Post by Admin on Nov 1, 2024 18:17:45 GMT
TITLE: An Early Meeting
CHALLENGE: Delay
SUMMARY: Aragorn and Arwen meet much earlier than perhaps fate would have it.
CHARACTERS: Arwen, child!Aragorn, Elrond, OC
WARNING: None
RATING: G
She’d meant to leave earlier, weeks ago, had felt something like fate pricking at her to go, but she dallied instead. There was no real reason for it. The weather was perfect. The passage over the mountains, clear. Her retinue was prepped and ready. Like every time before she was anxious to be gone. But…but something was happening; she could feel it. Something was coming.
Arwen was at the stables when the ‘something’ arrived. She paused in brushing her horse’s mane when she heard the crash of hooves and the rise of frenzied voices in the courtyard. Beside her Roheryn whinnied in complaint. Arwen hushed her, patted her nose, then gathered her skirts and strode out of the stables and into the main courtyard.
“What’s this?” she demanded as she came upon the confusion. Above the heads of the attendant elves she saw Elladan swing down from his horse. She frowned when she noticed the woman slung over his saddle. She frowned deeper when Elladan reached up and slung the woman over his shoulder like a sack.
The attendants parted like a sea at Arwen’s arrival and she strode purposefully up to her brothers. “Who is this woman? What is happening?” she asked sharply. Arwen usually maintained a calm, serene front and she rarely raised her voice, but the sight and the state of the woman unnerved her. She could never stand to see or hear of women harmed, it reminded her too much of - not now.
“Call for father,” Elladan bellowed. It wasn’t a response for her. “Ready a bed in the healing hall! Sister - move!”
Arwen balled her fists as Elladan pushed past her. She moved to follow after him, furious, but was stayed by a gentle touch on her elbow.
“Could you hold him?” came Elrohir’s quiet, calm voice. Arwen turned in question and Elrohir placed him in her arms before she could answer. Then he hurried off in a quick and quiet rush, calling for their father.
Elladan and most of the attendants hurried off with him. In their absence, the cool quietness of before returned to the courtyard. She looked down at the child in her arms. She was a poor judge of human’s ages, but even she could tell this one was quite young, barely out of babyhood. The child just looked back at her blankly, red-faced and runny-nosed. He might have cried if he had the energy to but he just crumpled his face and whimpered silently instead.
“Now, now,” Arwen soothed. Her anger at Elladan quickly evaporated and was replaced with a soft concern. Arwen looked up at the two remaining attendants. There was Atheniel, her handmaiden, and one of her guards. Atheniel was looking at her expectantly and wringing her hands in that nervous way she had. She tried to think what her mother would do in this situation. It came to her easily, as if Celebrian had whispered it in her ear.
She dismissed the guard then said to Atheniel, “Run to my rooms and ready a bath, a small one, then tell the kitchen to bring up a warm glass of milk when they send up tea. We’ll be in the stables in the meanwhile.”
Atheniel nodded then scurried off. Arwen looked back down at the child in her arms. She tried to recall the last time she had seen one, but it was too long ago. Even her memories of elf-children were dim. He stared back at her with equal curiosity. He had gray eyes, a few shades off from her own, brown skin, and a mess of dark curling hair.
“My name is Arwen,” she said perfunctorily, “I am the daughter of Elrond, the master of this house, whom I’m sure you’ll meet in due time. What is your name?”
The child said nothing, just pursed his lips tightly together and frowned.
Arwen hummed in response to this silence before pulling out her handkerchief and wiping his face. She raised an eyebrow at the dirt left behind on the cloth, then presently ignored it and said confidently as she carried him to the stables, “Worry not, little one, we will have you settled and squared away in an instant.” The child just looked at her dubiously. “In the meanwhile I shall show you my dearest friend. She’s a very fine lady and you will love her. Here, she is - my Roheryn.”
The child did not love Roheryn; he burst into loud tortured tears and soon as the horse came into view. The wailing disturbed Roheryn and she began to make her own noises of displeasure. It was a terrible scene; Arwen was surprised the guard did not come running back at the sound.
Arwen tried to soothe the child, to convince him that Roheryn was a fine and well-mannered horse, as good and as gentle as any noble lady - nothing at all like the brutish and brash stallions of her brothers - but the child was too young to see reason. He pressed his face into Arwen’s shoulder and sobbed and ignored her and the horse.
Arwen was saved from the madness when Atheniel appeared in the doorway, letting her know the room was ready.
