Post by Admin on Jan 9, 2021 2:05:39 GMT
Author: TheDreamer
Rating: K+
It was silent, even though the moans and cries of the wounded and tears of the grieving ones cut through the air. Orcs had managed to find this Ranger camp: a camp with both men, women and children.
Elrohir of Rivendell bitterly cleaned his sword stained with the black blood. The orcs’ numbers were growing for each year, while the numbers of the Rangers were quickly sinking. He knew he should do something to help right now: count the men, bury the dead, heal the wounded. Elrohir’s father was after all the most cunning healer in Arda. But… Right now he was just too deep into his blood thirst and hunger for revenge. Revenge for what the orcs had done to his mother all those years ago.
Elrohir set his jaw and set off to find his brother. He hadn’t seen him since the fight had started, and even though he didn’t doubt Elladan’s abilities to fight, worry started to grow. He quickly fought it down: being hysterical around the humans could bring bad rumours about the elves, of course.
And after he found his brother, he would find his human friend Arathorn. With that thought a smile tugged at Elrohir’s lips. He hadn’t seen the Chieftain of the Dunedain since… How many years was it now? Three, four, five? He shrugged it off and looked around him with narrow eyes. Oh well. Maybe Arathorn would remember.
A child’s cry was heard. Normally it would not have bothered Elrohir, for there were many woman with their children among the Dunadan. But this child’s small sobs were coming from a different direction, and too soft for human ears to hear. With a small sigh the son of Elrond turned around and followed the child’s voice. It brought him away from the ranger’s new camp, to the area of the forest where bodies still littered the ground. Despite himself and his worry for his friend and brother Elrohir felt pity well up in his chest. Surely there was not a lone child here?
As he entered a clearing in the woods he momentarily forgot all about the child he searched for. There, laying along with bodies of orcs and men, was Arathorn.
“No…” Elrohir breathed and felt himself rush forward and drop to his knees. He reached out a hand to feel Arathorn’s pulse, but stopped. He already knew the answer, but simply not grasping the truth. Somehow, a lucky orc had managed to shoot the mighty warrior straight in the chest. The black arrowed dripped of poison and Arathorn’s silver eyes stared blindly up in the sky. “Arathorn”, Elrohir murmured and dropped his head in grief. No matter how many battles he fought or how many men he saw die, he would never be used to his friends dying. Yet another reason to slaughter as many orcs as possible, Elrohir thought bitterly.
But there was so much more than Elrohir and Elladan loosing a friend! The ranger’s would stand without a leader, ay Eru, the line of Isildur was broken! Whatever would they do now? But now Elrohir was only selfish. What would happen to Gilraen, Arathorn’s charming wife?
He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. The poor young woman would be a widow, forced to from now on live a lonely and painful life, forever reminded of the man she had lost. Oh, if the elven twins had arrived sooner!
“Mister Elf, sir?” a small voice whispered and Elrohir’s head shot up. His eyes met exact copies of Arathorn’s silver eyes and the elf forced himself to not fall backwards in shock. He blinked carefully. A small child who couldn’t have been more than three years old looked at him with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Can you help him?” he asked softly and Elrohir could only stare. Valar, this child looked like Arathorn. Same black, curly hair and silver eyes, same straight nose and jaw..
“Can you help my Adar?”
Elrohir froze and forgot to breath. Had the child truly said that? “Your… adar?” he finally choked out and the boy trembled.
“Yes”, he whimpered and looked up at the elf with big, watery eyes. “Can you help him?”
“I…” Suddenly Elrohir was at loss for words. How would he explain to a child that his father was dead? And here Elrohir was known for being the more diplomatic and poetic of the two brothers. Bit since his mother had left for Valinor there had been little time for anything else than orc-hunting. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the boy. “No, little one”, he begun softly, with what he hoped was a soothing voice. “I fear that your father is beyond my reach. He has gone to the Halls of Mandos to join his own parents and old friends. But don’t worry: he’s still here and will be watching over you all the time!”
The boy’s eyes darkened and Elrohir winced. So much for being soothing. Of course the old saying about ‘going to a better place’ thing didn’t work.
“So he is dead, then?” the boy asked and bowed his head.
Elrohir hesitated again. Then, without answering, he spread out his arms. “Come here, little one”, he murmured. The boy didn’t have to be told twice. He leaped into the elf’s arms and cried out his little heart into Elrohir’s chest, while the elf’s awkward feeling slowly melted away and he hugged the boy tightly. It pained him that the small boy would have to now the cruelty of the word at such a young age.
“I know how it feels to loose someone you love, little one”, he breathed in the boys hair. As expected he received no answer, and for a long time they sat together in the woods.
“Elrohir!” a voice shouted and said elf looked up. Elladan was rushing towards them with a relieved expression on his face. “Eru, don’t run away like that, gwador nin! I thought I…”
Elladan’s voice trailed off and Elrohir knew his brother had seen Arathorn.
