I kind of fell into this daydream while going to my grandparents, and
came up with this story. It takes place when Aragorn is sixteen. Since
that's before he knows about his whole past, and how he's supposed to
become a king, he's still called Estel. I hope that clears up any confusion
this might cause. Oh, and if you haven't read the books, Elladan and
Elrohir are the twin sons of Elrond; Aragorn's foster brothers. Don't
forget to review! I'll love you forever if you do!
Disclaimer: I own the twins, I swear I do! Okay, so maybe I don't. Yet. But there's only 39 days until my birthday.
"Come on, Estel!" Elrohir called from ahead.
"I am coming!" he yelled back, struggling to keep up. He caught a flash of black hair through the trees and raced towards it.
"Foolish mortal," Elladan's voice traveled back. Estel glared at the sound. He moved at a remarkable pace for a mortal, racing almost soundlessly through the Trollshaws. But of course, that was nothing compared to the Elves. His foster brothers enjoyed running wild with him and mocking his attempts t keep up. They insisted it was good training for him, but Estel was convinced they only did it in an effort to boost their own self-esteem. The twins' musical laughter flitted back and Estel stopped and sighed, watching the sunlight filter through the thick trees. He made his way into a clearing. The air hung thick and still and an eerie silence resided. The sunlight cast a weird light, creating odd shadows and shapes.
"Elladan? Elrohir?" Estel called out. There was no response. "Glad am I to provide the amusement you two seem to receive by outrunning a mortal who has barely reached his sixteenth year. But do you not feel enough is enough?" The oppressive silence ignored him. "By the Valar," he muttered. He spun around as a terrible laughter echoed behind him. An orc stood there, his yellow teeth bared.
"Foolish mortal child," it said in its guttural tones. Estel gulped, trying not to let the fear he felt show on his face. The orc lunged toward him and he ducked away, drawing the short sword he had just received from the twins. The orc growled at him, growing impatient. Estel's swordplay lessons flew through his mind, all the times he'd fought against Elladan or Elrohir. It was a slightly different story, however, when you were fighting for real against an orc who wanted to kill you. As the orc once more advanced towards him, growling deep in its throat, Estel abandoned all rules. Scrunching his eyes closed, he jumped forward, sword fully extended, pushing even when it met resistance. Carefully he opened his eyes, knowing full well that had his 'plan' not worked, he would very likely be killed. The orc stood before him, its face surprised. The sword was imbedded deep in its chest. With a loud groan and resounding thud, the orc fell backwards. Terrified that there were more around, Estel grabbed the sword, still stuck in the orc's chest. Struggling with it for several seconds, the sword finally came loose and Estel was nearly thrown backwards from the force. He fled the clearing, scrambling though the trees and brush and up the slope of a hill. Finally, a good distance from the clearing, he stopped, panting. He strained his ears for any sound of pursuit. There was none.
"Thank Eru," he gasped. Then he heard it. A large solitary noise, like the beat of a drum, from behind him. The sound resonated for a moment and then faded away. Fear etched across his face, he crept up the hill. Peering over the crest, he gasped. The valley below was swarming with orcs. He tried to count them but it was impossible; there were too many. Silently he backed away and then took off down the hill.
As he ran, he became aware of every noise, convinced they were after him. Hearing a twig snap behind him, he spun around, still running backwards. So intent was he on what was there, he didn't notice what was in the path before him until he was grabbed. Struggling to get free, Estel kicked his captor in a very uncomfortable place and he hissed in pain, releasing the boy. But before Estel could run, another grabbed him.
"Let go!" Estel cried, attempting to twist free.
"Estel, calm down!" Elrohir's familiar voice ordered. "Tis merely us!"
"Elladan! Elrohir!" Estel said, turning around. He winced as he noticed Elladan's grimace of pain. "Sorry."
"Troll," Elladan muttered.
"Estel, what troubles you so?" Elrohir asked. "You flee as if an army of wargs were behind you." He laughed lightly. "You were not scared alone among the trees?"
