The day progressed slowly, the sunny morning gradually descending into a
grey afternoon. Gilraen, sitting in the living room holding a squirming
Estel to her lap, had little to do but watch the branches of the trees
outside whip around in the rising winds.
It had been a tiring day. Left alone as the household dispersed to their various tasks, Gilraen had been ushered to the living room. But whilst such a room was a peaceful place in principle, her hosts had not reckoned on the disruptive effects of a small boy.
Estel was a few months past his second birthday. He was a lively child, very curious and fond of the rough and tumble that he had enjoyed with his father. The fateful just days ago had nearly broken her heart.
~*~
It had been an afternoon like this one, cold and windy, but filled with hope and anticipation. The women of the small village had been waiting for the return of their loved ones; none more so than Gilraen who had long feared the feeling of foreboding in the back of her mind. Somehow her tiny son had picked up on the excitement, watching the door, waiting for the first sound. For it had become his custom to toddle out into his father's arms, squealing with delight as he was tossed into the air and caught. He had been his father's son, adoring the rough and tumble games that Arathorn had invented.
Gilraen blinked back tears. A father he would not remember.
For the clamour of voices outside had held more than excitement. The fear had risen in her chest until her breathing was short and shuddering. Aragorn had run forwards arms outstretched as the door had opened; but he had not been gathered into a hug. The child had collided with an elven boot, and was knocked to the floor. Not that Gilraen had much time to notice his face crinkle up with tears, for she had looked up into the unfathomable face of one of the elves that had joined the hunting party.
He had been brisk, not unkind, but without sympathy or compassion. She had barely had time to gather her belongings and dress the child in his warmest clothing before she was bundled out of the house and onto a horse. It had been cold that night, he had handed her his cloak, woven of a thick silvery wool. It had warmed her, but watching him crouched in a silent vigil in front of the fire, she had been filled with a cold disquiet. The future of her people lay in the hands of the elves. And the elves seemed to have little understanding of the needs of a young mother and a small boy.
For although the room was comfortable, indeed far exceeding what she had been accustomed to, it was no place for a child. Estel was wriggling and fretting, wanting to play. But he could not play here. There were no toys, only shelves of books and ornaments. She dreaded to think of the consequences if a page should be crumpled or a precious gift smash.
~*~
The door opened, disturbing her from her contemplation. Two young elf lords jostled in the room laughing, untidy from an afternoon spent training.
"Lady Gilraen"
The two spoke together, bowing their heads slightly in greeting as they spoke. Gilraen smiled at them, hoping that they couldn't tell from her expression that she could not differentiate between them. For the twins were, somewhat more unusually now than it had been in their earlier years, dressed alike in brown leggings, deep blue tunics and sturdy boots. Estel however could tell.
As his mother glanced up at the twins, the grasp holding him to her lap relaxed slightly. He squirmed violently and landed with a thud on the floor. From his new vantage point Estel surveyed the expanse of floor and a particularly intriguing and very delicate glass ornament.
Elladan reached down and gathered the child into his arms, ready to hand him back to Gilraen. Estel glanced up at the laughing face, for now preoccupied by some challenge made by his brother. He knew that face. A face that always was stern. A face that had made his mother cry. A face that had said his father wouldn't be coming back.
Estel shrunk back and began trying to squirm out of the grasp. When this grip proved stronger than that of his mother he began to howl.
Elladan looked down in consternation as the toddler dissolved into a storm of tears. Looking around wildly he tried to hand the child to his brother. Elrohir promptly put the width of the room between himself and his twin. Elladan shot a foul look at his brother as the wailing increased in intensity and tiny fists pounded against his chest with all the strength a two-year-old could muster.
Gilraen rose quickly, easing her son out of the arms of the almost equally distressed elf. Estel quickly quietened, resting against his mother's chest and watching Elladan suspiciously. His breathing was still quick, his whole body jerking with each sobbing breath.
"I. . . I did not mean to hurt him" Elladan spoke with a hint of fear.
"What did you do?" Elrohir asked, moving over to stroke the child's hair.
"I do not know," Elladan admitted as he attempted to copy his brother, and extended fingers towards the soft brown fuzz. Immediately the howling restarted. Elladan jumped back as if scalded.
"He hates me!" Elladan spoke with a voice full of hurt.
Gilraen sighed. Of course her small son would be frightened of the seemingly heartless captain. But at home he was someone else. She had seen him play fighting with Elrohir and heard him call teasing insults to his father. Her husband had respected both the twins, but had loved Elladan as a friend. She was beginning to see why.
"He does not hate you," Gilraen spoke carefully, her future in this house depended on not offending those who called it their home, "I think he is merely a little scared of you".
Elladan's face went through a dozen shades of puzzled.
"Of me! Why?"
Elrohir choked up laughing.
"Why?" Elladan demanded, facing his brother, "Was I not kind to him? Did I not provide protection? Have I ever raised my hand against him?"
Elrohir smiled at Gilraen, shaking his head in mock disbelief as Elladan continued. But his tone was soft as he replied. He knew how close Elladan had been to Arathorn, and the responsibility Elladan felt to protect the child.