*
A bath and cup of warm milk seemed to do the child good and he fell asleep not long after. Arwen ordered a cot be brought and set up in front of the window and she placed the child there. While he slept, Arwen and Atheniel looked him over.
“They’re rather precious when they’re small like this,” Arwen observed and she reached down and touched his cheek. The child sighed in his sleep at the touch but did not stir. “Don’t you think?”
Atheniel straightened up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Atheniel’s hair was naturally a dirty, dishwater-blonde but she rinsed it regularly with lye so that it shone white-gold, which Arwen always thought was a more becoming shade on her.
“Indeed, m’lady,” Atheniel agreed, “Precious as peaches.”
Arwen felt something like pride go through her. “I’ve no idea what my brothers had planned for him, bringing him up here, but with him sleeping so peacefully I have half a mind to make him my little pet. That is, of course, if father were to approve. Which I don’t think he will.”
“The Master Elrond will decide what is best,” Atheniel replied neutrally then she dipped in curtsey and went to collect the washing.
Arwen reached down again and petted the child’s hair. Washing had only tamed it slightly. She wondered if it was always like this or if travelling with her brothers had made it so unruly. Then he twitched a little in his sleep and she wondered what he was dreaming. Of the journey perhaps? Or his mother? Sometimes Arwen dreamed of her mother…she suddenly felt very sad. It came upon her like this sometimes, grief and its dark twin loneliness. It always caught her unawares. One minute she’d be right as rain, then the memory of a lost loved one would ghost through her mind, catching her off guard. I’d love this the ghost would say or in this case I’d love him and Arwen would always unconsciously lament, I wish you were here.
“Have hope”, her mother had told her, on the last day they spoke. Have hope, she thought, then she looked down at the child and whispered, “Estel.”
She sighed quietly and blinked once then announced, “Atheniel, I think I’ll have a lie-down for a bit.” And Atheniel said, “Yes, m’lady.”
*
They passed a quiet week together. Her father was busy in the healing halls and she did not see her brothers. No one inquired after little Estel and no one brought her news of the woman. Without any interference they slowly began to slip into a routine.
In the mornings Estel woke first. He would sit up in his cot by the window and look across the room at the two women lying in their beds. Sometimes he would whimper a bit because neither was his mother.
Sometime later Atheniel would rise from her cot at the foot of Arwen’s bed. She would look up in the dark room and see the child staring at her. This always disturbed Atheniel, one because she did not like the staring, and two because she was accustomed to rising first and working silently and alone while her lady slept.
Estel would instantly animate when she awoke. He would want to eat or toddle about and sometimes he would cry and it was always so disorderly. Shortly before Arwen awoke he would fall asleep, without fail, and Atheniel would be cross because her lady’s clothes were not laid out and she never made it to the kitchen to fetch the morning tea.
Arwen would rise elegantly from bed, stretch her arms, then walk over to Estel’s cot and look him over. “Isn’t he such a perfect darling?” she would proclaim and Atheniel would turn her head and frown and agree brittlely, “Absolutely, m’lady.”
After tea and breakfast, Arwen would throw herself into her newest project: crafting a wardrobe for Estel. She thoroughly disapproved of the coarse woolen wrappings he arrived in and she was scandalized that her brothers brought him to Rivendell with only the one set. His mother - wherever she was - couldn’t have approved.
Arwen was always serious in her sewing. She drew up little sketches the first morning, while Estel slept, and that afternoon she carried him down to one of the storage rooms where all the bolts of fabric were kept. She spent a few hours picking out the very best colors and fabrics then she had Atheniel bring up the selection to her drawing room. By the end of the first day Estel had three tunics, two pairs of leggings, and a night dress.
“I’m not quite convinced of the cut of this frock,” Arwen mused one evening by the fire, dissatisfied. She picked up the piece and frowned and said, “And this collar will need to be embroidered, but I suppose it will have to do for now.”
Atheniel looked over Arwen’s shoulder and said plainly, “They grow rather fast I’ve heard, humans. So m’lady might not worry so much over the cut.”
Instead of frowning Arwen sat up straight and scolded, “Anything worth doing, Atheniel, is worth doing right and to the best of one’s abilities.” Atheniel pursed her lips and went quietly back to her mending. Sometimes Atheniel’s Sylvan slovenliness came out and she had to be reminded. Arwen smoothed out the collar on the frock and after a moment said lightly, “I imagine we won’t leave for Lorien until after Beltane. It’s been a while since we were in Imadris for summer. How about I make us matching gowns?”
Atheniel looked up, some of her coldness melting off. “That’d be nice and good, m’lady.”
