunharrow; I will bring it to Estel there."

They nodded, carefully gathering up the broken pieces. Though they had not known why at the time, their father had insisted they learn the intricacies of metal working, and their training was about to be put to use. Narsil was a family heirloom but, more than that, it was a symbol of the king, a symbol of re-uniting the peoples of Middle-Earth, of undoing the damage Isildur had done with his corruption and greed.

Elrond followed them out to the forge, watching as they donned the protective leather aprons and gloves, tying their hair back so as not to singe it in the fire. Elladan stoked the fire while Elrohir smoothed the broken edges of the sword, ensuring all the pieces would fit back together seamlessly. He smiled in pride as his sons worked on the sword as if one mind. One would hold the haft while the other brought the hammer down on the blade, re-fusing the metal. Once the sword was again in one piece, they set it to the whetstone, sharpening the already keen-edged blade to a deadly edge.

Finally it was done and they presented it to their father for final approval. He turned it this way and that, admiring the work, nodding in approval at the flickering light of the fire glinting off its blade. "Excellent work my sons...but it is not yet finished," he added when he saw them removing their aprons. "On the blade there must be several engravings. A rayed sun and crescent moon, and between them, seven stars."

"For Anárion, Isildur and Elendil," Elladan said softly, causing Elrond to nod.

"It must also have a name. Andúril, Flame of the West, it shall henceforth be called. The name Narsil shall be left in the past, where it belongs. Place on the sword..." He thought for a moment. "Place on there... 'I am Andúril who once was Narsil, sword of Elendil. The slaves of Mordor shall flee from me.' Then your work will be complete." They nodded and set to work, engraving what he asked. Each letter placed on the blade caused the metal to shine brighter, as if lit from within with the light of the sun and the moon.

As they worked, Elrond set about finding the sheath Narsil had once been kept in, rubbing a small amount of oil into the leather to make it shine as if new. By the time he was done, the twins had found him in the Hall of Fire and presented him with the re-forged sword. He carefully ran a finger over the blade, checking for any imperfections, not surprised when he did not find any. Though the twins could act like elflings at times, when given an important task to do, they did it to the best of their ability. He nodded and, taking a deep breath, sheathed it in the scabbard, wrapping the ties carefully around the leather to secure it for the long journey to Dunharrow.

"Look after Arwen," he said softly. "Though I fear there is little we can do for her. Her fate is now tied to that of the Ring. When you hear of the Ring's destruction, bring her to Minas Tirith. I will travel there after delivering the ring to Estel, and then sail to the Undying Lands."

"You will not return to Imladris?" Elrohir asked.

"No...the time of the elves is over. If Aragorn fails, Arwen will die. If he succeeds I will lose my daughter to the mortal fate. Regardless of what happens, she will no longer need my guidance." He looked up at his sons, tears in his eyes. "And I am aware you have decided not to sail."

"Only for now, father," Elladan said, moving closer and gently taking his father's hand. "Elrohir and I talked about it last night. We will stay until Estel and Arwen pass, then we will join you and mother in Valinor. Regardless of the outcome of the war, we will all be together again."

Elrond said nothing for a long time, but then reached for Elrohir's hand and pulled him closer, enfolding his sons in a warm embrace. "Thank you, my sons." Elrohir kissed his father's forehead and gently disentangled himself from the firm embrace.

"Go now, father. And when you see Estel, give him our love."

"I will. Goodbye, my sons."

"Goodbye, father," two voices said in unison.

Elrond quickly packed his horse for the long journey to Dunharrow and headed off down the pathway, looking back one last time at the darkened Imladris, at the symbol of the past. He shifted position, feeling the haft of And>úril press into his side. And>úril, the symbol of the future. Aragorn's future.

Setting his mouth in a determined line, he urged his horse into a quick trot. Yes, Arwen had been right. It was time.

END

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