"Oh indeed fair brother! You have not hurt the child," Elrohir teased his brother, "But even I, I brave Elrohir, find you fairly daunting when you do your 'I am Elladan, I have no heart' act!"
Elladan looked indignant. "I do no such thing!" he declared loudly, and if he admitted it to himself, untruthfully.
"Oh no?" Elrohir took Estel into his arms and bounced him up and down; "I do not eat. I do not sleep. I will not show a smile. I will not permit myself to grieve. And Eru help us if you should show a tear!"
Elladan scowled across at his brother and the small laughing human.
"Elladan, you told him his father was dead. You took him from his home. He is but a baby. What do you expect?" Elrohir asked, suddenly serious.
Elladan's face fell and he nodded before striding across the room to read a book in the corner. The overwhelming sense of failure had flooded back into his mind.
Elrohir grimaced, removed his fingers from Estel's mouth and turned to the boy's mother.
"Go and rest Lady Gilraen, I will look after Estel for now." Elrohir spoke kindly, noting the tired expression on their guest's face. Gratefully Gilraen turned and left the room, well ready for a rest in one of the peaceful gardens of Imladris.
~*~
Estel was a perceptive child. Much as he was enjoying the noisy game of Peek-a-boo in which Elrohir was indulging; he couldn't keep his eyes off the older elf in the corner.
Elrohir followed the child's eyes over to where Elladan was sitting in a disgruntled manner, his feet on the padded bench as he lent against the wall. Estel looked up at Elrohir questioningly.
"Yes Estel, he is sad." Elrohir smiled reassuringly at the solemn little face.
Estel returned looked at him to see what he would do. Elrohir shrugged and smiled again at the child. As Elrohir had suspected, Estel presently got to his rather unsteady feet and toddled towards Elladan, looking back at Elrohir as much as he could to muster up courage.
Elrohir nodded.
Taking a deep breath noticeable from several metres away Estel approached the elder twin, a small hand crept across the cushions to the larger, leaner one. Elladan glanced up at the touch, smiling as the tiny boy tried to pull him towards their game.
Elrohir's eyes met his brother's, sharing their feelings.
"Come Elladan!" Elrohir patted the ground beside him.
~*~
And when Elrond returned later that afternoon, his two. . . no, his three sons were sprawled on the floor. All breakable items had been shoved onto higher shelves and the old chest by the window that had not been opened in years had been raided. Spread all over the floor were small regiments, tiny horses and one very worn red painted flag bearer that Elladan was holding. Elrohir looked up, motioned at the two others deeply absorbed in some highly complex battle, and rolled his eyes.
It had been a tiring day. Left alone as the household dispersed to their various tasks, Gilraen had been ushered to the living room. But whilst such a room was a peaceful place in principle, her hosts had not reckoned on the disruptive effects of a small boy.
Estel was a few months past his second birthday. He was a lively child, very curious and fond of the rough and tumble that he had enjoyed with his father. The fateful just days ago had nearly broken her heart.
~*~
It had been an afternoon like this one, cold and windy, but filled with hope and anticipation. The women of the small village had been waiting for the return of their loved ones; none more so than Gilraen who had long feared the feeling of foreboding in the back of her mind. Somehow her tiny son had picked up on the excitement, watching the door, waiting for the first sound. For it had become his custom to toddle out into his father's arms, squealing with delight as he was tossed into the air and caught. He had been his father's son, adoring the rough and tumble games that Arathorn had invented.
Gilraen blinked back tears. A father he would not remember.
For the clamour of voices outside had held more than excitement. The fear had risen in her chest until her breathing was short and shuddering. Aragorn had run forwards arms outstretched as the door had opened; but he had not been gathered into a hug. The child had collided with an elven boot, and was knocked to the floor. Not that Gilraen had much time to notice his face crinkle up with tears, for she had looked up into the unfathomable face of one of the elves that had joined the hunting party.
He had been brisk, not unkind, but without sympathy or compassion. She had barely had time to gather her belongings and dress the child in his warmest clothing before she was bundled out of the house and onto a horse. It had been cold that night, he had handed her his cloak, woven of a thick silvery wool. It had warmed her, but watching him crouched in a silent vigil in front of the fire, she had been filled with a cold disquiet. The future of her people lay in the hands of the elves. And the elves seemed to have little understanding of the needs of a young mother and a small boy.
For although the room was comfortable, indeed far exceeding what she had been accustomed to, it was no place for a child. Estel was wriggling and fretting, wanting to play. But he could not play here. There were no toys, only shelves of books and ornaments. She dreaded to think of the consequences if a page should be crumpled or a precious gift smash.
~*~
The door opened, disturbing her from her contemplation. Two young elf lords jostled in the room laughing, untidy from an afternoon spent training.
"Lady Gilraen"
The two spoke together, bowing their heads slightly in greeting as they spoke. Gilraen smiled at them, hoping that they couldn't tell from her expression that she could not differentiate between them. For the twins were, somewhat more unusually now than it had been in their earlier years, dressed alike in brown leggings, deep blue tunics and sturdy boots. Estel however could tell.