"Yrchs," Estel hissed, slipping back into he language he's been raised on. Elrohir immediately sobered.
"Where?" Elladan demanded. Estel pointed back to the hill.
"Come. We will kill them all," Elrohir growled.
"Wait!" Estel cried out.
"What?" they both asked, turning back to him.
"There are too many," the boy gasped.
"Too many? Little brother, surely you underestimate us. How many are there?" Elladan asked.
"At least one hundred thousand," Estel answered meekly.
"One hundred thousand? Estel, this is not the time for foolish tricks," Elladan threatened.
"Tis not a trick, honestly Elladan," Estel insisted. Elladan looked unconvinced. He was, after all, in quite a bit of pain. Stepping in as peacekeeper, Elrohir suggested they take a look first. Estel led the to the hill, having somehow maintained his sense of direction.
"Ta I Valar," Elladan breathed. The orcs were now lining up in rows one hundred across. These lines seemed to go on forever. In front of the ranks, a man stood tall, shouting orders. He had dark brown hair reaching his shoulders.
"Who is he?" Estel whispered harshly.
"I know not," Elrohir answered. At that moment, the man turned around, looking up to where they were hidden. All three ducked down.
"We have to leave here," Elladan hissed. "We must warn Ada." It was then that they heard the command echo through the forest.
"After them!"
"Run!" Elrohir shouted as they raced off through the trees. Within minutes, Estel was once again struggling to keep up.
"Valar forsaken elves," he gasped.
"Hurry, Estel," Elladan yelled, grabbing his foster brother's arm and dragging him along. Ahead of them, Elrohir paused to shoot an arrow at the pursuing orcs. Estel found the dying cry of the target far too close for comfort.
"Elladan, my wrist is beginning to hurt," he said.
"Trust me, penneth, it is better than you will feel should they catch you." Elladan retorted. Ahead of them, Elrohir had disappeared.
"Where-" Estel began.
"Never mind!" Elladan interrupted. "Just run." The sound of arrows whistling though the air came from behind them, yet it was the orcs who were dying.
"Is it-" Estel started to ask but Elladan cut him off again.
"Keep running," he ordered. The sounds of the orc pursuit disappeared. Estel and Elladan stopped for a moment to catch their breath as Elrohir dropped from a tree in from of them.
"There were merely ten following," he announced. "I killed them, but-"
"Elrohir, look out!" Estel cried. A group of orcs, having lain in wait, dove out in front of them. They veered to the right, racing downhill. At the bottom of the slope, a horde of the hideous beats waited for them. The ones chasing them hemmed in from behind while more flanked on the left and right. They were trapped.
The three of them stood back to back, weapons raised. Then, through the swarms of orcs, a gap appeared. The tall man they had seen before walked to them. He walked calmly, seemingly at ease, and paused before Estel. His icy blue eyes examined the boy's face before circling the trio, looking nothing short of amused.
"Well, well, well," he said in a voice as cold as his eyes. "What have we here? A mortal boy, and two elves. Noldorin, no doubt." He spoke every word as an insult and they glared at him, faces masks of hatred. "Lower you weapons," he ordered.
"No," Elrohir stated flatly, and the man's eyebrows rose in mock surprise.
"No? It seems that you are hardly in a position to argue. Not that I am surprised, of course. Disgustingly proud creatures the elves are." His voice held a cultured accent, British, although they couldn't have placed it as such. In one swift movement, the man reached out, grabbed Estel, and was holding him hostage using Estel's own sword. "Now I repeat. Drop. Your. Weapons." The sword point at Estel's neck pushed in a little deeper and Estel looked at his foster brothers desperately. Reaching a silent agreement, the twins dropped their weapons as one. "Very good," the man stated. "It seems you have a soft sot for the boy, hm?" He pushed Estel away, into the arms of an orc. "Take them all away," he ordered.
The orcs bound Elladan and Elrohir's arms behind them.
"Move it," one ordered, kicking them forward. At the sight of his normally proud and defiant foster brothers being led like slaves, something inside Estel snapped.
