CATEGORIES: General/Angst
TIMELINE: October/Winterfilth/Quellë 2933 T.A.
TECHNICAL: Being one of the Dúnedain, I've 'stretched' Aragorn's childhood capabilities at communicating. I think. Not being a mother, I wouldn't know for sure.
DISCLAIMER: The rights to Lord of the Rings are the property of the Tolkien family and Estate, New Line Cinema, EA Games, and lots of other companies that I don’t know about. I intend no copyright infringement, I make no profit from this venture, and I mean no offence or insult to anyone.

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There was an uneasy quiet that hung over the House of Elrond. The previous night's storm had long since passed, but the smell of rain and wet grass lingered. Under the bright morning sun flew birds, twittering giddily at the coming of spring. Yet in the house itself, things were not so idyllic.

Lord Elrond padded silently along the halls of the Healing Wing. Its rooms were fuller than they had been in many years; not since a Ranger ambush on orcs in the Misty Mountains had he seen so many sick and injured. Pushing open a door at the end of the corridor, he stepped inside and peered intently at the two beds on the opposite wall, bathed in pale sunshine. 

"Good morning, Adar," a lump on the bed said. Elrond smiled and entered the room fully. 

"Good morning, Elladan," he returned, and perched on the mattress to check his son's vitals. "You're looking much better this morning," he said finally, having prodded and poked at eyes, hands, ears, and forehead. Elladan smiled lazily up at him.

"I slept like a mortal," he answered, and yawned to prove it. Elrond chuckled and moved to sit beside his other son. "How is he?" Elladan asked. Elrond's sigh was heavy.

"Elrohir lost a great deal blood before you could bring him here," he said, "but your emergency bandage managed to stem much of the flow. His health improves, even as we speak." On cue, Elrohir's dark eyes fluttered open, and he squinted in the bright light.

"Ada," he murmured, and his eyes slid closed of their own volition. Elrond smiled, brushing the hair from his son's face.

"I am here, ion nin," he assured. Elladan sat next to him on the mattress.

"As am I, brother. Get well swiftly," he said softly. Elrohir mumbled something unintelligible, making his brother laugh. "Just like a tiny elfling," he laughed. Elrohir opened one eye to glare at him.

"You will pay for that, brother," he growled. Elrond patted his hand placatingly.

"Your chance for vengeance will come, but not until you are healed. Orc arrow wounds are notoriously difficult to sew up, and yours was no exception," he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. Elrohir merely nodded sleepily.

"I shall rest, Ada. I have no strength for anything more." Elrond nodded, stroking his son's hand until sleep had come again. Elladan slipped back into his own bed, burrowing under the covers.

"This sleep of Men is restful in its own right," he explained, yawning indulgently again. Swapping beds, Elrond held his eldest child's hand tenderly in his own. It was callused from arrow shooting, and scarred from much use with and against swords.

"You are not the only being here who finds the ways of Men comforting," he murmured. Elladan looked up at him with curiosity.

"What do you mean by that, Ada?" he asked seriously. A sad smile touched Elrond's lips.

"It matters not, hén nin. Rest now." Still frowning, Elladan allowed himself to relax and be lulled back into dreams by his father's constant petting and reassuring presence. For his part, Elrond was more than content to play the role of father like he had many centuries before, when his boys were but newly sprouted and still green to the troubles of the world. They had grown since then, had been shaped by shadows and sorrow, but they were still his sons.

His departure was as silent as his entry, marked only when he turned for one last look at the sleeping bodies in the healing heat of the morning sun. Swiftly he made his way along the corridor until he reached a door with a tray outside, on which rested a plate of untouched food. Picking it up, Elrond nudged the door open and peeked in.

This room was much darker, shrouded by trees and tucked away in the north of the house. The heavy blankets on the mattress barely bulged over the small body they concealed underneath them, revealed only by a head of dark hair that contrasted with the cream pillow beneath. Rapid puffs of air came from the direction of the bed, making Elrond smile as he gently set the tray on the bedside table. As he gazed down, the child's breathing was interrupted by a fit of wet coughs. Elrond waited for them to pass, stroking the boy's back soothingly.

"Be at peace, adan tithen," he murmured. The small frown faded on the boy's head, and Elrond let him be.

His next destination was the opposite room, where a fresh breeze wafted in under the guidance of the rapidly rising sun. The only bed was occupied by one last limp form. A delicate hand dangled over one side, and long dark hair arrayed on the pillow made the pasty face seem even paler. Elrond approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to alarm the woman who tossed in her sleep.

"Arathorn ..." she muttered, flinching and twisting away from her dream. "No ... can't have him ... must go ... safe in Rivendell ... they won't ... can't ... no! ... Aragorn!" Green eyes shot open, flicking about the room in confusion and panic. Elrond shushed her, taking her hand in his.

