Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, Elrond, Estel, Sauron or Gil-Galad (although I really, really wish I did). All belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Title: The Kingsword
Summary: When seven-year-old Estel discovers the Sword of Kings upon its statue he asks Elrond how it came to be broken.
Author's Note: I must give credit where it's due. This fic was inspired from a song on my friend's newest album. The first time I listened to it, I immediately started thinking about this story. She'll never read this, but I feel I should dedicate this story to its inspiration: thank you Heather, for your songs, your stories, and your friendship.
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Seven-year-old Estel had never paid much attention to the artwork and artifacts scattered around his home. Statues and ancient objects were as normal in Imladris as beds and tables. And almost as numerous. The Lord of Rivendell loved to collect things; to the point where he had an entire room dedicated to exactly that. But Estel had never been allowed in there, and weapons training was far more interesting then listening to Erestor drone on about history.
But the statue above his father's study had always fascinated him. He had never asked who it was of, nor what lay on the table held in its hands. And he had always been too short to see for himself.
But Estel had just turned seven, and he was quite tall if he did say so himself; almost an adult really. And so, one morning before his lessons in the study below with Erestor started, he crept up the stairs and examined the statue.
Climbing to the top step of the pedestal he used his arms to hold himself on tiptoes and peer over the edge of the tray. What he found was the last thing he had expected.
A broken sword lay upon the rich silk cloth that covered that platter, carved in the shape of an Elven shield. Estel looked thoroughly confused. What was a broken sword doing lying in such a prominent spot? Surely it was of little use.
Had Estel been but a year or two older he would have probably noticed that the painting on the wall behind him depicted that very same sword, but he was only seven and did not care much about paintings, and so he had no idea what the sword was.
But Ada would know, he thought. Ada knew everything, and besides, if it was in Imladris, Ada must have put it there. Proud that he had come to such a conclusion on his own, he eagerly ran off to find Lord Elrond before Erestor arrived and detained him the entire morning learning about history. Battles were fun to watch and participate in, but they lost interest quickly when read out of a very old and thick book.
He found his father, after a good deal of searching, out in the front courtyard speaking with Glorfindel. Estel was still somewhat in awe of the mighty blond warrior, and so he waited by the door until Glorfindel mounted his white horse and rode out of the city. Elrond turned to enter the house and spotted Estel.
"Should you not be in class, ion nin? I was not aware Erestor gave you a day off."
Estel flushed in embarrassment. "He…he did not Ada, but I wanted to ask you something. I did not think Erestor would know." It sounded stupid even to his own ears, but it was a little late to change direction now.
"Yes, tithen min? Ask away and I shall try to give you a good answer."
Encouraged by the smile on his father's face, he drew a deep breath and asked: "Whyisthereabrokenswordinthestudy?"
Elrond paused to decipher the question for a moment before he smiled softly, but Estel thought he could see sadness in his father's eyes. He wondered why.
"Come with me, Estel, and I will tell you. I think you are old enough to hear this now, even if you will not understand all of it."
Quietly he led his son into the house and through the hallways until he came upon the statue holding the shards of Narsil.
Estel was still too short, despite his protestations, to see the sword clearly, so Elrond raised him in his arms and allowed him to look down upon his inheritance.
"I will tell you a story Estel. Erestor has taught you of the Last Alliance where Sauron was defeated, did he not?" Estel nodded. "Do you know who Elendil was?"
"Yes, Ada, he was the King of Men who fought in the Alliance with Gil-galad." Elrond smiled at the boy.
"You are correct Estel. Now, Elendil had two sons who fought in the war as well. The eldest was Isildur; that man depicted in the painting," he turned so Estel could see the mural on the wall behind them. "During the last battle Sauron himself came onto the field and none could withstand him. You know that Gil-galad died then?" As he asked the question a flash of sadness again crossed his face.
"Yes Adar." He paused, "did you know Gil-Galad well?" He had wanted to ask such a thing for a time now, but had never had the opportunity.
"Yes I did, Estel. I knew the High King quite well in fact. I lived in Lindon with him before I founded Imladris." Estel adopted an 'Oh' look upon his face, but asked no more questions.
"Sauron killed both Gil-Galad and then Elendil, and Isildur, seeing his father fall, ran to defend him. He took up his father's sword," Elrond motioned to the painting again, "but Sauron broke it. In one desperate attempt Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand. And so the Dark Lord was defeated and the battle won, but the Sword of Kings was broken forever. It was given into my keeping, to give it a place of honor, and so I have." Elrond turned once again to behold the broken sword upon its resting place. "I have kept it here, all these long years."
"Why Ada?" Estel looked innocent.
"Because…." Elrond looked suddenly at a loss for words. He could not tell Estel the real reason, now could he? "Because, ion nin, this sword and the man who wielded it won the war. If not for Isildur I do not think we would be here now."
The boy seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Did Isildur have a son, Ada?"
"Yes he did. A young man named Valandil who took over the ruling of Arnor in the north and became king."
"But…" he looked confused. "Did Isildur not survive the war?"
Elrond suddenly realized he had said more than he had meant to. "Yes he did, but he died only a few short years later while he was journeying home to Arnor." Elrond prayed Estel would ask no more; he was afraid of saying something he shouldn't.
"Oh. Poor Valandil; he lost his father and his grandfather."
"Yes, but he was a great king. He visited Imladris often after his rule began, but he was raised here, just as you were."
"Were you his Ada?"
"Nay Estel, I was not, but I did look after him. You remind me a great deal of him. He would have liked to know you."
"Really?" Estel asked hopefully. His father nodded.
"Now I do believe it's time for lessons. Ah, ah," he said as Estel started to protest. "Erestor is already waiting downstairs and I have work to do."
"Will you tell me more stories Ada, about the other things in the house?"
"I will Estel, but perhaps not today." Elrond was happy to see his son so interested in history for once.
"All right, I will see you at lunch?" the child asked. Elrond nodded and Estel scampered off down the stairs to Erestor.
Elrond turned back to the sword, reaching a hand out to caress the hilt, remembering what he had said to Estel: "the Sword of Kings was broken forever." He certainly hoped not; or all his long years of protecting the Heirs of Isildur had been in vain. He briefly let the image of a grown Estel raising the reforged sword in his hands. Perhaps, one day, it would come true. Until then Elrond would wait; as he had done for years before.
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ion nin: my son
ada/adar: daddy/father
tithen min: little one