By: Maranwe
Rating: G
Summary: Estel plays with the twins while Lord Elrond watches
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Am I missing anyone? Oh, yes. Not mine, either. *g* I have no moolah, I make no moolah. Now, on to the story.
Spoilers: Eh, not really. Well, maybe. Do you know what happened to Aragorn's father? Yes? Then you're fine.
A/N: I started writing this in French class. The title is from a french song, J'ai Reçu, but has little to do with the story itself. J'ai Reçu, interestingly enough, means "I will play." There, now you know something new. *g* Unless you already speak french, then. . . . Well, you'll have to look elsewhere. Hehe. I hope you enjoy. Please review to let me know if you do. It gives me something to go on when I sit down to write. *smiles winningly* Please?
I Will Play
In Imladris, inside the Last Homely House, in Lord Elrond's study on the second floor just past the first bedroom on the left, at the desk, sat Lord Elrond, busily leaning over a piece of parchment, hand resting near his quill which waited in the ink, thoughtfully perusing a piece of business that needed his immediate attention. Now.
Too long had it been pushed aside in favor of other matters: the orcs who had dared encroach their borders, the crisis in the kitchens, the food poisoning that had resulted from the crisis in the kitchen, the odd visitors that stopped by at even odder times with various needs that required his attention. . . . Then the twins had left to meet up with Arathorn and too soon returned, carrying a mortally wounded Gilrean and a baby Aragorn.
Between trying desperately to save the wife of one he counted a good friend and loss of that same dear friend, it had been all he and the twins could do to look after the child that had been dropped into their lives. The energetic, rambunctious, inquisitive child. The one who did not sleep nearly enough for one his age and possessed far too much energy who was slowly driving the entire household insane. A month, by the Valar, and that child was already driving the insane. Generations of sheltering the heir of Isildur, and still they were at a loss as to what to do with a single human child.
That, however, was not something Elrond had to deal with at the moment. The twins were watching the young Aragorn, little Estel to all who resided in Rivendell, so he could get some work done, and he prayed fervently that they could keep the little one out of trouble for a couple of hours.
He finished reading the last passage, then picked up his quill and began writing, the necessary words transferred to parchment in flowing script though it was written in common and not elvish. Many hours passed, witnessing the travel of the sun from the eastern horizon to just past midday, and the lord of Rivendell counted his accomplishments fair and his necessary duties nearing completion when it happened. He jumped.
Exactly what it was took a moment to determine, but Elrond soon deduced the to have been crashing pots. Possibly the cooks, and while he was yet wary of more trouble from the kitchens, he could imagine nothing that could possibly need his attention. He went back to work. He initially kept half an ear turned towards the kitchen, but the sound did not repeat, and he returned his full attention to the paper before him, a treaty written with the most painfully precise and careful wording imaginable that yet failed to truly say anything important.
He was in the midst of translating a particularly confusing paragraph when it happened again.
BANG!
He looked up, pausing in his work, then blinked.
BANG! BANG!
That sounded a bit too deliberate to be an accident. He hesitated, back straight, hands hovering and ears pricked as he debated whether or not to investigate. Such racket was not often heard in the peaceful halls of Rivendell, and his curiosity was pricked. . . . But if it was trouble, did he truly want to risk venturing past his door when it was possible--however unlikely--that he would be forgotten? Besides, surely Glorfindel could handle--
BANG! BANG! BANG! CRASH!
The elf lord winced, rising to his feet as that final crash overwhelmed whatever reluctance remained. His steps as graceful as ever, he left his study and proceeded down the hallway, listening carefully for a return of the racket. There was none, but he had an idea that the unexplained crashes were not finished. He went down the steps and headed toward the kitchen only to be waylaid by Glorfindel, who began pulling him towards a different room, a smile on his face.
"But the crash--"
The blonde haired elf shook his head. "This is amusing."
Frowning ever so slightly, Elrond followed his advisor. Part way down the hall the garishly loud BANGs continued, hurting the elf lord's sensitive ears. Glorfindel, for all that the noise also hurt his ears, smiled, and a moment later Elrond knew why.
A delighted giggle sounded from a room up ahead, followed by more banging (BANG! BANG!) and a slightly desperate plea the elf lord recognized easily.
"Estel! Estel, please. Let Elladan see them. Let--"
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
More laughter followed, and the two elves finally came upon the desired room, and Elrond could finally see what was happening. Estel sat in the middle of the floor, two little hands clasped tightly around a stick and one of the lighter metal pots. The twins crouched a few feet away, reaching desperately toward the young child yet strangely hesitant to move closer to the pint-sized toddler. Estel watched them with a wide smile on his little face, hand raised in preparation but unmoving.
"Come on, Estel," Elrohir tried to coax. "Don't you want Elrohir to play? Can Elrohir see?" He reached forward, an encouraging smile on his fair face. Elladan nodded eagerly.
Estel bounced once, a small laugh escaping his lips as he waved his arms and spoke gibberish. Twin smiles widened, then the child started banging on the pot again and the twins cringed, winning another ecstatic giggle from the child watching them.
"Tis no use, my brother," Elrohir said, glancing at Elladan. "The little monster will not give them up."
"So take them."
Elrohir sat back further on his heels. "Oh no. I tried last time. You take them."
Elladan shook his head, moving back also. "I think not, brother. I am the eldest, so you should do it."
"Nay, you should. Ada put you in charge. Fix this!"
"You're the one who let him get them in the first place!" exclaimed Elladan in exasperation. "You fix it!"
Elrohir swallowed, then crept a bit closer to the child, who had been watching then intently. He smiled. "Estel wanna play?" he asked.