“Excellent. We can dress little Estel to match us as well.”
Atheniel just looked back down at her mending.
*
“The little one and I are fast becoming friends,” Arwen answered her father proudly. They were in her drawing room and she sat up straight in her chair. The table was strewn with her sewing things - fabric and sheers, threads in multiple colors and needles in multiple sizes - but she’d cleared a small corner when her father arrived to call on her. At her feet was a large wicker basket filled with yarn and, behind the basket, just out of sight of Elrond, was Estel.
Clear light streamed through the large windows, illuminating the dust motes and causing the needles on the table to sparkle. It was midday but the hearth was lit; it was early spring and the rising of the sun did not always drive away the nighttime chill. Arwen had grown up with these daily vacillations between heat and cold, but she spent so much time in Lorien now - the land of perpetual summer - that even a slight dip in temperature was reason enough for her to have Atheniel throw on another log.
“And he has made great improvements since his arrival,” she continued, “although he does not speak. Do they speak at this age, humans?”
Elrond raised an eyebrow and asked neutrally, “He does not speak at all?”
“Not a word,” reported Arwen dutifully, not so much concerned by this fact as curious.
Elrond frowned at this. “I should like to examine him. I should have done it sooner but there were…difficulties with his mother.”
Arwen tensed. She pursed her lips and frowned. Beside her, little Estel stilled and tensed as well, sensing Arwen's mood. He slid closer to her and gripped the bottom of her skirts and pressed the fabric to his face. Absently Arwen reached down and placed a hand on his head. She did not know how much he understood and so was hesitant to discuss his mother in front of him. In truth she did not want to discuss his mother at all, that poor woman…
She eased gracefully around the topic. “I suppose you should want to take him now?”
“Well, yes,” said her father, “The sooner the better.” Then he moved to sweep Estel up. Before he came close to grabbing him Estel screamed, a sharp piercing wail, and Elrond flinched back.
“Oh, you frightened him!” Arwen exclaimed. She reached down, pried Estel from her legs and placed him on her lap. He immediately buried his face in her neck and sobbed. She patted him on his back and whispered to her father, “He has terrible frights.”
Elrond rubbed his chin and watched the scene, still frowning. “I’m not surprised,” he said, then after a moment of thought. “When he’s calmed down, bring him to my office.” Then he turned and glided quietly out of the room.
It took a terribly long time for Estel to calm down. Everytime she thought he was calm enough to leave the room he’d start back up. He’d cling to her powerfully as she carried him to the door, he’d scream bloody murder when they approached the threshold, then grip at the door frame so desperately his palms bled.
Finally out of desperation she carried him to her desk, dipped her fingers into a flagon of wine then stuck them in his mouth. Estel gasped at the taste then opened and closed his mouth curiously at the aftertaste. He looked like a fish. Arwen laughed a short tired laugh then she poured herself a glass of wine. The wine revived both of them and by the time she had finished her cup Estel was calm enough and sedate enough to be carried down the halls to her father’s offices.
*
Elrond was seated at his reading desk, pouring over a dusty tome when they entered his office. It was a sight Arwen was used to and it was always the very first image that popped up in her mind when she thought of her father. His dark hair pulled back from his face and tied in a practical knot at the nape of his neck, his long slightly roughed fingers tracing a soft paper page. Once, when she was young, she’d asked him why he chose to be an elf. She had just found out that he’d been able to choose. And he’d said, “I wanted to know everything. To learn everything. To have time to master it all. If I am honest, I still want that.”
Arwen had laughed at that; it seemed absurd that her father still had things to learn. “But, papa, you already know everything!”
“Not everything!” he’d countered with a laugh. “Far from everything!”
But that was long, long ago, before her mother passed, embarking on that final journey. Sometimes she wondered if she asked him the same question today, what would the answer be?
Elrond looked up when they entered. “You can set him right there,” he said lightly, pointing to a large, mostly empty table across the room. Arwen set Estel down. When Elrond walked over, Estel eyed him with something akin to a glare.
“Well, now,” said her father, “Let’s have a look at you.” As soon as he reached out though, Estel began another one of his fits. The violent wailing, the flailing of the arms - the words flew out of her mouth before she could even register what she’d said:
“Estel!” she scolded loudly, “We’ll have no more of this - this beastliness!” Estel paused in his wailing and looked at her, shocked that she had raised her voice. Arwen cleared her throat and said seriously, “This is my father. Do you understand that word? Ada? This is mine.” Estel looked warily at Elrond. “Now, he is going to examine you,” Arwen continued firmly, “and you will sit still and calm and be a perfect prince.”
