Chapter Seventeen Never According to Plan

No matter how hard he tried, things were not falling into place as he wished. Elrond groaned in defeat. He remembered the week prior when his son had finally opened his eyes, though hazy; Elrohir had managed to fight off the terrible pain and infection, and was healing with all speed. Even his legs now were rid of their casts, his head still bruised, but the yellowish hue was signally full recovery. To his relief, there were no signs of prolonged injury, and certainly no cracked skull, which had been the major concern for two weeks.

Elrond turned around and chuckled at the sight that had been the amusement for the past few days. Galathil had been dragged into the camp site by his brother, kicking and fighting, only to be tied firmly to a wooden chair. He sat there glaring at his brothers back, wondering when he would be allowed freedom.

Figwit was currently having yet another debate with Erestor on the rebuilding plans of their home. Erestor stood there with his arms crossed firmly over his chest shaking his head protesting with snarled words. Glorfindel stood off to the side with a small wry smile playing on his lips, and currently rolling his eyes at the scene. Celebrían was seated beside her sons reciting a story as they prepared for bed.

Gandalf was sitting nearby his face scrunched up in concentration mulling over the evil that had spread to Rivendell's borders. Sîralda was in an argument with another patient who kept informing him he was fine. The healer gave no indications of backing down from the argument and the patient finally gave up flopping back onto his bedroll in a frustrated growl.

Thranduil was seated peacefully under a tree nursing his bruises from his previous wrestling match with Sîralda. They had kept up the playful fights for an entire week before Thranduil had bested the healer. Sîralda had his own wounds, nothing extremely serious, but he was definitely careful with chewing since he had received an elbow to the jaw. Elrond remembered the stunned expression on the others faces when the king and healer had begun their wrestling matches, which had been in good fun, mostly a contest of wills. They had gaped when the healer had flung the king over his shoulder two days previous expecting Thranduil to become angry, however the reaction had been all but the opposite. Thranduil had laid flat on his back looking up at the sky catching his breath, and then roared with laughter the emotion flooding over everyone easing the tension that had built.

Elrond grinned remembering the joys that had finally been allowed to flow over them after the last few weeks, and had felt relieved, up until this point. Now he stood there thinking over his anger, which had been directed at his eldest who had suddenly decided to use words unbecoming a small child. Elladan had argued with his father quite forcefully, surprising Elrond to the core.

The boy had only wanted to lay next to his brother, but Elrond refused it. In his mind his sons were of an age where they should be in separate beds as they were growing into gangly elven children. Elladan had been angry and actually glared at his father. Throwing his glares right at him. Elrond had never dealt with his children being angry or upset towards him or his wife, so it had come as a shock. At first, Elrond had stood there gaping at his son, who was no more then nine years old according to elven terms. After the initial shock wore off, the elf lord had narrowed his eyes and actually barked at his son, almost using hurtful words, but he had restrained himself.

What had made matters worse is that he had actually frightened both his sons with his anger and now he regretted his outburst. Elrohir had whimpered, reaching out his hand catching his brothers gripping it tightly, adding his support to Elladan. Celebrían had taken her husbands side and had scolded her eldest son. Both boys now sat there, once their mother had left, whispering to each other frantically. Elrond knew he was the topic of the conversation. However, his son had no place to yell at his father, let alone be insolent. He sighed heavily.

Turning away from his sons, he looked back over his home that lay in ruins. The building was slow, certainly would not be made ready in time for the fall season, and that worried Elrond immensely. The air became chilled once fall hit, and many of the children were not used to residing outdoors in the cold of night. What caused Elrond even more worry was that there were scarcely any children left after the devastating quake, and many of the parents had fallen into grief over their childs loss.

Some parents had decided to travel to Valinor, actually causing Elrond near panic. It had never really hit him until they had mentioned it to him. He, of course had given them his approval, never once refusing them future peace. What had been a once relaxing environment with nearly thirty children, had now turned to a place of misery and grief, with only twelve known children left alive. Many of his guards had died trying to save others, the loss being near forty. His staff, once at a large number of near eighty, was now only thirty-four. The residents were also dwindled in number. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Elrond sighed.

Only a portion of his house would be completed by falls end, and winter would show itself, leaving many homeless. Thranduil had offered to take many back to Mirkwood until the spring when they could resume the building of Rivendell. Too many were far seriously injured to attempt to help in the rebuilding, and those were only had few injuries helped out as much as they could. Much to Sîralda's annoyance.