Estel giggled and hit the pot, seeming to delight in the cringes he drew from the twins, paying close attention to what caused what reaction.
"Yes, very nice," the younger elf praised, smiling around a cringe. "But wouldn't you like to play with a different toy? A better toy?"
The little one watched him with wide, fascinated eyes, the hand holding the stick drooping slightly. Drooping, that is, until Elrohir made the mistake of reaching for it. The moment he did that was the moment the stick started banging.
BANG BANG BANG!
"Oh get back," Elladan ordered. "You're doing it wrong."
"And I suppose you can do it better?" demanded Elrohir crossly.
"Of course. You have to offer them something else to play with. A switch," Elladan explained, his tone suggesting that was the simplest thing in the world to do. Estel, meanwhile, resumed banging on his pot, concentrating hard so that his little tongue just poked out between his lips. The steady banging rang harshly in his ears, but steady it was, the beat unhurried and the motion for each hit the same. Elrond watched the child, entranced, and his ears no longer registered the sound. Until it ceased.
The elf lord refocused on the scene before him, watching the child who was watching the twins with a grin, waiting for their reaction. A moment of breathless silence passed, and uncertainty began to replace the pleasure on the toddler's face. Elladan caught the change. "That was wonderful!" he exclaimed, smiling brightly and the smile reformed. He scooted forward and hugged the child, who hinged him back, short little arms wrapping around the elf's neck tightly. Elrond watched as Elrohir gently sneaked the stick from the young one's hand. The elf lord smiled.
Elladan pulled back then, a grin on his face, only to be pulled up short, surprise registering in his eyes. Estel giggled. Elrond resisted the urge to laugh as well at the perplexed expression that appeared on his son's face, a task made all the more difficult when he felt Glorfindel stagger away to lean against the wall. Estel had fist-full of Elladan's hair wrapped securely in his little hand.
Elrohir burst out laughing, falling to his side in his hilarity. Elladan glared at him, restricted from doing anything by the toddler's grip on his hair. Estel giggled again. "Oh, be quiet," he snapped at his twin irritably.
"Quiet," echoed Estel, and both twins looked at him in surprise, before eagerly focusing their full attention on him.
"Estel," Elladan said. "Can you say 'Elladan'?"
A little head tilted to the side and the little boy jumped slightly, jerking the hair in his fist. "Can you say 'Elladan,' Estel?"
"La'an."
Elrohir laughed at that. "Elladan, Estel."
The child frowned. "La'an."
"El-la-dan," Elladan spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable.
"El-dan," pronounced, his small brow furrowed. "Ladan."
Elrohir moved closer, eager to see if the little one would say his name. "Elrohir. Can you say 'Elrohir,' Estel? El-ro-hir."
"Ro'ir."
"Elrohir."
"El-hir."
"Elrohir."
"Elrir."
Elladan was laughing hysterically, leaning over as far as he could with his hair secured by the child. Then he put his hands under the child's arms and lifted him up, standing, and swung the little boy above his head before spinning. Estel laughed happily, gurgling slightly. "Ladan."
"Yes, 'Ladan'," the elder twin said, and swung the child around more. A delighted squeal escaped the young human's lips and Elladan laughed. He halted and swung the child till he rested against his hip. Blue-silver eyes looked over the elf's shoulder straight at Elrond. The elf smiled.
"Ada!" the little one cried, releasing his hold on Elladan's hair to reach towards the elf lord. Both Elladan and Elrohir whirled quickly to face their father and Estel's head swiveled to keep him in view.
Elrond smiled and entered the room, his heart fluttering oddly at the sound of that simple word from the small one's lips. He had been a handful, no doubt about that, and he had laughed, but the little edan had not spoken much, had done little more than nod and shake his head when spoken to. That he would say "ada" surprised the elf lord greatly, for he had not imagined he had any great effect on the child and that other's held the young one's affection. A tenderness for the child he had not expected to feel moved through him.
"Are you having fun with Elladan and Elrohir?" he asked, taking the child automatically when Estel stretched towards him. He settled the youth on his own hip and looked into wide eyes that seemed more at peace than they had as of even yesterday.
"Pway," the child stated, voice incredibly serious.
Already the toddler had said more than he had said the entire month in their care, and like all good families, Elrond got caught up in the wonder of one so young finally talking, and set about trying to coax more words from the small mouth. "And what did you play, young one?"
"Pway stick."
"Really?" Elrond asked, a smile erasing stern lines from his face, placed there from ages of worry and the weight of responsibility. "Do you like playing with Elladan and Elrohir?"
Estel nodded solemnly. "Dey plays fun."
"That's good."
"Dey pway more?" Blue-silver eyes looked up at him hopefully, and the little one's lower lip protruded slightly. Elrohir stepped closer.
"Of course we will, little one. Always."
A smile lit up the young face before anxious eyes turned back to him. "What 'bout Ada? Ada pway?"
Briefly, ever so briefly, Elrond's mind darted back to the work he had left to do, the papers that needed to be read, treatises that needed to be written, histories recorded ere they fell into forgetfulness, all left undone in his study.
But when he looked down into the pleading eyes of the youth that had been dropped into his life, so full of hope and light, he saw his brother mirrored in his gaze. Estel . . . Aragorn, the Hope of Men, and yet but a child, a child who had lost his family and wanted nothing more than to be loved. When he looked back into his eyes, he knew his heart would break when this one's time was through and all consideration of work fled. He smiled down into the all-too-serious eyes and bounced the lad slightly.
"I will play."
The boy's smile could have shamed the sun.