Elrond held back a laugh. He could always trust his Arwen to take firm control of any situation. “I will be quick,” he promised and began his examination. He peered into the child’s eyes - they were a silvery gray and appeared to be properly dilating. He looked up his nose and into his mouth. Estel initially rebelled against having his mouth opened but a sharp word from Arwen caused him to relent and obey.
“His throat is red,” Elrond noted calmly as he poked at his gums, “but I suspect that’s from the screaming.”
Arwen tutted and shook her head disapprovingly from side to side. “Do you see, little one? This is what boorishness begets.” Estel looked down at the ground and clamped his mouth tightly shut.
Elrond wiped his hands and took a step back. “I’ll need him undressed. I suspect it’ll be best if you do it.”
Arwen began to undo the layers of new clothes. When she was done, Elrond looked Estel over then said clinically, “He has a rash and a bit of bruising, but it’s nothing a salve won’t cure.” He stood back while Arwen redressed him and said thoughtfully, “He ought to be saying at least a few words, but I suspect he’s suffering a temporary muteness from shock. Does he play?”
“A bit, yes. He likes yarn.”
“We’ll need to fashion him some proper toys,” Elrond said seriously. “A ball. Perhaps some building blocks. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”
Arwen looked up, surprised. She’d only had Estel for one week but despite that she never envisioned him leaving. And the whole week she’d had him in her custody, no one had checked on him save her own attendants. Unconsciously she’d been thoroughly convinced he was hers now.
“For how long?" she asked.
Elrond took the tinge of surprise in her voice to mean she was surprised he'd be staying. “I’m not sure,” he answered cautiously. “I'm still mulling things over but very likely until he is full grown.”
Arwen blinked back her surprise. Her father did not see it.
“We shall have a council meeting in another week's time to determine what is best,” Elrond continued. “I know you have been meaning to leave for Lothlorien, but daughter I would have you there.”
“Yes of course. I’lll stay as long as need be. Grandmother will understand.”
Elrond smiled, then asked seriously, “Are you fine with him in your rooms? I had thought to have him moved but the attendants said he was peaceful there and I did not think another separation so soon would be good for him.”
“We’ve been quite at home together,” Arwen assured. She began to smooth down Estel’s unruly mop of curls, a futile action, and continued fondly, “He really is a darling little gentleman when no one new is around. I’ve a cot for him near the balcony window. I think he likes looking up at the stars. I think it suits him. He shall be a grand astronomer one day.”
Elrond frowned. “Has no one told you about him?”
“What about him?”
Elrond stood up straighter. “We will discuss the matter in depth at the council so I will be succinct. He is a Dúnedain child.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, unsurprised. “I suspected as such. He looks just like the ones I’ve seen. The silver eyes and curly hair give it away.”
“Yes, yes,” said Elrond, “but not an ordinary child. This is the chieftain's son. His heir. His father met his demise some weeks back. Your brothers were to go to their encampment and protect it, but it was attacked before they arrived, and he and his mother were brought here instead.” Elrond paused to frown. He touched his chin and mused, “It’s very irregular. Ideally he should be raised among his own until adulthood then come here to train - but ah! that is a thought for another time.”
Arwen hummed in thought. Then she looked down at Estel and smiled. “So he is a little prince then. The Dúnedain have long had claim to some great kingdoms - perhaps he shall be a great king of Men one day.” Arwen glowed briefly with the thought. She would see to it that he became a perfect king - well-spoken, well-educated, poised. Not quarrelsome and beastly like most Men tended to be. All the knowledge her mother gave her she would pour into him and she would see to it that he grew to be as fine as any elf lord.
“We will see,” Elrond said cautiously. “For now treat him as you would any child.”
Arwen looked at her father and tilted her head. “I don't know any children.”
Elrond smiled at her sadly. “Treat him then,” he said gently, “As your mother and I would treat you.”
Arwen smiled back, though it was pained. “Very well,” she said carefully, then she lifted Estel and said cheerfully, “Come, Estel! You have done well with your examination so as a reward we shall have a turn about the garden before luncheon.”
“Estel?” Elrond asked curiously.
“No one told me his name,” Arwen answered lightly, “It's what I've been calling him.”
Elrond hummed, “It suits him.”
“Doesn't it?”
Elrond looked like he might say more, but he just shook his head instead and said simply, “I will join you for lunch. We've some matters to discuss and besides it would do well for him to get used to me.”