Somehow, he knew they would prevail. They would survive, and they would certainly liven up. Elrond only wished the air was not so tense. Shaking his head, he glanced over his shoulder at his sons again. The stress had caused him to yell at his children, even though in truth he knew they needed each others support despite the fact they were growing up. Elrond didn't want to believe that his young sons would be in full training next spring. It sparked a bit of fear in him. He remembered their junior training lessons, it had gone well. They had learned a lot of skills, and now they would go into beginners lessons with Maron.

Maron was skilled with anything he put his mind to. Trained by the balrog slayer himself, Maron had earned Elrond's attention when the elf had been able to fend off Glorfindel's skilled attacks with incredible accuracy. The elf was certainly trained enough to teach his sons with the weapons they would learn in spring.

Maron had long silver hair with hundreds of tiny elegant braids. The elf had green eyes, was tall and well built from his skilled use of the sword. He had once lived in Lothlorien before his parents had been killed in a hunt. It had been a stupid accident, but the boy could not come to terms with what had happened, therefore had been sent to Rivendell for a chance at life. Glorfindel had taken the child under his wing. This had caused Elrond some amusement, but learned years ago that Glorfindel had personally known the parents of the small boy.

Maron had been a feisty child, getting into mischief whenever he could. He had even gotten the better of his keeper, Glorfindel with a bucket of flour above his chamber door. The boy had fought with Glorfindel constantly whenever he could, mostly because the child had known it to irritate the balrog slayer to his core. Bathing had always been a challenge, but once Maron grew up into adulthood, reaching his majority, most of the childs spunk had left him. It was on a hunt on the outskirts of Rivendell when the child had become solemn. The party had been attacked by orcs, being captured. The elf had sustained much torment until Glorfindel had rescued him.

Maron had earned himself a well-earned scar along his cheek leading up to his hairline, and down to the bottom of his chin. The white scar stood out despite his abilities to heal, and left its trail down his torso. The elf had never smiled since that day. He had lost his friends in the torture, having to watch the orcs invade them and facilitate their cruel tactics.

Elrond knew Maron well, he was friends with Glorfindel, and so he knew that the elf took his utmost care with the elven children, teaching them the finer points of sword use. He also knew that Maron was not an easy teacher, he knew the elven childrens limits and pushed them hard. It was through this alone that Elrond had received many well-trained guards, ones who would not tire easily in battle, and war. Thus leaving, Elrond satisfied that his sons would become great warriors in the years to come.

He turned away from staring at his house, and came face to face with Gandalf who stood there smiling at him. Elrond grinned. "What?"

"Nothing young one." Gandalf replied his smile growing. "Fear not, your children will forget their anger and forgive you."

Elrond nodded and hoped the wizard was right. "I am not certain if I should apologize, Elladan was wrong to challenge me in a battle of wits, but I was also wrong to snap at him like I did."

Gandalf nodded in agreement. "You both were at fault. However the stress has been great and many are pushed to their limits."

"Indeed. There has been much, but we pulled through this right?"

Gandalf frowned shaking his head sadly. "Evil still lingers, Elrond. Until I gather further information on the appearance of this evil, please refrain from anyone entering those woods."

Elrond furrowed his brows.

"The evil is contained. It shall remain so until I have discovered where this evil dwells. Your people are safe here in the Valley, but not in those woods." Gandalf walked away silently, leaving Elrond once more to ponder his thoughts. Things were not going according to plan, but he knew they would triumph, and would continue on with their lives, until the next challenge earned their attention.

Smiling, Elrond walked over to his sons bedrolls, and sat down next to them, watching their peaceful expressions in sleep. One thing he knew, was that his family was safe, the other was that he was allowed at least a few more years with his sons, despite the fact they were mischievous little imps. He hoped that they would grow to be respectably elf lords, hardened warriors, and kind hearted to everything that surrounded them despite the many grave challenges they had already been forced to face in their small and short lives. Elrond knew that they would come across other challenges he could see it. Being as reckless as they were, it was only a matter of time before he was faced yet again with fear over an injury, or possible death. The elf lord only hoped that it would be a long while before anything as drastic as that would present itself again. Leaning back in his chair, he allowed himself to finally rest peacefully for the first time in weeks, and waited patiently for life to continue as it once had.