~Inkwell Series~

Ash

"Suilad! Mae govannen, Mithrandir!"

Hooves clip-clopped on the flagstone tiles that flanked the narrow bridge spanning the Bruinen. Gandalf dismounted with an air of sternness that did not thwart the Lord of Imladrís.

"Mae govannen, Eärendilion."

Gandalf's great horse was led away to the livery as Elrond approached the wizard with the wide, sparkling grin that was expected of him with a polite bow and gesture.

"How fared your travels?"

"Ah, fine, fine. A bit damp but it was no great discomfort to me for I am well accustomed to it," Mithrandir replied off-handedly. He could not help but grunt as Elrond threw his head back and laughed.

Pleasantries were frivolity deemed a waste of time; he had come here for a purpose, not to discuss the weather. Grumbling something about the undimmed over-enthusiastic extravagance of the Noldor, the wizard flinched at another spell of laughter from the Noldo before sending him an unimpressed glower from under bushy eyebrows. He almost berated Elrond with the customary 'let what is meant to be unheard remain so' but was quickly interrupted.

"You seem to forget, dear Mithrandir, that I am not yet half a Noldo!" At this, he laughed again.

Gandalf simply grumped into his beard and showed himself the way inside the Last Homely House (though that was a term used freely, for Imladrís was made of so many trellises and curtained entryways that inside and outside had all but melded). Rather inconvenient in a storm, Gandalf would say, but out of all the times he had stayed in this realm, he could not recall a single day that had unpleasant weather.

Still chuckling to himself, Elrond followed the wizard into a room set apart for his usage should he come along (one of the more inside rooms), stopping an elleth in the hallways with a quiet request for a hot meal on a tray.

Sinking his weary bones down to the bed, Gandalf took the respite to smoke a few savory puffs from his pipe. This was rather effective in dampening the elf's irritatingly forced cheery mood and the wizard found himself more at ease in the silence.

A few moments of silence was all that stretched between them before Elrond took on a crooked smile.

"Was the storm really quite that terrible?" the elf asked wryly.

Gandalf huffed through the stem of his pipe, and a smug smile nearly touched his mustached face when Elrond sputtered from the foul smoke.

"Being an old man for thousands of years is more difficult than you may think, Elrond," he responded almost crisply, though he would have liked to call it a tinge of finality.

Perhaps the great hulking cloud that decided to dump its entire contents over his head during his traverse from the Shire to Imladrís had not exactly done wonders on his temperament. He could have sworn that his robe was still wet around the collar two days after the storm.

Elrond laughed again and Gandalf shortened the spell of mirth with another puff of his pipe. The elf actually coughed this time and he did not bother hiding his smirk.

Drained of mirth, the Noldo cast him another wry side glance.

"You came to see the adan boy if I am not mistaken."

Another puff. It came out as a ring this time.

"Indeed I did." Suddenly the wizard's countenance clouded to the verge of being thunderous (Elrond would have laughed at the comparison but decided against it). "No one told him, did they?"

Ah, told him about his heritage. "No, no that will not do until he is older. The coming brashness of his youth may not handle the situation well and he cannot be contained in Imladrís forever."

Gandalf leaned back and absently puffed after the reassurance. "Good. How is he?"

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "He is well. He is a sturdy little fellow and might even grow to be rather tall, though my knowledge of Edain children is limited."

That was a modest comment. Elrond had been looking after the children of his brother's line for many many years now.

Gandalf blew a cloud of smoke without looking at him. "You know that is not what I asked, Elrond," he said with a streak of admonishment. The elf smiled at the subtlety.

"He is very intelligent, you will come to find. A bit subdued, perhaps, but that is to be expected after the loss of his father. There are times we can draw him into a pleasant activity and he is eager to get lost in the distraction. He shows great interest in the ways of the world and latches quickly to any studies we deem appropriate for his age. There is great potential within him," Elrond said with an undertone of pride that was not missed. It seemed the adan had grown on him.

"But I suppose you will have a chance to see that for yourself..."

"Ah, no I will not be staying long..."

Elrond raised both brows this time. "You will surely come to meet him! He is quite fascinated with the idea of wizards and I am sure you will find Lady Gilraen very agreeable company!"

"No, no I could not do that—"

A sly smile. "I sense another downpour in the very air and you feel it as well, Mithrandir. Stay! You will have yet another child to dote on now that Elladan and Elrohir have long outgrown the whittled horse figurines of yours and the like," the elf said with a gesture to the traveling pack still sitting on Mithrandir's lap with his chin. His eyes sparkled in amusement (and perhaps a bit of tears). Mithrandir did not truly begrudge him any snatch of joy he could contain.

