Rating/Warnings: K+. Rated K+ for references to violence and adult content.

Time frame: 2933 of the Third Age

A/N: Oh. My. Word. guys. You positively BLEW me away! 8 reviews in the last 2 days is more than I had ever hoped for. Thank you all so, so much! TheHouseWitch, Lorinand, jabberwocki, Charlotte2May, Guest, Reader, Elen-Silver Star, and Oleanne, you all are absolutely amazing. And special shoutout to jabberwocki - thank you so much for all of your sudden and awesome support! Oh yes, and also to wtraveler304, and elfwarrior96! To all who have favorited/followed of late, thank you so much as well! You are fantastic as well! And to all of my readers and lurkers, I hope that you are enjoying, and I'd love it if you'd leave a few words behind on your way out.

Next item of business: I didn't update last night. I realize this. This was for a few reasons. First and foremost was that I was at a movie night with my youthgroup for most of the night/evening. Second and also foremost is that my parents have decided that I have to be awake and up by 10 o'clock for the rest of the summer, which means no super late writing sessions anymore. *sigh* And I'd gotten barely 3 hours of sleep the night before, so I really needed to crash. Hopefully this won't happen again though!

Lastly: to the many of you who have asked me in the past few days - I am working on the next chapter of Poisoned Star right now. Actually, that's part of the reason this wasn't done yesterday - I was working on the chapter during the hour I had to write rather than this prompt. So soon! Hopefully another couple days at the most. But just for you all, I added a Poisoned Star reference into the story. Those of you who have read will understand the whole eye thing. Those who have not - you should still get it, just not any of the backstory.

And now I apologize for the EXTREMELY long A/N. And without further ado, here you are!

Day 10 – Something about a canon relationship

Aragorn and Elrond

When Aragorn was two years old, the Dúnedain village in which he and his family were living was attacked and destroyed by Orcs. It had not been their main village but rather a temporary shelter as they awaited the river – which had flooded severely that spring with snowmelt – to recede to a safe level. Because it was only a temporary safe house that had been intended only to house Rangers during the cold winter months when the high passes needed watching, those building the camp had not taken extra precautions against discovery. What protections had been given proved not to be enough, for late one night near the end of March, a force of Orcs poured down the mountains and into the camp, burning and slaughtering as they went.

There was little hope for survival or triumph over the tide of Orcs, and so Arathorn urged Gilraen to take their young son and escape. He went with them as far as the pastures, mounting his wife and his son on his own stallion, and then bade his two most trusted lieutenants to accompany Gilraen and Aragorn, begging them to swear their loyalty then and there to the future Chieftain. They did so, and just as the Orcs broke through the final defenses of the camp, Arathorn bade them to ride for Imladris to tell Elrond what had occurred.

The last sight Gilraen had of her husband on that earth was when she turned her head just before the horses passed beneath the boughs of the pines. She watched in utter shock as her husband was shot through the right eye with an Orc arrow.

Gilraen, Aragorn, and the two Dúnedain rode hard and fast, afraid that they were being followed, for they heard Wolves hunting in the night in the hills to either side of them. They pushed their horses all the harder for it – something that proved to be a bad decision.

On the third day of the eight day journey to Rivendell, a surprise spring snowstorm struck. Unable to see more than a few paces ahead of their horse's noses, and with the temperature dropping dangerously low (especially for a two-year-old fully exposed), the small group was forced to stop and make camp in a sheltered hollow. It was not enough, however, and two of the horses perished from the cold.

A small fire and combined body heat managed to keep the four humans and the remaining horse alive, but by the time that the snowstorm had spent its fury, the group was out of provisions. When they at last set out once more – now with only a single horse, and battling through three-foot snowdrifts – travel was slow and difficult, and although they attempted to hunt, there was little available. Most of the animals had either been frozen or had been driven down into their burrows by the blizzard and the following freezing nights.

Gilraen, Aragorn, and one of the Dúnedain began to fall ill. The Men with the old Númenórean blood rarely fell ill, however faced with both the extreme cold and the fact that they had been unable to dry themselves since the snowstorm had struck, coupled with the lack of food, weakened their immune systems.

