A/N: For you, Furby. =3 S'horrible, I know, but this is the best you're gonna get. You better hope that Blind Guardian doesn't get lost in the mail, or I'm going to have to demand retribution. nn;
Pen-neth
Chapter Three: Caretaker.
“Mother!” a small voice cried, its tone laced in utter dismay and incredulousness. “I do not want to leave you!”
“You must, my little one,” said another, and these words were spoken with love, but were firm. “I must speak with the lord of this fair place! Master Elladan has been kind enough to offer to show you about Imladris while I do so. He is a good and a kind elf, Aragorn – the son of master Elrond. He shall take good care of you.”
“B-but—!”
“Say no more of it, my child – we shall meet up with each other again, as soon as my business with Elrond is finished.”
“Do – do you promise?”
“I promise.”
So it was Aragorn at last consented to the wishes of his mother. These words were spoken quickly in the hall outside the room they dined in that morning. Breakfast was a rather awe-inspiring experience for the child. He barely ate a bite he was so enamored by those who he was dining with. There were faces that he remembered, but could not name. Such fair faces, such bright eyes, such beautiful words, such musical laughter…! It was all a bit much for him, and now his mother was having him spend his afternoon with one of those very ethereal beings. He longed more than ever now for the quiet home that he and his family had dwelled in so happily. He had desired, then, to meet the elves his father had spoken so highly of! That was why he was surprised that now he almost feared them. Gilraen’s gentle face smiled at him, pleased that she at last succeeded in securing a promise from her little boy. She did not speak, she merely ran a hand fondly over his hair, and kissed his cheek. She had knelt on the ground as she spoke to him, so they could speak eye-to-eye. Now she rose to her feet, and not a moment too soon. The child heard the door to the nearly deserted dining hall open, and out walked an elf. Aragorn took special care to examine this one who was to be his guide.
This was one of the dark-haired twain he caught a glimpse of the day they arrived, and who was sitting at Elrond’s table. So tall was he! The boy had to arch his neck to see him. He looked friendly enough. He had bright gray eyes that seemed to speak to the child better than words. Why, he could almost hear him say, “Hello, there! And how are you, little master?”! His face was young (well, Aragorn’s idea of young was a bit different than that of others at the time), fair and full of light and energy. He was dressed in a tunic that was of a silver-blue materiel, and darker-colored leggings. The tunic reached past his knees, and the sleeves fell past his knuckles. It was a graceful garment, and a pretty one. The child felt an impulse to reach out and touch the shimmering fabric and see just how soft it was, but he would not be so bold yet. Instead, he blinked expectantly up to this elf, completely forgetting that he was supposed to fear him. In fact, he had forgotten his mother’s presence entirely, until she spoke. She attracted Aragorn’s attention immediately, however, for she began to speak in a tongue that he did not recognize. He looked sharply at her, intrigued by the musical words, and then at Elladan, when he spoke in like kind.
The dialogue that was completely lost upon the son of Arathorn’s ears ended in a chorus of light laughter, and with Elladan saying,
“Worry not, my lady, I shall take good care of your son.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am truly grateful.”
“Worry not of it, for I am pleased to have his company!”
And now at last Elladan turned to look at Aragorn. The boy was not expecting to be noticed so soon, and he jumped a little in surprise. His gray eyes widened a bit. He held the immortal’s gaze and returned it, just as curiously.
“Well, good morning, young Aragorn!” the elf said, a look of amusement softening the majestic look on his features that the child had found a bit intimidating. “I hope you have enjoyed your stay in Imladris thus far. I trust my father’s food was good enough for you, pen-neth…?”
Not knowing what else to say, Aragorn gave a solemn nod. He was still a little speechless, and he reached out to grasp a handful his mother’s skirt to be sure that she was not yet leaving him.
“Yes, my lord,” he mumbled, relaxing a little once he realized that his mother was still where she had been moments ago. Gilraen gave a ghost of a smile, and rested her hand on his head. Elladan chuckled, and he held out a slender white hand to the small human.
“You may call me Elladan. Are you ready to come with me, then? You shall return to your mother soon. I shall show you a good time, I promise.”
He hesitated. He very much was interested by this elf, and would like to see more of this wonderful and overwhelming land, but his desire to leave Gilraen was very small, if there at all. He did realize, though, that he had little choice. So he glanced at his mother, and she smiled, and motioned for him to follow the elf. So he turned to Elladan, giving yet another nod. Those star-gray eyes seemed to sparkle as he nodded in return.
“Come, then! Bid farewell to your naneth, and we shall be on our way.
Aragorn wasted no time in turning to Gilraen and flinging himself into her arms for one last hug. She chuckled, and stroked his hair, and then with a last kiss she pushed him towards the waiting elven lord.
“Have fun.”
***
It did not take long for Aragorn’s tongue to be loosened and his uncharacteristic bashfulness to scatter to the four winds. The small son of Arathorn trotted happily alongside the son of Elrond, his hand clasped tightly around the elf’s fingers.
It was not long before Aragorn's uncharacteristic bashfulness scattered to the four winds. He took to Elladan almost at once, and began to speak; and once he started, he would not stop. Their dialogue ran as such:
“What is that?”
“It is a statue.”
“Who is the lady?”
“The lady Elbereth.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“Mmhm. Ooh! What is that?”
“What is what?”
“That!”
“Oh. ‘Tis a candlestick.”
“It’s pretty.”
“I suppose it is.”
“What is that?”
“That is a … actually, I do not know what that is.”
“Hmm. That?”
“It is a tapestry.”
“What’s down this way?”
“The library. Would you like to see it?”
“What’s a library?”
“…Perhaps we better not. Would you like to see the gardens, pen-neth?”
“Eeh! Yes!”
A curt nod met this declaration. Unless it was quite Aragorn’s imagination, Elladan seemed relieved. Hand-in-hand, the two made an abrupt turn in the hall down through a rather wide passage. Within a few moments of (blissful) silence, they had passed through Imladris’ doors and into the golden sunlight.