This idea just sort of randomly popped up in my imagination... hope you all like it! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's work. The OC's are mine.

Chapter 1: The Swan-Lord

He was sitting on the edge of the large fountain in the square, playing his flute. Elflings gathered 'round, listening to the melody. Sunlight filtered through the terrace, casting golden rays in random locations. His swans swam around in the water, eating the water lilies, attempting to snack on the speedy little silver fish, and nibbling Ecthelion's robes, trying to get his attention. Suddenly, other noises caught his attention. Concerned voices. Elfling voices.

And… a panicking swan?

Wait a second. A panicking swan?!

Ecthelion landed on the floor with an un-lordly yelp in a tangle of bedsheets. He quickly scrambled back up onto his bed, escaping the freezing cold feeling of the smooth marble flooring. He speedily crawled over to the window at the foot of his bed, and looked out. Frost covered the window panes, making visibility difficult. Ecthelion frowned. He needed to see what was going on! Before he knew what he was doing, he was opening the window, despite the fact that it was below freezing.

He gasped, his teeth chattering, as gusts of cold air entered his bedchamber. Oh, how he wished it was that wonderful spring day in his dream! But unfortunately, it was midwinter, and spring was far off. Ecthelion looked down at the square, sprawled out before him. A thick layer of snow coated the ground, and flurries fell lightly from the grey winter sky. The elflings, bundled up warmly in their winter coats, surrounded the icy fountain. They were talking amongst themselves, their high-pitched voices urgent, as some of them pointed at the fountain.

Ecthelion gaped as he saw exactly what they were pointing at.

The temperature was warmer than usual yesterday. Not enough to completely melt everything, but enough to melt some of the snow, and the surface of the ice. Apparently, one of his swans had figured that because some of the ice had melted, it was a fine idea to escape the holding pen and go swimming.

Only, the swan had not thought about the water refreezing. Now, she was stuck.

Ecthelion ran to the wardrobe, grabbing his warmest garments, and quickly got dressed. Next thing he knew, he was running out the door.

The elflings respectfully backed away a little bit for the Lord of the Silver Fountain, as he came flying towards them, skidding on the icy stones as he went. Ecthelion leaned against the fountain's ledge, getting a closer look at the swan's predicament.

"She must've fallen asleep on the water!" He concluded in his head. The swan, Alquarámë, looked as dejected as a swan could be. Her head was hung low, as if in shame. When she saw her master, she craned her long neck, and rested her head in the palm of Ecthelion's hand when he reached out to her. Alquarámë looked up at him sorrowfully, as if apologizing.

"Shh, don't worry. We'll soon have you out." He murmured softly as he looked at how badly she was stuck. Her legs and most of her stomach were frozen in the ice. Ecthelion winced. He had hoped that she had not been stuck this badly, so they could free her quickly by pouring hot water on the ice. It wasn't that simple anymore. It would take a long time to get her out. And time was not exactly on their side. If she stayed in the fountain for much longer, Alquarámë would freeze to death.

Ecthelion's mind was racing. He needed to get Alquarámë out of the ice! But how? He was thinking so hard, he didn't notice a messenger walk up to him.

"Milord?" Ecthelion jumped in surprise. "My apologies Lord Ecthelion!" The messenger exclaimed. "I did not mean to startle you." He took the young ner in in a glance. His light hair was neatly pinned back out of his face, his uniform was red and black, and the insignia on the House of the Hammer of Wrath was emblazoned on his shoulder.

"It-it's alright. What business do you have here?"

"Lord Rog asked me to inform you that he's fixed your blade." Ecthelion nodded. Orcrist was the finest blade he ever owned, but during a hunting trip, he and Glorfindel had been attacked by a troll. Orcrist held up well during the fight, but a solid blow from the troll's battle-ax had resulted in a long crack running through the blade.

"Tell him that he has my thanks." The messenger nodded. In order to get Alquarámë out of the ice, they'd need to break it. But how?

"Someone could break the ice with tools, I'd imagine." He thought. But who would have tools? "A craftsman." He concluded.

Tools. Craftsman. Tools. Craftsman…

"As you wish, Lord Ecthelion. I shall inform Lord Rog." With that, the messenger began to leave.

Tools. Craftsman. Tools. Craftsman.

Then, something clicked when Ecthelion heard the messenger's voice.

Tools. Craftsman. Rog! Of course! Why didn't he think of it sooner?

"Actually, why don't you go to the kitchens? I'm sure the cooks will get something warm for you." Ecthelion stated as he caught up to the messenger. "I'll go inform Lord Rog myself."

Hope you all liked it so far!

There will be more of this fic on the way, so hold tight!

(Quenya translation below! :))

Ner = Elf (male ; singular)