The adults gave all that they had to keep the young child alive, and his fever ceased to climb, although the sickness began to move down into his lungs. Gilraen and the other Dúnedain were not so fortunate.

Providence, however, seemed to be watching over the young child, for on the ninth day – the fourth since the storm had broken – a host of Elven riders led by none other than Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, found the struggling group. They immediately took them in and formed camp, and Elladan, Elrohir, and the healer traveling with the squad attended to the ailing Humans. However the illness was far too savage for they alone to cure, for the fever had gone too high in the Dúnadan and in Gilraen. The Dúnadan died later that night, the fever destroying his brain.

Aragorn, however, began to show improvements under the twins' care. His fever began to lower, although it did not break, and he awoke from his delirium for long enough to be terrified at the sight of the Elves, for he had not yet met any of the Elder kindred.

Gilraen's health continued to decline, albeit much slower than it had before, and she clung tenaciously to life as the Elves brought her, her son, and the remaining Ranger swiftly to Rivendell.

Elrond met them at the steps, having received their messenger sent ahead by wing, and took Gilraen immediately into his care, ordering his sons to care for the young child who was still suffering from fever and coughs. By that point Gilraen was utterly delirious, and her fever at a nearly lethal level. He carried her to the healing wing, and there he did all that he could to fight the infection of her lungs.

It was not enough. Gilraen surfaced from her delirium just long enough to tell Elrond of her son's true identity, and what had befallen her husband, and to see her son for one final time. She died that night.

For the first few weeks, Estel (as he had been named by Elrond) was nearly inseparable from Elladan and Elrohir. He was terrified, suffering from the shock of losing both his father and his mother so close together, and still recovering from the last traces of the illness.

The sole remaining Dúnadan left soon thereafter, returning to his people in the North to secretly deliver the news that the young Chieftain was still alive, although he would not say where he was being kept hidden.

Estel was alone, and he turned to the only two he knew – Elladan and Elrohir, who had cared for him since they had found him and his mother in the forest. He could barely stand to be parted from them for more than a few moments, and although he rarely cried or screamed, he would get nearly sick with anxiety if they would be gone for more than an hour during the day. And so the twins would carry him with them practically wherever they went, whether it was to training, to dinner, or even into meetings. And Estel slowly began to steal the hearts of everyone he met.

As for Elrond, he showed the child every kindness, yet Estel seemed indifferent. He would nod or shake his head if Elrond asked him a question, or would watch the Elf lord with wide, silver-blue eyes, but never once did Estel speak, and never once did he purposefully reach out to touch Elrond.

And then, one night nearly four weeks after coming to Rivendell, something changed inexplicably. Midway through dinner, Estel slid out of his chair, crossed over to Elrond, and climbed into his lap. He refused to move from Elrond's touch for the remainder of the night.

And the child that Elrond had taken in to foster him, just as he had every other child of the Chieftain, this miracle, began to bring something back to the Valley that had been missing since Celebrían's capture – first to Elladan and Elrohir, then the household, and then at last to Elrond himself.

And Estel became Elrond's third son.

(Rivendell – T.A. 2933)

A quiet shuffling at his door was all that was needed to bring Elrond out of sleep. His eyes slid into focus and his mind automatically went onto the alert, listening for whatever had awoken him. The rustling came again, only this time it sounded like quiet footfalls.

Elrond sat up with a small sigh and, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached into the drawer of the bedside table and struck a match, using it to light a candle. "You may come here, Estel," he said softly. A head topped with unruly black curls peered around the end of Elrond's bed, the wide silver-blue eyes blinking slowly. Slowly, the boy stepped around the bedpost, and then came forward, bare feet muffled by the carpet beneath him. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour?" Elrond asked as Estel stopped a few paces away.

"Had a bad dweam," the two-year-old mumbled, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. When he had first come to Rivendell, nightmares had come to him often – nearly every night – but as time had passed and he grew more secure in this new place of safety, and began to feel more loved by his adopted family, his night terrors had begun to fade. Now, in the chill month of November, he rarely had them any longer, only a little more than most children his age.

