OK, it's after one am here, and I can't sleep. I've gone mental. No big deal. It's a weekly thing with me. J I'm just writing. Bear with me.
Ok, be warned. I wrote this in all of fifteen minutes. I just started typing and this is where is went…
Summary: At a time when young Aragorn is only just recently taken to Rivendell, the lord of Imladris tries to bond with the young boy. (I'm horrible bad at summaries!)
Rating: G (I'm real adventurous)
Disclaimers: All I own relating to LotR is one twenty year old copy of "The Return of the King" and two action figures (I'm in the process of collecting…) I certainly don't own any of the characters or places described herein.
There was too much happening. Too much was going on around him. The boy slowly backed toward a corner, trying to find some unobstrusive place to hide. Somewhere where no eyes could find him. His back hit the wall and he whirled and ran into an open door. Wide eyes full of unshed tears lighted upon the rows and rows of books and documents carefully placed on the shelves. Feeling suddenly cold, the boy hesitantly made his way toward the large fire that roared softly in the hearth. He sat down in front of it, not caring overly much that the floor was both hard and cold, and watched the flames without really seeing them.
"Have you seen him?"
Elladan turned a weary gaze on his twin. Elrohir's worried countenance told him what his brother wouldn't say in words. "Aye," he said, laying a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "I have just told Ada where he is."
Elrohir turned an impatient gaze to Elladan. "And that would be where?"
"Ada is speaking with him."
Elrohir managed to hold back a soft sigh of frustration. "I would not interrupt, Elladan. Please, tell me."
Elladan smiled gently. "In the library, before the fire."
Elrohir nodded, automatically looking in that direction. The younger elf bit his lip before turning back to his brother. "I should get back to what I was doing, I suppose."
"What was that?"
Elrohir shrugged. "I don't quite remember. I was heading toward the kitchen for something." He shook his head. "Ai, it will come to me. Or I will be reminded of it," he finished ruefully. He turned to go, his shoulders slightly slumped, but Elladan stopped him.
"No part of this was your fault, brother."
Elrohir shrugged. "I should have been more careful. I am not accustomed to having him around yet."
"None of us are, Elrohir," Elladan said gently. "Not a one of us."
"I do not know how to do this," Elrohir said softly. He looked up and smiled at his twin. "And, so help me, if you deign to offer counsel on this matter you know nothing of either, I will hurt you."
Elladan laughed. "So, I suppose we just muddle through together?"
Elrond stood behind the boy. His son stared into the fire, but Elrond knew he saw nothing of the flames there. His son. Elrond shook his head. Why the fates felt he needed be involved, he knew not. What he did know what that from the first moment Aragorn had been brought into his home, the old elf's heart had jumped and a sadness constricted his very being. But the boy had been alive, and the joy and hope that had been instilled in Elrond at the moment he held the boy had been enough to convince the elf that Aragorn belonged in this household.
Convincing Aragorn of that had so far proven difficult.
Elrond stepped to the side and forward until he was standing beside the boy, who still sat on the floor. Elrond frowned at the fresh tear tracks that marred Aragorn's smooth cheeks. The child had been through so much for one so young. Elrond had little idea what had set him off this time; indeed, from what he'd been able to garner, his own twins had something to do with it. Judging from the fleeting glances he'd seen of Elrohir's and Elladan's faces, it had been accidental and they were quite contrite.
Aragorn started at the sound of the elven lord's voice. He looked up slowly, wiping at his cheeks to hide the tears there. Elrond opened his mouth to speak again, but when the boy unsuccessfully tried to hide a sob, seemed to lose all power of speech.
As Elrond knelt, he thought, 'I have become stricken by this one.' Powerful elven lord, Keeper of Vilya, Lord of Rivendell, brought to his knees by a small, crying child. Elrond shook his head. He is truly my son. Elrond settled himself next to the child and tried to content himself by staring into the fire. His gaze, though, settled on Aragorn more often than not.
They sat, neither speaking, occasionally pinning the other with a glance. Before long, a small hand made its way to rest on the elf lord's slender fingers. Elrond turned his hand over and took the hand in his own.
'Hope,' he thought. 'You, child, are the hope of men, the hope of Imladris, and the hope of a father's heart.' Elrond looked at the child next to him. Aragorn returned the gaze, a small smile briefly overshadowing the tears. 'Estel.'