Perhaps he never really showed it, but the grey old wizard took pride in the ellon Elrond turned out to be. The young heir of Gondor could ask for no wiser a mentor.

Hardy indeed, Gandalf thought with a sad smile as he tapped the wooden stem of the pipe to his lips. He had to be.

"Very well, very well!" he said with a show of reluctance. "I suppose I shall have to see what the fuss is about this child."

He muttered to himself, well aware that Elrond could hear him. "Worse than a first time parent, you are, Eärendilion."

But of course, he did not truly mean it.

Thankfully, the elf refrained from laughing and instead clapped him on the shoulder as he rose from the bed.

"I depart to see to the affairs of my household. Take a rest and you will be summoned to the evening meal. It shall be a feast. Estel will be there."

"Estel?"

"Yes, young Aragorn. He will be the Hope of Men," Elrond said solemnly with his smile turned to what could be called nostalgic.

The wizard huffed back into his pipe to find that it had gone cold. "How can you expect the child not to be teased with a silly name like that," he muttered partly to himself, hiding a fond quirk under his mustache.

Elrond only flashed his teeth and swept out of the room.

Hope of Men...

oOo

The feast began on the last brink of dusk in a glade near enough to the Brunien to hear its merry bubbling. The sweet perfume of honeysuckle and tiger lily wafted up on the gentle spray of the fresh waterfalls, and the sun shimmered behind a veil of clouds on the horizon.

The feast had not yet been set out yet, for the night was young and tables would only hinder the dancing.

Elrond watched Estel burst down a set of stairs with a faint admonishment from Gilraen who followed close behind. The boy's hair was tousled as if in defiance to the decorative suede vest he wore. Bright silver eyes scanned the clearing, darting from one elf to another, then settling on Elrond with a solemn question. The sag to the boy's shoulders deepened as he padded up to Elrond.

"Elladan and Elrohir?" Estel asked.

Elrond only shook his head, lips pursed in sympathy as he rubbed over the ache in his knee where he had ruptured it in a recent skirmish.

Estel had taken to the twins more than anyone else, calling them brothers and trailing them in all they did. If the twins were irritated by this, they did not show it.

They never showed anything, Elrond thought with a pang of grief. Kindled in their eyes was the same stony hatred as it had been for years since Celebrían's sailing. Elladan and Elrohir never remained in Imladris longer than a handful of weeks before they were off on thier mad hunt again, leaving Elrond's nights sleepless and fraught with worry, wondering where they were, how they were, how he could get them to come home. He consoled himself with a singular thought, If they were dead, I would feel it.

Estel let out a puff of breath, disappointed. Such a solemn look was terribly misplaced on such a youthful, unblemished face.

Mithrandir watched the exchange a ways down the table, keen eyes drooping with sorrow. Leaning on his staff, he approached the Elrond and the boy.

"So," he began gravely, "this is the Estel I hear of."

Estel's gaze darted up and down the wizard's towering form, undaunted by the hard lines in his weathered face.

"A wizard!" he exclaimed, sharing a glance of wonderment with Elrond who could not seem to keep the melancholy out of his smile. Gilraen approached subtly from behind, hands folded neatly in front of her as she took a seat.

Mithrandir raised a bushy brow, his face cracking into a grin.

"Thank you for coming, mister. I have always wished to meet a meddler," Estel said in genuine oblivion. If Elrond had been taking a drink, he would have surely spit it out.

Mithrandir only sent Elrond a bewildered look. "And what do you mean by that, young man?" Mithrandir rumbled.

Estel tilted his head to the side, sensing a misstep judging by the other's reactions. "Well, Erestor told me that I will never see a wizard unless I should find myself in a place where the last thing I need is a meddler," he explained. "I suppose the only thing missing from this feast is a meddler!"

Mithrandir's brows rose halfway to his hairline. "I see." But he did not take offense. Erestor was well known for speaking his mind and caring little about how others may take it. Mithrandir would later have a discussion with Elrond whether or not it was wise to have the councilor as Estel's tutor.

A thoughtful look flashed across Estel's face. "Naneth, what's a meddler?"

Gilraen was far too occupied with hiding her embarrassed blush behind her handkerchief to respond.

After several painful moments, Mithrandir let out a booming laugh that turned several heads. "I suppose I deserved that."

