Prompt inspired fic
Prompt: Snow
Title: Allies
Author: Pentangle
We're back to 'cute little Estel' in this one.
This ficlit also features the return of Enchain!Erestor, by request of his fans.
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Allies
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Erestor hunched his shoulders in a futile attempt to dampen the squeals and shrieks that assaulted his ears as he attempted to work his way through an endless stack of parchments. That blasted boy was outdoors for pity's sake, yet his caterwauling carried far too clearly on the sharp winter air.
"I'll get you, you foul fiends! Take that! And that! And - " The taunting was cut off by a piercing yelp. "You'll pay for that!"
Erestor ground his teeth and lowered his head in a futile attempt to increase his concentration on the words before him. Then lower pitched voices were added to the ceaseless clamor produced by one solitary human child.
"We have been too easy on you, ruffian! Now you shall feel our wrath! You bring upon yourself the fury of the mightiest warriors in Imladris!"
The strident treble was not impressed. "Tell that to Glorfindel!" was followed by a derisive whistle that was soon changed to more shrieks as projectiles hit squarely on the small target.
Enough was enough! Erestor slammed both hands on the table as he rose imperiously to his feet. He stalked to the balcony of his study and viewed a scene of such devastation that even after his many trying experiences with the youngest son of the house, he was somewhat taken aback. The deep blanket of pristine snow, last seen glistening in the pale winter sun, now appeared as if a small army had trampled it to ruin. Two piles of snow faced each other across a broken expanse that lacked only blood to make it truly reassemble a battlefield. Estel was ensconced behind one snowbank, but he was hard pressed by twin elves who had begun to take his challenge a little too seriously. Snowballs flew in a bombardment that overwhelmed the boy, though he bravely stood his ground, his head and shoulders struck again and again as he rose to return fire. His hair hung wet and lank around his head, his scarf gone and perhaps lost until the spring thaws revealed it. The boy cried out as a firmly packed missile soundly connected with his shoulder, sending him sprawling. Erestor frowned direfully at the elves that normally protected Estel from any harm. It seemed as though they had temporarily forgotten his tender years and human condition. Just as Erestor was about to call out and stop the carnage, Estel cried surrender. The conquerors crowed their victory over the disappointed boy, though they also put their arms around him and led him off to a fire, dry clothes, and something hot to drink.
The Chief Advisor to Elrond watched pensively as the trio disappeared from view. Estel had fought gallantly, but his opponents held every possible advantage: strength, years, experience, and numbers. The black-haired elf who stood on the balcony decided a little intervention was in order. He thought of speaking with Elrond, but felt all parties would be averse to such a disclosure. He was, in any case, inclined toward something more personally satisfying. Suddenly his eyelids widened a fraction, then narrowed. He pondered another few moments, then turned away from the balcony to return to his work. Though he plowed steadily and virtuously through the tottering stack of parchment, occasionally he bore a slight smile more befitting a corsair than a staid scholar and councilor.
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Later that evening in the Hall of Fire, Erestor approached an elf who stood by the mantelpiece of the huge fireplace, one arm casually stretched along it. He was surrounded by a coterie of chattering friends, but he immediately noticed the dark elf that hung a little back from the group. He excused himself graciously and moved to meet his old friend. "Did you wish to speak with me?"
Erestor turned away from the crowd, the other elf falling in beside him. "Not with Glorfindel. I have need of the Lord of the Golden Flower."
"Indeed? You intrigue me, my friend. Say on."
As the two parted at Glorfindel's chambers, the reborn warrior wore a predatory grin. "It will take me most of the night to prepare, but it will be well worth it. What of you? Can you be ready in time?"
"I am always prepared for any situation. I will send word when it is time to assemble."
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The next morning, when the sun had climbed above the bare branches of the river birches that clustered along the walkways of Imladris, Estel stood behind his fort. He waited for his brothers who had expressed a willingness to defeat Estel again at any time of his choosing. Elrohir and Elladan sauntered to their own positions, remarking loudly on the predilection of humans to pursue impossible dreams.
Estel called across to his nemeses, "I will give you time to create a store of weapons."
"No need, Estel," returned Elladan, his shapely hands curving over a mass of snow, packing it tightly.
"I will also give you one chance to surrender before we begin."
Elrohir looked askance at Elladan, tapping one temple with a long finger. "You hit him too many times in the head yesterday, brother. His mind is clearly affected."
"We do not accept your gracious and desperate offer, youngling!"
"Then let no quarter be given!"
The twins raised their arms, loaded with snowballs. They exchanged a quick glance when Estel did not immediately duck into cover.
Elladan's arm jerked backward just as Estel cried, "Wait!"
Smirking, the twins lowered their arms slightly. "Have you decided to surrender?"
"No, I just want to introduce you to my comrades in arms." Estel made a summoning gesture and two figures slowly rose above the snowbank. One shown brightly as the sun's rays fell on hair and armor, while the other was dark as night.