"No!" he yelled, breaking free from the orcs and racing away. The man caught him easily.
"Foolish boy," he hissed. "Seems I'll be having some trouble with you." That was all Estel remembered before something heavy hit the back of his head, knocking him into oblivion.
Disclaimer: I own the twins, I swear I do! Okay, so maybe I don't. Yet. But there's only 39 days until my birthday.
"Come on, Estel!" Elrohir called from ahead.
"I am coming!" he yelled back, struggling to keep up. He caught a flash of black hair through the trees and raced towards it.
"Foolish mortal," Elladan's voice traveled back. Estel glared at the sound. He moved at a remarkable pace for a mortal, racing almost soundlessly through the Trollshaws. But of course, that was nothing compared to the Elves. His foster brothers enjoyed running wild with him and mocking his attempts t keep up. They insisted it was good training for him, but Estel was convinced they only did it in an effort to boost their own self-esteem. The twins' musical laughter flitted back and Estel stopped and sighed, watching the sunlight filter through the thick trees. He made his way into a clearing. The air hung thick and still and an eerie silence resided. The sunlight cast a weird light, creating odd shadows and shapes.
"Elladan? Elrohir?" Estel called out. There was no response. "Glad am I to provide the amusement you two seem to receive by outrunning a mortal who has barely reached his sixteenth year. But do you not feel enough is enough?" The oppressive silence ignored him. "By the Valar," he muttered. He spun around as a terrible laughter echoed behind him. An orc stood there, his yellow teeth bared.
"Foolish mortal child," it said in its guttural tones. Estel gulped, trying not to let the fear he felt show on his face. The orc lunged toward him and he ducked away, drawing the short sword he had just received from the twins. The orc growled at him, growing impatient. Estel's swordplay lessons flew through his mind, all the times he'd fought against Elladan or Elrohir. It was a slightly different story, however, when you were fighting for real against an orc who wanted to kill you. As the orc once more advanced towards him, growling deep in its throat, Estel abandoned all rules. Scrunching his eyes closed, he jumped forward, sword fully extended, pushing even when it met resistance. Carefully he opened his eyes, knowing full well that had his 'plan' not worked, he would very likely be killed. The orc stood before him, its face surprised. The sword was imbedded deep in its chest. With a loud groan and resounding thud, the orc fell backwards. Terrified that there were more around, Estel grabbed the sword, still stuck in the orc's chest. Struggling with it for several seconds, the sword finally came loose and Estel was nearly thrown backwards from the force. He fled the clearing, scrambling though the trees and brush and up the slope of a hill. Finally, a good distance from the clearing, he stopped, panting. He strained his ears for any sound of pursuit. There was none.
"Thank Eru," he gasped. Then he heard it. A large solitary noise, like the beat of a drum, from behind him. The sound resonated for a moment and then faded away. Fear etched across his face, he crept up the hill. Peering over the crest, he gasped. The valley below was swarming with orcs. He tried to count them but it was impossible; there were too many. Silently he backed away and then took off down the hill.
As he ran, he became aware of every noise, convinced they were after him. Hearing a twig snap behind him, he spun around, still running backwards. So intent was he on what was there, he didn't notice what was in the path before him until he was grabbed. Struggling to get free, Estel kicked his captor in a very uncomfortable place and he hissed in pain, releasing the boy. But before Estel could run, another grabbed him.
"Let go!" Estel cried, attempting to twist free.
"Estel, calm down!" Elrohir's familiar voice ordered. "Tis merely us!"
"Elladan! Elrohir!" Estel said, turning around. He winced as he noticed Elladan's grimace of pain. "Sorry."
"Troll," Elladan muttered.
"Estel, what troubles you so?" Elrohir asked. "You flee as if an army of wargs were behind you." He laughed lightly. "You were not scared alone among the trees?"
"Yrchs," Estel hissed, slipping back into he language he's been raised on. Elrohir immediately sobered.
"Where?" Elladan demanded. Estel pointed back to the hill.
"Come. We will kill them all," Elrohir growled.
"Wait!" Estel cried out.