Elrond sighed again and opened his arms, inviting Estel to climb into his lap. The child did so without hesitation, and Elrond helped him by picking him up when he neared. Cradling the child against his chest, Elrond settled back onto his bed, then leaned against the headboard, pillows at his back. Estel snuggled against Elrond's chest, and his thumb crept toward his mouth.

"Would you like to talk about the dream?" Elrond asked after a long moment, and he could sense that Estel had calmed down somewhat.

Estel shook his head vehemently, and Elrond could feel him tensing again as his mind brought back whatever terror he had lived. Murmuring soft, soothing words, Elrond began to stroke Estel's hair, long fingers working through the knots in the thick hair. Estel sniffed, but began to relax again.

Elrond began to hum, his soft tenor weaving through the air. Slowly the hum gave way to words, and the words writhed and twisted about one another seamlessly, the liquid language of the Elves liltingly beautiful.

Hush my child,

Heed no fear

Here in my arms,

As darkness fades

To silver lanterns,

And fairy lights

Dance above.

Estel's head drooped, his breathing evening out as he slipped toward sleep. The lullaby ended, and Elrond carefully cradled Estel in his arms, and stood, ready to take the child back to his own bed.

Estel stirred, looking up at Elrond with half-lidded eyes. When he stood, however, and moved toward the door, Estel tensed and reached out. He grasped a fistful of Elrond's sleep shirt, and his silver-blue eyes widened.

"Ada," he whimpered, sounding both desperate and afraid, and he clenched his fingers all the tighter. "Pwease Ada," he begged, "can I sweep wif you tonight? I'm still scared," he added.

Elrond had stopped instantly, frozen, and unable to think or react. Ada, Estel's voice whispered. Ada. Daddy. Estel had never called him that before.

But he is your son, isn't he? a voice whispered in Elrond's thoughts. You love him as such, don't you? He already knew the answer to that.

"Ada?" Estel mumbled. "Pwease?"

Wordlessly, Elrond turned back to his bed and climbed in. Settling his son down on the mattress beside him, Elrond reached over and snuffed out the candle, then lay down as well. Estel snuggled up against him, the fear and the tension causing his little body to tremble as he curled up against his father's chest. Elrond leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of Estel's head, then pulled the blankets over them both.

Silence descended, although Elrond continued to stroke Estel's hair. He thought the child almost asleep, when Estel rolled over, and opened his eyes to look up at his father.

"Ada?" he asked.

"Yes my son?"

Estel hesitated. "Are you gonna go 'way?" he asked at last. "Like Momma and Poppa?" Elrond's heart constricted painfully. That was most certainly not what he had expected to hear.

Wordlessly, Elrond pulled Estel into a hug. Oh how he wished to be able to promise his child that he would never abandon him. But he knew that he could not, for life was unjust and cruel, and if there was one thing that Elrond had learned from life, it was that death was a constant companion, and always seemed to strike where you least hoped.

"I will stay with you for as long as I can," he said at last. "I promise."

"The…the monsters that killed Poppa," Estel pressed on, his voice now barely more than a whisper. "Will get you?"

Again, Elrond was silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say. "Why do you ask this?" Elrond spoke at last, asking a question of his own.

Estel shifted, and then shivered, snuggling closer. "My dweam," he said. "You…you…" he struggled to find words to describe what he had seen. Elrond hushed him, holding him close, and rubbing his back.

"Hush my son, you need say no more," Elrond murmured. "You are safe here, as am I. I can promise you that."

"One of the monsters," Estel blurted out, "he had gowd eyes." Elrond's breath caught – he had known of only one Orc to have golden eyes, and those golden eyes still visited him in nightmares. Estel shivered, and he seemed close to tears once more. "He said something to me, but I dunno what."

"Peace, Estel," Elrond said, regaining control over his own emotions, and kissing Estel's head once more. "I have known of only one Orc to ever have eyes of gold," he forced away the image, "and he is gone forever. I promise you, he will never touch you."

"You pwomise?" Estel asked, sounding very, very small.

"I promise."

Estel sighed, and then somehow managed to snuggle even closer, if that was possible. Elrond held him close, imparting warmth and comfort into the small body pressed to his chest.

"G'night Ada," Estel mumbled, already close to sleep.

"Good night my son," Elrond replied softly. And Estel slept.