“Of course,” said Arwen then she kissed Estel on the head and strolled out the door.
CHALLENGE: Delay
SUMMARY: Aragorn and Arwen meet much earlier than perhaps fate would have it.
CHARACTERS: Arwen, child!Aragorn, Elrond, OC
WARNING: None
RATING: G
She’d meant to leave earlier, weeks ago, had felt something like fate pricking at her to go, but she dallied instead. There was no real reason for it. The weather was perfect. The passage over the mountains, clear. Her retinue was prepped and ready. Like every time before she was anxious to be gone. But…but something was happening; she could feel it. Something was coming.
Arwen was at the stables when the ‘something’ arrived. She paused in brushing her horse’s mane when she heard the crash of hooves and the rise of frenzied voices in the courtyard. Beside her Roheryn whinnied in complaint. Arwen hushed her, patted her nose, then gathered her skirts and strode out of the stables and into the main courtyard.
“What’s this?” she demanded as she came upon the confusion. Above the heads of the attendant elves she saw Elladan swing down from his horse. She frowned when she noticed the woman slung over his saddle. She frowned deeper when Elladan reached up and slung the woman over his shoulder like a sack.
The attendants parted like a sea at Arwen’s arrival and she strode purposefully up to her brothers. “Who is this woman? What is happening?” she asked sharply. Arwen usually maintained a calm, serene front and she rarely raised her voice, but the sight and the state of the woman unnerved her. She could never stand to see or hear of women harmed, it reminded her too much of - not now.
“Call for father,” Elladan bellowed. It wasn’t a response for her. “Ready a bed in the healing hall! Sister - move!”
Arwen balled her fists as Elladan pushed past her. She moved to follow after him, furious, but was stayed by a gentle touch on her elbow.
“Could you hold him?” came Elrohir’s quiet, calm voice. Arwen turned in question and Elrohir placed him in her arms before she could answer. Then he hurried off in a quick and quiet rush, calling for their father.
Elladan and most of the attendants hurried off with him. In their absence, the cool quietness of before returned to the courtyard. She looked down at the child in her arms. She was a poor judge of human’s ages, but even she could tell this one was quite young, barely out of babyhood. The child just looked back at her blankly, red-faced and runny-nosed. He might have cried if he had the energy to but he just crumpled his face and whimpered silently instead.
“Now, now,” Arwen soothed. Her anger at Elladan quickly evaporated and was replaced with a soft concern. Arwen looked up at the two remaining attendants. There was Atheniel, her handmaiden, and one of her guards. Atheniel was looking at her expectantly and wringing her hands in that nervous way she had. She tried to think what her mother would do in this situation. It came to her easily, as if Celebrian had whispered it in her ear.
She dismissed the guard then said to Atheniel, “Run to my rooms and ready a bath, a small one, then tell the kitchen to bring up a warm glass of milk when they send up tea. We’ll be in the stables in the meanwhile.”
Atheniel nodded then scurried off. Arwen looked back down at the child in her arms. She tried to recall the last time she had seen one, but it was too long ago. Even her memories of elf-children were dim. He stared back at her with equal curiosity. He had gray eyes, a few shades off from her own, brown skin, and a mess of dark curling hair.
“My name is Arwen,” she said perfunctorily, “I am the daughter of Elrond, the master of this house, whom I’m sure you’ll meet in due time. What is your name?”
The child said nothing, just pursed his lips tightly together and frowned.
Arwen hummed in response to this silence before pulling out her handkerchief and wiping his face. She raised an eyebrow at the dirt left behind on the cloth, then presently ignored it and said confidently as she carried him to the stables, “Worry not, little one, we will have you settled and squared away in an instant.” The child just looked at her dubiously. “In the meanwhile I shall show you my dearest friend. She’s a very fine lady and you will love her. Here, she is - my Roheryn.”
The child did not love Roheryn; he burst into loud tortured tears and soon as the horse came into view. The wailing disturbed Roheryn and she began to make her own noises of displeasure. It was a terrible scene; Arwen was surprised the guard did not come running back at the sound.
Arwen tried to soothe the child, to convince him that Roheryn was a fine and well-mannered horse, as good and as gentle as any noble lady - nothing at all like the brutish and brash stallions of her brothers - but the child was too young to see reason. He pressed his face into Arwen’s shoulder and sobbed and ignored her and the horse.
Arwen was saved from the madness when Atheniel appeared in the doorway, letting her know the room was ready.
*
A bath and cup of warm milk seemed to do the child good and he fell asleep not long after. Arwen ordered a cot be brought and set up in front of the window and she placed the child there. While he slept, Arwen and Atheniel looked him over.