Glorfindel's golden hair was barely confined by a narrow circlet, and the breeze lifted the ends of the long strands so that they rose and fell. He stood clad in armor that outshone the sun, radiant stylized flowers on shoulders and breastplate. From the shoulder pins—each a hand's span across—depended the cloak of the Golden Flower, falling in generous folds down the warrior's back to his boot tops. Like the tunic he wore beneath his armor, it was of deepest green, embroidered heavily with gold. A mighty sword that was mere legend to most of the inhabitants of Imladris hung by his side. His tightly gloved fingers tapped gently on the hilt, as if from long-entrenched habit. The other hand tossed a snowball carelessly up, and then caught it again. He was the embodiment of majestic nobility. To look upon him was to hear trumpets, to see the flash of blades, to feel the ground tremble under a thunderous charge. To look upon him was to see what the Nazgul saw before it fled, defeated.
To Estel's left stood a figure that appeared even more daunting to Elladan and Elrohir. For this was the incarnation of a warrior's worst nightmare: long, lean, clothed in black so that it appeared he wore a glove over his entire body, so closely did tunic and breeks fit him. His hair was pulled tightly back and hung in a single plait to his hip. His face, too, was black—even the lowered eyelids. Though motionless, he seemed somehow fluid, as though he would flow rather than walk over the ground. He was the garrote in the dark, the mysterious fire that erupts at midnight, the dagger that slides between the ribs of a lone sentry.
Elrohir whispered, "Is that – who – is that Erestor?"
Erestor held a snowball in one hand, but it was mottled with brown and grey. Elladan gasped as he realized the snowball contained rocks. The elf that seemed made of shadows heard the gasp and his teeth flashed in a feral smile.
Elrohir hissed, "We are going to die."
"I know. Wait for my signal."
"To do what? Die? I do not need a signal for that!"
"To run."
"We cannot run—not from them! We will never hear the end of it!"
While Elrohir and Elladan conferred, events were moving on the other side of the battleground. Glorfindel spoke deferentially to the boy beside him. "We await your word, commander."
Estel, alight with excitement, slowly raised his hand above his head. Glorfindel stopped tossing his snowball and kissed it before drawing back his arm. Erestor sank down slowly, like a venomous snake preparing to strike.
Estel's hand fell. "NOW!"
As the fusillade flew toward them, Elladan and Elrohir held only momentarily before they broke and ran. Dodging, slipping, scrambling, and in Elladan's case, swearing as Erestor's projectiles struck him solidly in the back, they fled, followed by laughter and Estel's shouts of victory.
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Dinner that night in the Hall of Fire was a severe trial for two of Elrond's sons. Elladan winced every time he reached for something, and sent a glare down the table to a serene Chief Advisor who hardly appeared the sort to engage in a roustabout with children and snowballs. Although his demeanor was impeccably composed, those looking at him found themselves thinking of cats and cream. Elrohir sat glumly between his father and Glorfindel, listening to Estel recount the vanquishing of his brothers over and over and over and over again.
Glorfindel kept saying, "If you could have seen their faces when we stood up!" until Elrohir was ready to sink under the table. The marshal also took the opportunity to draw numerous lessons from the rout. "Estel, you must always remember that a weak enemy may have strong allies. Something you would think warriors of ten yen would know, would you not?"
Elladan sighed and crumbled his bread.
Shaking his head as he listened, Elrond seemed both amused and annoyed by the tale. "It appears to me that you and Erestor went to an extraordinary amount of trouble, just to let Elladan and Elrohir know their game had gotten out of hand." Elrond carefully wiped his fingertips on his napkin before he rose to signal the end of the meal. "Which, by the way, reminds me I would like to see the two of you in my study this evening. It will seem quite like old times."
Two subdued voices said, "Yes, Adar."
Glorfindel grasped Estel lightly by the shoulder as he, too, stood to leave the table. "Come and sit with me by the fire; I am not entirely convinced you did not take a chill today. You can get all warm and cozy, and I will tell you a story, hmm?"
"Thank you, I would love that!" A story from Glorfindel was a rare treat, but Estel had something else to do first. He dashed around the end of the table to where Erestor sat alone, finishing his wine and contemplating something no doubt complex and weighty.
The boy tugged on the elf's sleeve until Erestor bent toward him, frowning. "Estel, you should say 'Excuse me, please' or 'pardon me' when you want to gain someone's attention, instead of pulling on their clothing."
Estel pulled harder, until Erestor was close enough to place a kiss on his cheek. "I know it was you. Who thought of it, I mean."
Erestor's left eyebrow rose. "Now why would you think such a thing? It is far more likely that Glorfindel would – "
A brief, fierce hug. "I know it was you. Thank you."
Erestor waved the boy away, but said as he sent a satisfied smile in the direction of the twins, "It was my pleasure, Estel."
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End