The wars were fought, the One Ring destroyed, the victories won, and Aragorn, son of Aragorn, was to be crowned king.
It had not been some easy thing; he had to earn this right, and he knew he had earned it well.
Aragorn leaned slightly out of one of the windows in his bedchamber, catching the wind in his face. He raised his head, feeling the sun warm him, calming him slightly.
In just an hour, he would be crowned King of Gondor and Arnor.
It seemed only yesterday that he was patrolling the wilds with his men, sitting at a campfire or battling orcs. He smiled a little to himself. It would certainly take a bit a adjusting to this new life. Still, he was grateful to have gotten to this point, with the help of his family and friends.
Someone knocked on the door; he assumed it was a maid and answered so.
'Is that your new greeting for me, Estel?'
He hurried to the door and opened it, apologising. 'Forgive me, I thought—'
A hand waved him away. 'How are you?'
'As well as can be expected,' he admitted, taking a deep breath. 'This is certainly for more serious than reciting a long lay in the Hall of Fire or receiving my own sword.'
'But are you prepared?'
'I think—' he cut himself off. 'I am,' he said, with more resolve. He was ready—his entire life had been about this moment, and the moments thereafter.
'Good.' A hand squeezed his arm. 'Just do not be so nervous that your voice squeaks like a boy adjusting to manhood.'
'My voice is fine,' he said, pointedly, 'It had been so for the past few decades.'
'Even with all that smoking?'
'Hmph.' Aragorn shook his head, used to this comment. 'Finding your sense of humour?'
He smiled. 'I am glad to hear that, Erestor.'
Aragorn received a nod in reply, and he continued. 'What brings you hear?'
The elf seemed reluctant to state his reasons. 'You already know of my plans after this?'
'Adar has informed me of it,' He sighed. 'I wish that…you would stay.'
'My duties are finished, and it is time.' Erestor replied, gazing out the window. 'Your brothers are staying, though.'
'I know, but…' he shrugged helplessly. 'I could use your advice—like Adar's.'
'But our time—it is nearly coming to an end.' The elf met his gaze. 'And it would not seem right if a Kingdom of Men has many elves partaking of it.'
It seemed like nothing he said would convince them. He had already had this conversation with his father, and he knew he would have it again when he said farewell to the rest of the elves leaving with Elrond for Valinor. 'Then I will thank you now, for all that you have done for me.'
'It it I who should thank you,' Erestor told him.
The elf smiled slowly. 'Do you remember that day, Estel,' he said softly. 'when you came to my room to talk to me?'
'I remember it well.' He had been five years of age, too curious for his own good, and bolder than he should have been.
'I thank you for that.' Erestor reached out to take the man's hands. 'Estel. For I was unmoving, lost in the past, and you showed him how to live and smile again.'
He suddenly found tears in his ways, though he did not know why. 'I will miss you—for being a teacher and a friend.'
'Even if Middle-earth should forget you, I will not let your memory pass from Valinor.'
On an impulse, he reached forward to embrace the elf.
A choked laugh. 'Navaer, Elrondion.'
And the farewells were said, with the memory of the friendship never dying.
Let it not be said that he was eternally locked in his self-made prison of guilt and shame. Even though he had thrown the key away, it was found by a child known as Hope, and his world was thus brightened.
While they only knew each other for only eighty-some years, a short time in the eyes of the Eldar, he would not forget the one who had helped him keep his promise.
This account ends here.
Navaer – farewell
Very little is known about Erestor. Appearance, history—nothing on him. But as he was Elrond's chief councillor, he must have known Elrond well. That idea, combined with several other ideas, created this story. He probably will not forgive me for giving him an angst-filled background, but I favour elves that way…*grin*
My first idea came after reading Bleach. That one was quickly scrapped because there were gaping plot holes and too many places where it wouldn't fit with canon.
Second idea came after reading Black Cat. That one was also scrapped because it was OC focused and had some plot holes I couldn't fix.
Third idea came after much head-banging. I was terribly stuck; there was only one week left before the deadline. My mind turned Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children Complete. I had already been an FFVII fan for a few months now, so when the idea hit me I cautiously picked it up. Then, while reading AiedailWing's story, "Brother Mine," the idea of Erestor and Gil-galad knowing each other way back neatly tied everything up (However, this story differs from AiedailWing's; for one, the age difference between Erestor and Ereinion is much greater). "The Advice of a Child" actually worked, much to my relief.
Parts of this story is based on FFVII. Erestor in this fic is a combination of Cloud Strife and Vincent Valentine; the quote at the very beginning was a paraphrased version of what Vincent says in Dirge of Cerberus. Gil-galad was based on Zack Fair. Estel? Not exactly based on anyone, but is reminiscent of Marlene's views on things.
So there you have it—Advent Children set in the LOTR world. :)
There were a lot of other things I wanted to put into this story, to tighten it and create a better read, but I didn't have the time. Maybe in the future, I'll do an Extended Edition of this story, but for now, it's complete. I need to work on a couple other projects until then.
Can a two-year-old child truly remember things? I believe yes.
When I was two, my parents thought it would be nice to take a trip—overseas. So they booked a flight and took me along. When I was older, they told me I cried incessantly, and ended up vomiting over the seats.
I remember most of it. I remember the green-coloured seats and the white expanse all around me. I remember something bothering my ears (pressure), and feeling confused and frightened. There was also a sick, dizzy feeling, but what I remember rest were my parent's voices, telling me everything was all right.
It was minor, though. Now say that when Arathorn was killed, orcs raided the place where Aragorn—only two—stayed. This was something harsh and brutal. Maybe he wouldn't understand everything he saw, but he would surely remember the fear, and parts of the scene around him. Things would stick out and become engraved in his mind.
That's my view.
Thanks to everyone who voted for this story. Also, thanks to everyone reading! :)