“They’re rather precious when they’re small like this,” Arwen observed and she reached down and touched his cheek. The child sighed in his sleep at the touch but did not stir. “Don’t you think?”
Atheniel straightened up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Atheniel’s hair was naturally a dirty, dishwater-blonde but she rinsed it regularly with lye so that it shone white-gold, which Arwen always thought was a more becoming shade on her.
“Indeed, m’lady,” Atheniel agreed, “Precious as peaches.”
Arwen felt something like pride go through her. “I’ve no idea what my brothers had planned for him, bringing him up here, but with him sleeping so peacefully I have half a mind to make him my little pet. That is, of course, if father were to approve. Which I don’t think he will.”
“The Master Elrond will decide what is best,” Atheniel replied neutrally then she dipped in curtsey and went to collect the washing.
Arwen reached down again and petted the child’s hair. Washing had only tamed it slightly. She wondered if it was always like this or if travelling with her brothers had made it so unruly. Then he twitched a little in his sleep and she wondered what he was dreaming. Of the journey perhaps? Or his mother? Sometimes Arwen dreamed of her mother…she suddenly felt very sad. It came upon her like this sometimes, grief and its dark twin loneliness. It always caught her unawares. One minute she’d be right as rain, then the memory of a lost loved one would ghost through her mind, catching her off guard. I’d love this the ghost would say or in this case I’d love him and Arwen would always unconsciously lament, I wish you were here.
“Have hope”, her mother had told her, on the last day they spoke. Have hope, she thought, then she looked down at the child and whispered, “Estel.”
She sighed quietly and blinked once then announced, “Atheniel, I think I’ll have a lie-down for a bit.” And Atheniel said, “Yes, m’lady.”
*
They passed a quiet week together. Her father was busy in the healing halls and she did not see her brothers. No one inquired after little Estel and no one brought her news of the woman. Without any interference they slowly began to slip into a routine.
In the mornings Estel woke first. He would sit up in his cot by the window and look across the room at the two women lying in their beds. Sometimes he would whimper a bit because neither was his mother.
Sometime later Atheniel would rise from her cot at the foot of Arwen’s bed. She would look up in the dark room and see the child staring at her. This always disturbed Atheniel, one because she did not like the staring, and two because she was accustomed to rising first and working silently and alone while her lady slept.
Estel would instantly animate when she awoke. He would want to eat or toddle about and sometimes he would cry and it was always so disorderly. Shortly before Arwen awoke he would fall asleep, without fail, and Atheniel would be cross because her lady’s clothes were not laid out and she never made it to the kitchen to fetch the morning tea.
Arwen would rise elegantly from bed, stretch her arms, then walk over to Estel’s cot and look him over. “Isn’t he such a perfect darling?” she would proclaim and Atheniel would turn her head and frown and agree brittlely, “Absolutely, m’lady.”
After tea and breakfast, Arwen would throw herself into her newest project: crafting a wardrobe for Estel. She thoroughly disapproved of the coarse woolen wrappings he arrived in and she was scandalized that her brothers brought him to Rivendell with only the one set. His mother - wherever she was - couldn’t have approved.
Arwen was always serious in her sewing. She drew up little sketches the first morning, while Estel slept, and that afternoon she carried him down to one of the storage rooms where all the bolts of fabric were kept. She spent a few hours picking out the very best colors and fabrics then she had Atheniel bring up the selection to her drawing room. By the end of the first day Estel had three tunics, two pairs of leggings, and a night dress.
“I’m not quite convinced of the cut of this frock,” Arwen mused one evening by the fire, dissatisfied. She picked up the piece and frowned and said, “And this collar will need to be embroidered, but I suppose it will have to do for now.”
Atheniel looked over Arwen’s shoulder and said plainly, “They grow rather fast I’ve heard, humans. So m’lady might not worry so much over the cut.”
Instead of frowning Arwen sat up straight and scolded, “Anything worth doing, Atheniel, is worth doing right and to the best of one’s abilities.” Atheniel pursed her lips and went quietly back to her mending. Sometimes Atheniel’s Sylvan slovenliness came out and she had to be reminded. Arwen smoothed out the collar on the frock and after a moment said lightly, “I imagine we won’t leave for Lorien until after Beltane. It’s been a while since we were in Imadris for summer. How about I make us matching gowns?”
Atheniel looked up, some of her coldness melting off. “That’d be nice and good, m’lady.”
“Excellent. We can dress little Estel to match us as well.”