Estel had the decency to look abashed, but Mithrandir waved the worry away with a sweep of his arm that sent his pipe careening from where it was wedged in the head of the staff. Estel was quick to fetch it from the grass. A tirade of questions about the curious object followed. Mithrandir led the boy to the beverage table with a chuckle.

Musicians began to crowd around in a circle, experimenting the tuning of their instruments with a faint note here and there. Bustle began to condense within the circle as several dancing couples took their places.

Gilraen, dressed in a suede, forest green gown to match Estel's vest, sat meekly in her place at the table, which was empty save her and Elrond for there were few in Imladris who did not enjoy a night of dancing.

Elrond spared the woman a side-glance, still mindlessly massaging his healing knee. Wear was evident in her smooth, simple features as she wistfully watched the dancing circle as it swelled and shrunk with spinning couples when the musicians struck up a merry tune. She swayed with the music, occasionally glancing over to where Mithrandir and Estel sat in the grass, nursing their cider.

Feeling obligated to speak to her, given that they were the only ones at the empty table, Elrond turned his chair to face her. Gilraen's hand ever drifted to her left as if reaching to pull her husband into the dance before she realized he was not there. Elrond understood that kind of pain.

"The festivities are good for Estel," Elrond said.

Gilraen glanced at him as if startled that he would speak to her. It was saddening, really. Elrond founded Imladris as a home in which the weary and the stragglers could belong. Gilraen, sitting by herself in the midst of a feast, looked anything but at home. Would no one dance with her? Elrond scanned the bunches of loitering elves but found that all of them avoided his gaze. Why would no one dance with Gilraen?

She nodded, eyes fixed on the dancers, fingers tapping. "Estel's grief is keen. Often he asks for Arathorn. I am glad his mind can be elsewhere for a time."

"Aye." In the few beats that passed between them, the musicians transitioned into a melody that was less chipper. "But I can see that such is not the case with yourself, my lady."

Gilraen dared meet his eyes for a half-second before returning to the circle with fond longing. "Arathorn did not like to sit still. It is difficult to think of much else but the oddness of his absence in times like this."

Elrond knew what he ought to do… what would be the kind thing to do… "It is much the same for me. You enjoy dancing?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled as the couples spun around each other in unison, causing the circle to whirl with an array of colors. "Very much so. Though a few of these dances I do not know."

Chair legs scraped as Elrond stood, earning a surprised look from Gilraen. He held out his hand to her. "That is of no consequence. I sure that you will look a professional next to my fumbling steps and stiff knee. May I?"

Taken aback, Gilraen hesitated for several moments before accepting the offer. They melded smoothly into the circle just as the musicians shifted to a much slower melody where the dancers swayed back and forth in a simple order of steps. (Thankfully for Elrond's knee.)

The two of them managed well enough together, though there were several missteps that where disregarded with little chuckles.

Estel settled down next to Mithrandir with their third refill of cider. "Naneth is dancing!"

The old wizard took a sip, noticing Elrond there as well. For once, the care-lines in the Noldo's face were softened with the absence of sorrow and worry. "So they are."

Elrond accidentally stepped on Gilraen's toes, again. How embarrassing. "Ai, forgive me. I dare say it has been a long while since I have ever bothered with dancing."

Gilraen did not know much about the circumstances in which Celebrían was forced to depart from these shores, but she could tell Elrond still felt the loss as if it were fresh. Perhaps it still was, by elven standards.

"Your wife… is it because of her loss?" Gilraen asked hesitantly.

Elrond's boots scuffed through the grass. "Partly. But with my… children gone as well I find that I have little to dance for."

No words were needed to follow that statement. Gilraen wouldn't know how to properly comfort an ancient being such as Lord Elrond anyway.

But through all this, the guise of a powerful lord faded away, and all she saw was the simple, raw grief of a father. Gilraen had seen it enough times to understand it, as much as grief could be understood.

Elrond's musing snapped her out of her thoughts. He was watching Estel funning with Mithrandir. "I had hoped Elladan and Elrohir would stay for Estel. The comfort of a brother is a special kind of support that would benefit the boy." A thoughtful pause. The swaying of the same song stretched on. "I see much of Elros in Estel. He will be great one day," Elrond hummed gravely.

Elros. King of the Edain, founder of Númeanor. There were many great tales about the great king. It was strange to think such a legend was a child once. Family to this solemn lord.

"You miss him." It was not a question. The weariness in his voice was all Gilraen needed to hear.