"Peace, Gilraen, peace. You are safe in Rivendell," he murmured. Her eyes locked on his, desperately searching for reassurance that she was free from danger. "There is nothing to harm you here." Eventually he felt her relax, her head lolling to one side to look out the window. He took the opportunity to gently probe her injuries. Sprains to her wrist, shoulder and ankles were now woven in soft bandages. Elrond guessed hard riding had caused them, but he had no confirmation.

"It is a beautiful day," she said softly. Elrond glanced briefly out the window as he tended her wrist again.

"A pity it was not so when you arrived," he answered. She smiled sadly.

"Yes. The cold and wet is not so agreeable," she said, then suddenly sat up, head swivelling around in panic. "Where is my son?" Elrond placed a restraining hand on her good shoulder.

"He is well. He sleeps in the room yonder." When Gilraen looked as if she would rise to find him, Elrond gently eased her back. "I promise to bring him to you when he awakens." This seemed to appease her, for the moment at least. They were silent for a time, listening to the birdsong that fluted in through the wide windows as Elrond reset her bandages. "You heal fast," Elrond said at last as he finished knotting the bandage on her right ankle. She nodded, testing the limb gingerly and wincing when it hurt her.

"Thank you," she said softly, her eyes wide in earnest. "It means much that you would take us in so abruptly." Elrond gave her a pained look.

"It is not the custom of the elves to turn away those in need," he said. Gilraen opened her mouth to beg her pardon, when the door opened with nary a sound.

"Mama?" a hoarse voice asked. Elrond turned and beckoned to the lad peeking unsurely around the door. Gilraen held her hand out to her son, who trotted towards her with unusual slowness. After helping the boy up, Elrond withdrew from the room, leaving mother and son in peace.

He occupied himself in the herb room, mixing potions and pastes to replenish his stock. It was relaxing work, a chore that Elrond undertook whenever events became too stressful and he just needed a little time to himself. Though he was immensely relieved that all his patients were awake, as a healer he was naturally still concerned. His sons would soon be back to their normal restless selves, but the mortals in his care were another matter. Aragorn had caught a virus in the cold, which would have to be watched closely in case it developed into something worse. Many generations ago, Elrond had nearly lost one of his fostered children to such a case. As for the boy's mother, Elrond was deeply concerned. He sensed in her a weary sickness that he could not mend; it was an affliction that seemed to dog the Dúnedain, but had taken a firmer grip in Gilraen than he had seen in a long time. Not since his wife had passed into the West.

Chastising himself for such dark thoughts, especially so early on a beautiful day, Elrond pocketed a vial and retraced his route to the Healing Wing. His keen hearing picked out the hushed murmurs of Gilraen and her son, muted behind wall and door. But he also heard the almost imperceptible shuffle of Elvish feet trying to be exceedingly quiet. Perplexed more than alarmed, he swiftly recognised the indistinct sounds as belonging to two injured elves who should not have left their beds. His eyes narrowed as he rounded the corner to find the patients in question hovering around Gilraen's door. They spotted him as he approached, looking rightfully abashed, but something in their expression caught his attention. They nodded towards the occupants of the room, and Elrond glanced inside.

Gilraen was nestled amongst her pillows, looking frail and exhausted but valiantly trying to hide it for the sake of her son. Aragorn knelt on the bed beside her, his two tiny hands cradling one of hers. He sat as still as any statue in Rivendell, watching as dark eyelashes slowly came to rest on her wan cheek. Elrond was somewhat relieved when her breathing deepened and evened, her cares forgotten temporarily in dreamless sleep. Aragorn brushed the hair from his mother's face, then leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

Elrond turned when Elladan shuffled uncomfortably.

"What troubles you?" he asked. Elladan chanced a quick look at the boy, who had curled up on Gilraen's pillows. Elrond raised a persistent eyebrow.

"He is so small," Elladan murmured. "The others were not that small." His father bowed his head in agreement.

"Rivendell has never fostered a mortal as young as he, and his body has already seen much hardship." Elrohir bit his lip, his forehead creased with worry as Aragorn suffered another hacking cough.

"How will he fare without a father to guide him?" he questioned, and a light of understanding came into Elrond's wise eyes. Gently he laid a comforting hand on each of his sons' shoulders. They had suffered much loss for Elves, and though they had witnessed the Gift of Ilúvatar in all their foster brothers before, never had they been a direct influence on it as they had been in the death of Arathorn. Elrond could now read clearly in them the guilt they held in their hearts. He knew, too, that no words of wisdom or comfort would help them in their grief. They were too old for that.

Leaving them for the moment, he entered the room, opening the bottle he carried with him. "Aragorn?" he called softly. The boy started and nearly fell off the bed in surprise, causing Elrond to suppress a smile. No matter what else, children of any species were clumsy. "I need to give you some medicine, child." He held the bottle up by way of demonstration. The boy looked uncertainly at it, but after a moment he nodded, and drank the brew readily. It occurred to Elrond that he would likely be more successful in obtaining answers from Aragorn than from Gilraen, and so settled himself carefully on the bed. Aragorn did not move from his position at his mother's side, clutching her cool hand in his own.