Atheniel just looked back down at her mending.
*
“The little one and I are fast becoming friends,” Arwen answered her father proudly. They were in her drawing room and she sat up straight in her chair. The table was strewn with her sewing things - fabric and sheers, threads in multiple colors and needles in multiple sizes - but she’d cleared a small corner when her father arrived to call on her. At her feet was a large wicker basket filled with yarn and, behind the basket, just out of sight of Elrond, was Estel.
Clear light streamed through the large windows, illuminating the dust motes and causing the needles on the table to sparkle. It was midday but the hearth was lit; it was early spring and the rising of the sun did not always drive away the nighttime chill. Arwen had grown up with these daily vacillations between heat and cold, but she spent so much time in Lorien now - the land of perpetual summer - that even a slight dip in temperature was reason enough for her to have Atheniel throw on another log.
“And he has made great improvements since his arrival,” she continued, “although he does not speak. Do they speak at this age, humans?”
Elrond raised an eyebrow and asked neutrally, “He does not speak at all?”
“Not a word,” reported Arwen dutifully, not so much concerned by this fact as curious.
Elrond frowned at this. “I should like to examine him. I should have done it sooner but there were…difficulties with his mother.”
Arwen tensed. She pursed her lips and frowned. Beside her, little Estel stilled and tensed as well, sensing Arwen's mood. He slid closer to her and gripped the bottom of her skirts and pressed the fabric to his face. Absently Arwen reached down and placed a hand on his head. She did not know how much he understood and so was hesitant to discuss his mother in front of him. In truth she did not want to discuss his mother at all, that poor woman…
She eased gracefully around the topic. “I suppose you should want to take him now?”
“Well, yes,” said her father, “The sooner the better.” Then he moved to sweep Estel up. Before he came close to grabbing him Estel screamed, a sharp piercing wail, and Elrond flinched back.
“Oh, you frightened him!” Arwen exclaimed. She reached down, pried Estel from her legs and placed him on her lap. He immediately buried his face in her neck and sobbed. She patted him on his back and whispered to her father, “He has terrible frights.”
Elrond rubbed his chin and watched the scene, still frowning. “I’m not surprised,” he said, then after a moment of thought. “When he’s calmed down, bring him to my office.” Then he turned and glided quietly out of the room.
It took a terribly long time for Estel to calm down. Everytime she thought he was calm enough to leave the room he’d start back up. He’d cling to her powerfully as she carried him to the door, he’d scream bloody murder when they approached the threshold, then grip at the door frame so desperately his palms bled.
Finally out of desperation she carried him to her desk, dipped her fingers into a flagon of wine then stuck them in his mouth. Estel gasped at the taste then opened and closed his mouth curiously at the aftertaste. He looked like a fish. Arwen laughed a short tired laugh then she poured herself a glass of wine. The wine revived both of them and by the time she had finished her cup Estel was calm enough and sedate enough to be carried down the halls to her father’s offices.
*
Elrond was seated at his reading desk, pouring over a dusty tome when they entered his office. It was a sight Arwen was used to and it was always the very first image that popped up in her mind when she thought of her father. His dark hair pulled back from his face and tied in a practical knot at the nape of his neck, his long slightly roughed fingers tracing a soft paper page. Once, when she was young, she’d asked him why he chose to be an elf. She had just found out that he’d been able to choose. And he’d said, “I wanted to know everything. To learn everything. To have time to master it all. If I am honest, I still want that.”
Arwen had laughed at that; it seemed absurd that her father still had things to learn. “But, papa, you already know everything!”
“Not everything!” he’d countered with a laugh. “Far from everything!”
But that was long, long ago, before her mother passed, embarking on that final journey. Sometimes she wondered if she asked him the same question today, what would the answer be?
Elrond looked up when they entered. “You can set him right there,” he said lightly, pointing to a large, mostly empty table across the room. Arwen set Estel down. When Elrond walked over, Estel eyed him with something akin to a glare.
“Well, now,” said her father, “Let’s have a look at you.” As soon as he reached out though, Estel began another one of his fits. The violent wailing, the flailing of the arms - the words flew out of her mouth before she could even register what she’d said:
“Estel!” she scolded loudly, “We’ll have no more of this - this beastliness!” Estel paused in his wailing and looked at her, shocked that she had raised her voice. Arwen cleared her throat and said seriously, “This is my father. Do you understand that word? Ada? This is mine.” Estel looked warily at Elrond. “Now, he is going to examine you,” Arwen continued firmly, “and you will sit still and calm and be a perfect prince.”