Elrond nodded as he let her out for a spin. "To the world he was Tar-Minyatur, King of Númeanor. But to me… he was my brother." Heartache was so plain in his words that Gilraen could have wept.

The song ended. The dancers dissipated. Elrond did not notice, his thoughts a shroud over his mind. Gilraen tugged on his hand, shrinking under the skeptical glowers of the elves around. She told herself that it was only because they cared for their lord… and not so much for her.

Apologizing, Elrond graciously led her back to the festivities as a feast was brought out. The last shreds of Anor's light disappeared and elves hurried around, lighting lanterns.

Mithrandir alone noticed Elrond quietly slip away.

oOo

"Lord Elrond says Elladan and Elrohir can be my brothers. Does that make Lord Elrond my father now?"

Mithrandir puffed on his pipe, brows raised. The child was far more intelligent than he looked, but not nearly lively enough for a boy his age. Grief weighed the boy down like iron boots, and was chiseled into the pattern of his irises. Hardship always carved out the best characters. Mithrandir was only sorry that the process had to be so difficult. And begin on a child so young.

Estel was seated precariously on the rim of the balcony, swinging his legs.

"Well, no. It doesn't quite work that way," Mithrandir said.

"No?" Estel frowned. Mithrandir sighed, shoulders creaking into an arch. Elladan and Elrohir were neither the best company nor the best role models for the boy. Their pain was too angry, too violent. Estel did not need to be sullied with such things.

"But you do not need brothers to be the most fearsome warrior known to men and elves, yes?" Mithrandir prodded, utilizing Estel's interests.

They boy brightened at that. Another cloud of smoke wafted from the red embers in the wizard's pipe.

"Maybe I will only be the most fearsome of men, not elves," said Estel.

"And why is that?" Mithrandir spluttered indignantly, sending the smoke bursting out in little tufts that he formed into the likeness of birds to fly into Estel's face as he dropped down from the balcony railing.

"Because Erestor is an elf. I do not think I can ever fight better than him."

That was a fair point. Erestor was a very old elf, born of a pair of star-crossed lovers that married far back at Cúiveinen in the Age of the Stars. Erestor had been tutor to Fëanor himself, and all his sons after him. It was no secret that his loyalties lie with the Fëanorians, and he often made that everyone else's problem.

Mithrandir made a double note to speak with Elrond on Estel's choice of educators.

Feeling playful, Mithrandir leaned in close to the boy as if about to share a secret. Estel spluttered on the pipe smoke but scooted closer eagerly.

"Perhaps you cannot defeat him with skill of arms, but there are other tactics one can combat elven senses with." The wizard tapped the side of his nose and winked. Estel coughed several times and opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted with a sneeze. Mithrandir straightened and took another long draft from his pipe.

"Well," rasped Estel, "aren't you going to tell me?"

Mithrandir's beard swaggered to the side in consideration. "Perhaps. But first, a gift for the young Dunadan."

Mithrandir produced a small, unimpressive-looking bundle from a bag at his hip. Estel unwrapped it with hesitancy (he did such with gifts that were too small to be a sword or bow), then grinned at the thing inside. Lifting it out, Estel revealed a long pipe that looked too big in his hands. The trinket was nearly identical to Gandalf's own.

"For me?" Estel gasped delightedly, watching as Mithrandir's puff of smoke turned to an elaborate winged dragon.

"For when you are older!" He leaned in. "Something to keep those keen elven senses tickled, yes?" His eyes twinkled.

"You mean I can win a spar with Erestor if I smoke like you?"

"When you're older," Mithrandir amended.

Estel, grinning from ear to ear, threw his arms around the wizard, nearly dropping his new gift in the meantime. Mithrandir eagerly reciprocated, content that he'd been able to brighten the boy's comings and goings.

Estel's smile was contagious, and Mithrandir found that Elrond's ridiculous name was quite fitting.

Hope indeed.

Mithrandir departed from Imladris that day under a sunny sky. It had not rained as Elrond said to goad him into staying, but Mithrandir regretted none of the time he spent with Gondor's little future king.

It was only when he was riding away that he realized his error of having forgotten to tell Estel to keep the pipe a secret from Elrond.

Mithrandir had the jovial imagining Elrond's horrified face when he discovered the pipe to keep the smile on Mithrandir's face as he crossed over the borders of Imladris.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Started this a long time ago. Hope you enjoyed. Feedback would be appreciated! Unbeta-ed.