"Will Mama be better?" the small voice asked. Elrond smiled encouragingly at him.

"Your mother will recover well," he answered, although he was aware this was a half-truth. Physically, Gilraen would mend, at least. But no toddler was capable of understanding that. "Aragorn, I need to ask you what happened when you and your mother came here. Can you remember leaving your home?" Diligently, Aragorn cast his memory back, biting his lip in thought.

"Wargs attackeded us at home," he reported, "And Grandmama told Mama we had to leave. Mama was very sad, but she said I shouldn't be scared. We got on a horsey and went away. It was very dark and wet and scary, but Mama was there and she kept me warm. I wanted to sleep but I couldn't because of the horsey. Mama said we couldn't go to Bree, and we couldn't stop for long, but I was tired so we stoppeded. But then this man came and chased us away with a sword. Mama called him a mean man, but he didn't listen. I didn't like him." The blunt statement caught Elrond by surprise, and he smiled slightly. "We had to get very quickly to the Elves, Mama said. I was happy because I wanted to see the Elves, but then our horsey slipped and we fell off. I hurt my arm, but Mama was more hurt. Mama told me to hide in the bushes, and then when she called me the horsey was dead. I was very sad, because he was a good horsey. Then we carrieded all our bags because we had no horsey, and it started to rain again. And then we saw Ri – River –"

"Rivendell," Elrond supplied. Aragorn nodded.

"And Mama runneded, and I runneded, and I nearly felled over, but then some people came to help and then I felled asleep." Elrond nodded and patted the boy on the head. It was possibly the most words he'd said in many weeks; a swift ride from Fornost to Imladris around the Weather Hills was a good fortnight at least. Besides which, the offspring of Rangers were conspicuously quiet, more so than even Elvish children.

"Thank you, Aragorn. Have you had anything to eat?" There was a sheepish shake of the head. "Elrohir, Elladan, can you please come in?" Elrond called, an idea forming in his mind. His sons shuffled in nervously.

"Yes, Adar?" Elladan said. Elrond smiled reassuringly.

"Could you please take Aragorn to his room for his breakfast. And, perhaps if you are all feeling well enough, you would like to go into the gardens to enjoy this pleasant sunshine?" Nodding, the twins beckoned for Aragorn to follow them. The toddler did so, patting his mother's hand one last time before he left.

There was silence for a long moment, though Elrond became aware quite quickly that Gilraen was awake, and had been for some time. He waited for her to gather strength enough to open her eyes, which she somehow managed. After a sip of water, Elrond aided her in sitting up straighter against the many pillows.

"It was a long journey, I have heard," Elrond said. Gilraen nodded, pain writ in her face.

"He was a good boy. I couldn't let him sleep for more than an hour at a time, and there was little enough food for either of us. I don't know how they managed, Lord Elrond, but they discovered a camp that had been hidden for decades." She sighed. "It is my belief that the Enemy became aware of the survival of Isildur's line, and sought to end it as soon as possible. I think only of the poor children left behind who will have been slaughtered in Aragorn's place."

There was no comfort Elrond could give Gilraen, for surely if the Enemy had the slightest suspicion of Aragorn's existence, there would be no shelter for the Dúnedain Rangers. It would be wise to inform Gandalf and possibly even the Lady Galadriel of the unfortunate events, or so Elrond thought.

Gilraen gingerly rolled onto her side to look out the window at the vibrant trees. Voices could be heard drifting up from the courtyard, mingling with the dancing fountain there. Elrond identified them as his sons, and he glanced briefly at Gilraen to see if she recognised them. Her mind was evidently elsewhere, however, as she did not even see the leaves before her.

"Come, sit," Elrohir urged. There was a scramble of small limbs to scale a high stone wall.

"What's that?" came Aragorn's voice, jerking Gilraen abruptly from her thoughts. 

"It is a butterfly," Elladan answered. "Do not move!" It became suspiciously quiet in the courtyard, enough so that Elrond went to the window to see what was happening. Elrohir was encouraging the butterfly, a large thing with many flashing colours, to land on Aragorn's upturned forehead. The toddler was nearly vibrating with excitement. The butterfly flapped twice before taking off again, and then a strange thing happened. Aragorn clapped his hands and burst into peals of laughter that carried over the stone courtyard and through every overlooking room. All in the vicinity looked in shock, for such a sound had not been heard in the Last Homely House for many decades. Gilraen smiled to herself, beautiful and bittersweet.

"Do you see, my lady? E-nlend uin Estel," Elrond encouraged. Gilraen nodded slowly, her smile tinged with sadness.

"Onen i-estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim."  

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Adar - Father

Ada - Daddy

ion nin - my son

hén nin - my child

adan tithen - little man

E-nlend uin Estel - The sound of hope. (This is my own poor attempt at Sindarin, but seeing as I don't know what 'proclitic' means, I imagine it is probably wrong. Any proven correction will be implemented).

Onen i-estel Edain, u-chebin estel anim - I gave hope to Men, I have kept no hope for myself. (Lifted straight from the Appendices).