Elrond held back a laugh. He could always trust his Arwen to take firm control of any situation. “I will be quick,” he promised and began his examination. He peered into the child’s eyes - they were a silvery gray and appeared to be properly dilating. He looked up his nose and into his mouth. Estel initially rebelled against having his mouth opened but a sharp word from Arwen caused him to relent and obey.
“His throat is red,” Elrond noted calmly as he poked at his gums, “but I suspect that’s from the screaming.”
Arwen tutted and shook her head disapprovingly from side to side. “Do you see, little one? This is what boorishness begets.” Estel looked down at the ground and clamped his mouth tightly shut.
Elrond wiped his hands and took a step back. “I’ll need him undressed. I suspect it’ll be best if you do it.”
Arwen began to undo the layers of new clothes. When she was done, Elrond looked Estel over then said clinically, “He has a rash and a bit of bruising, but it’s nothing a salve won’t cure.” He stood back while Arwen redressed him and said thoughtfully, “He ought to be saying at least a few words, but I suspect he’s suffering a temporary muteness from shock. Does he play?”
“A bit, yes. He likes yarn.”
“We’ll need to fashion him some proper toys,” Elrond said seriously. “A ball. Perhaps some building blocks. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”
Arwen looked up, surprised. She’d only had Estel for one week but despite that she never envisioned him leaving. And the whole week she’d had him in her custody, no one had checked on him save her own attendants. Unconsciously she’d been thoroughly convinced he was hers now.
“For how long?" she asked.
Elrond took the tinge of surprise in her voice to mean she was surprised he'd be staying. “I’m not sure,” he answered cautiously. “I'm still mulling things over but very likely until he is full grown.”
Arwen blinked back her surprise. Her father did not see it.
“We shall have a council meeting in another week's time to determine what is best,” Elrond continued. “I know you have been meaning to leave for Lothlorien, but daughter I would have you there.”
“Yes of course. I’lll stay as long as need be. Grandmother will understand.”
Elrond smiled, then asked seriously, “Are you fine with him in your rooms? I had thought to have him moved but the attendants said he was peaceful there and I did not think another separation so soon would be good for him.”
“We’ve been quite at home together,” Arwen assured. She began to smooth down Estel’s unruly mop of curls, a futile action, and continued fondly, “He really is a darling little gentleman when no one new is around. I’ve a cot for him near the balcony window. I think he likes looking up at the stars. I think it suits him. He shall be a grand astronomer one day.”
Elrond frowned. “Has no one told you about him?”
“What about him?”
Elrond stood up straighter. “We will discuss the matter in depth at the council so I will be succinct. He is a Dúnedain child.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, unsurprised. “I suspected as such. He looks just like the ones I’ve seen. The silver eyes and curly hair give it away.”
“Yes, yes,” said Elrond, “but not an ordinary child. This is the chieftain's son. His heir. His father met his demise some weeks back. Your brothers were to go to their encampment and protect it, but it was attacked before they arrived, and he and his mother were brought here instead.” Elrond paused to frown. He touched his chin and mused, “It’s very irregular. Ideally he should be raised among his own until adulthood then come here to train - but ah! that is a thought for another time.”
Arwen hummed in thought. Then she looked down at Estel and smiled. “So he is a little prince then. The Dúnedain have long had claim to some great kingdoms - perhaps he shall be a great king of Men one day.” Arwen glowed briefly with the thought. She would see to it that he became a perfect king - well-spoken, well-educated, poised. Not quarrelsome and beastly like most Men tended to be. All the knowledge her mother gave her she would pour into him and she would see to it that he grew to be as fine as any elf lord.
“We will see,” Elrond said cautiously. “For now treat him as you would any child.”
Arwen looked at her father and tilted her head. “I don't know any children.”
Elrond smiled at her sadly. “Treat him then,” he said gently, “As your mother and I would treat you.”
Arwen smiled back, though it was pained. “Very well,” she said carefully, then she lifted Estel and said cheerfully, “Come, Estel! You have done well with your examination so as a reward we shall have a turn about the garden before luncheon.”
“Estel?” Elrond asked curiously.
“No one told me his name,” Arwen answered lightly, “It's what I've been calling him.”
Elrond hummed, “It suits him.”
“Doesn't it?”
Elrond looked like he might say more, but he just shook his head instead and said simply, “I will join you for lunch. We've some matters to discuss and besides it would do well for him to get used to me.”
“Of course,” said Arwen then she kissed Estel on the head and strolled out the door.