As his mother glanced up at the twins, the grasp holding him to her lap relaxed slightly. He squirmed violently and landed with a thud on the floor. From his new vantage point Estel surveyed the expanse of floor and a particularly intriguing and very delicate glass ornament.
Elladan reached down and gathered the child into his arms, ready to hand him back to Gilraen. Estel glanced up at the laughing face, for now preoccupied by some challenge made by his brother. He knew that face. A face that always was stern. A face that had made his mother cry. A face that had said his father wouldn't be coming back.
Estel shrunk back and began trying to squirm out of the grasp. When this grip proved stronger than that of his mother he began to howl.
Elladan looked down in consternation as the toddler dissolved into a storm of tears. Looking around wildly he tried to hand the child to his brother. Elrohir promptly put the width of the room between himself and his twin. Elladan shot a foul look at his brother as the wailing increased in intensity and tiny fists pounded against his chest with all the strength a two-year-old could muster.
Gilraen rose quickly, easing her son out of the arms of the almost equally distressed elf. Estel quickly quietened, resting against his mother's chest and watching Elladan suspiciously. His breathing was still quick, his whole body jerking with each sobbing breath.
"I. . . I did not mean to hurt him" Elladan spoke with a hint of fear.
"What did you do?" Elrohir asked, moving over to stroke the child's hair.
"I do not know," Elladan admitted as he attempted to copy his brother, and extended fingers towards the soft brown fuzz. Immediately the howling restarted. Elladan jumped back as if scalded.
"He hates me!" Elladan spoke with a voice full of hurt.
Gilraen sighed. Of course her small son would be frightened of the seemingly heartless captain. But at home he was someone else. She had seen him play fighting with Elrohir and heard him call teasing insults to his father. Her husband had respected both the twins, but had loved Elladan as a friend. She was beginning to see why.
"He does not hate you," Gilraen spoke carefully, her future in this house depended on not offending those who called it their home, "I think he is merely a little scared of you".
Elladan's face went through a dozen shades of puzzled.
"Of me! Why?"
Elrohir choked up laughing.
"Why?" Elladan demanded, facing his brother, "Was I not kind to him? Did I not provide protection? Have I ever raised my hand against him?"
Elrohir smiled at Gilraen, shaking his head in mock disbelief as Elladan continued. But his tone was soft as he replied. He knew how close Elladan had been to Arathorn, and the responsibility Elladan felt to protect the child.
"Oh indeed fair brother! You have not hurt the child," Elrohir teased his brother, "But even I, I brave Elrohir, find you fairly daunting when you do your 'I am Elladan, I have no heart' act!"
Elladan looked indignant. "I do no such thing!" he declared loudly, and if he admitted it to himself, untruthfully.
"Oh no?" Elrohir took Estel into his arms and bounced him up and down; "I do not eat. I do not sleep. I will not show a smile. I will not permit myself to grieve. And Eru help us if you should show a tear!"
Elladan scowled across at his brother and the small laughing human.
"Elladan, you told him his father was dead. You took him from his home. He is but a baby. What do you expect?" Elrohir asked, suddenly serious.
Elladan's face fell and he nodded before striding across the room to read a book in the corner. The overwhelming sense of failure had flooded back into his mind.
Elrohir grimaced, removed his fingers from Estel's mouth and turned to the boy's mother.
"Go and rest Lady Gilraen, I will look after Estel for now." Elrohir spoke kindly, noting the tired expression on their guest's face. Gratefully Gilraen turned and left the room, well ready for a rest in one of the peaceful gardens of Imladris.
~*~
Estel was a perceptive child. Much as he was enjoying the noisy game of Peek-a-boo in which Elrohir was indulging; he couldn't keep his eyes off the older elf in the corner.
Elrohir followed the child's eyes over to where Elladan was sitting in a disgruntled manner, his feet on the padded bench as he lent against the wall. Estel looked up at Elrohir questioningly.
"Yes Estel, he is sad." Elrohir smiled reassuringly at the solemn little face.
Estel returned looked at him to see what he would do. Elrohir shrugged and smiled again at the child. As Elrohir had suspected, Estel presently got to his rather unsteady feet and toddled towards Elladan, looking back at Elrohir as much as he could to muster up courage.
Elrohir nodded.
Taking a deep breath noticeable from several metres away Estel approached the elder twin, a small hand crept across the cushions to the larger, leaner one. Elladan glanced up at the touch, smiling as the tiny boy tried to pull him towards their game.
Elrohir's eyes met his brother's, sharing their feelings.
"Come Elladan!" Elrohir patted the ground beside him.
~*~
And when Elrond returned later that afternoon, his two. . . no, his three sons were sprawled on the floor. All breakable items had been shoved onto higher shelves and the old chest by the window that had not been opened in years had been raided. Spread all over the floor were small regiments, tiny horses and one very worn red painted flag bearer that Elladan was holding. Elrohir looked up, motioned at the two others deeply absorbed in some highly complex battle, and rolled his eyes.