"What?" they both asked, turning back to him.
"There are too many," the boy gasped.
"Too many? Little brother, surely you underestimate us. How many are there?" Elladan asked.
"At least one hundred thousand," Estel answered meekly.
"One hundred thousand? Estel, this is not the time for foolish tricks," Elladan threatened.
"Tis not a trick, honestly Elladan," Estel insisted. Elladan looked unconvinced. He was, after all, in quite a bit of pain. Stepping in as peacekeeper, Elrohir suggested they take a look first. Estel led the to the hill, having somehow maintained his sense of direction.
"Ta I Valar," Elladan breathed. The orcs were now lining up in rows one hundred across. These lines seemed to go on forever. In front of the ranks, a man stood tall, shouting orders. He had dark brown hair reaching his shoulders.
"Who is he?" Estel whispered harshly.
"I know not," Elrohir answered. At that moment, the man turned around, looking up to where they were hidden. All three ducked down.
"We have to leave here," Elladan hissed. "We must warn Ada." It was then that they heard the command echo through the forest.
"After them!"
"Run!" Elrohir shouted as they raced off through the trees. Within minutes, Estel was once again struggling to keep up.
"Valar forsaken elves," he gasped.
"Hurry, Estel," Elladan yelled, grabbing his foster brother's arm and dragging him along. Ahead of them, Elrohir paused to shoot an arrow at the pursuing orcs. Estel found the dying cry of the target far too close for comfort.
"Elladan, my wrist is beginning to hurt," he said.
"Trust me, penneth, it is better than you will feel should they catch you." Elladan retorted. Ahead of them, Elrohir had disappeared.
"Where-" Estel began.
"Never mind!" Elladan interrupted. "Just run." The sound of arrows whistling though the air came from behind them, yet it was the orcs who were dying.
"Is it-" Estel started to ask but Elladan cut him off again.
"Keep running," he ordered. The sounds of the orc pursuit disappeared. Estel and Elladan stopped for a moment to catch their breath as Elrohir dropped from a tree in from of them.
"There were merely ten following," he announced. "I killed them, but-"
"Elrohir, look out!" Estel cried. A group of orcs, having lain in wait, dove out in front of them. They veered to the right, racing downhill. At the bottom of the slope, a horde of the hideous beats waited for them. The ones chasing them hemmed in from behind while more flanked on the left and right. They were trapped.
The three of them stood back to back, weapons raised. Then, through the swarms of orcs, a gap appeared. The tall man they had seen before walked to them. He walked calmly, seemingly at ease, and paused before Estel. His icy blue eyes examined the boy's face before circling the trio, looking nothing short of amused.
"Well, well, well," he said in a voice as cold as his eyes. "What have we here? A mortal boy, and two elves. Noldorin, no doubt." He spoke every word as an insult and they glared at him, faces masks of hatred. "Lower you weapons," he ordered.
"No," Elrohir stated flatly, and the man's eyebrows rose in mock surprise.
"No? It seems that you are hardly in a position to argue. Not that I am surprised, of course. Disgustingly proud creatures the elves are." His voice held a cultured accent, British, although they couldn't have placed it as such. In one swift movement, the man reached out, grabbed Estel, and was holding him hostage using Estel's own sword. "Now I repeat. Drop. Your. Weapons." The sword point at Estel's neck pushed in a little deeper and Estel looked at his foster brothers desperately. Reaching a silent agreement, the twins dropped their weapons as one. "Very good," the man stated. "It seems you have a soft sot for the boy, hm?" He pushed Estel away, into the arms of an orc. "Take them all away," he ordered.
The orcs bound Elladan and Elrohir's arms behind them.
"Move it," one ordered, kicking them forward. At the sight of his normally proud and defiant foster brothers being led like slaves, something inside Estel snapped.
"No!" he yelled, breaking free from the orcs and racing away. The man caught him easily.
"Foolish boy," he hissed. "Seems I'll be having some trouble with you." That was all Estel remembered before something heavy hit the back of his head, knocking him into oblivion.