“Elbereth…”
Elladan sank to his knees on the other side of Arathorn’s body and bowed his head in grief. His breath came out through clenched teeth and Elrohir saw his brother’s hand grip his sword fiercely.
When he finally looked up Elladan’s eyes were dry and burned with the same thirst of revenge as ever. Elrohir shook his head slightly: not now. He looked down at the small form in his arms and Elladan blinked.
“Who is your little friend?” he asked with raw voice.
Elrohir looked down at the boy. “What’s your name?” he wondered quietly.
“…Aragorn”, the boy sniffed and buried himself in Elrohir’s shirt.
“I’m Elrohir, and this is my brother Elladan”, he replied with a small smile, embarrassed that he had not presented himself yet. He stood up and motioned to Elladan to follow him. They had to get Aragorn away from his father’s body. They would have time for Arathorn later. The living was needed right now. Aragorn looked from one brother to another and frowned.
“You look the same”, he declared with almost scolding voice and to Elrohir’s surprise it tore a laugh from his lips. He laughed for the child’s simple statement: it had been so long since someone had had time to point it out. Elladan looked at him in bewildered for it had been years since any of them had laughed a carefree laugh. Soon Elladan joined the laughing, leaving poor Aragorn completely confused.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+
They found Aragorn’s mother, lady Gilraen, in the Ranger’s camp. She had been close to hysterical, and when they returned with her son she had hugged him closely to her chest as thought he would disappear if she let go. Then there came a bunch of other problems. Dark powers were rising in South, the forces of Mordor waking. And if Isildur’s heir was alive in the North, Sauron would be determined to kill him.
Let him think he has succeeded, was Elladan’s sharp words. The orcs might leave the ranger’s alone if they think they have nothing to fear from the Dunedain.
They didn’t have much time. A decision had been reached quickly: take the boy to Rivendell and ask Lord Elrond for guidance. Imladris had long been a place for Dunedain to learn in: the boy could be protected there.
Elrohir walked to his horse. It was already time to go, even though Arathorn’s death lay heavy on his heart. But when he reached the horses, there was already another one there.
Lady Gilraen.
“Milady”, Elrohir said, bowing swiftly in respect. “Please, step aside. We have to ride to Rivendell as soon as-“
“Aye”, the young woman interrupted neatly. “We will.” Too late did Elrohir see the small backpack slung over Gilraen’s shoulder and the way she held her son: she was not going to let him go.
“Milady, you cannot…”
“Do not tell me to stay here”, Gilraen warned with gleaming eyes. “My husband has been taken from me, that I can bear. But do you wish Aragorn to lose both his parents? Do you really wish him to be alone?”
“He wouldn’t be alone”, Elrohir murmured and looked away.
Gilraen’s gaze softened slightly. “Nevertheless, I come with you, or I stay here with Aragorn. For he is hope, and hope should grow up with at least one human around.”
Elrohir opened his mouth to disagree again, but now he was interrupted by another one.
“Let it be, brother”, Elladan said and clapped his shoulder. “I believe it would be befitting if she come along. And by the way”, he added in a whisper and leaned in closer, “I would like to see Erestor’s face when another little rascal enters the house.”
With a wicked wink Elladan jumped up at the horse and Elrohir was left staring.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Gilraen asked calmly, holding her son in one arm and the horse with the other. She looked down at Aragorn with such love and hope in her eyes that Elrohir immediately knew the name he would call the little boy.
“And so we bring home Hope to Imladris.”
Rating: K+
It was silent, even though the moans and cries of the wounded and tears of the grieving ones cut through the air. Orcs had managed to find this Ranger camp: a camp with both men, women and children.
Elrohir of Rivendell bitterly cleaned his sword stained with the black blood. The orcs’ numbers were growing for each year, while the numbers of the Rangers were quickly sinking. He knew he should do something to help right now: count the men, bury the dead, heal the wounded. Elrohir’s father was after all the most cunning healer in Arda. But… Right now he was just too deep into his blood thirst and hunger for revenge. Revenge for what the orcs had done to his mother all those years ago.
Elrohir set his jaw and set off to find his brother. He hadn’t seen him since the fight had started, and even though he didn’t doubt Elladan’s abilities to fight, worry started to grow. He quickly fought it down: being hysterical around the humans could bring bad rumours about the elves, of course.
And after he found his brother, he would find his human friend Arathorn. With that thought a smile tugged at Elrohir’s lips. He hadn’t seen the Chieftain of the Dunedain since… How many years was it now? Three, four, five? He shrugged it off and looked around him with narrow eyes. Oh well. Maybe Arathorn would remember.
A child’s cry was heard. Normally it would not have bothered Elrohir, for there were many woman with their children among the Dunadan. But this child’s small sobs were coming from a different direction, and too soft for human ears to hear. With a small sigh the son of Elrond turned around and followed the child’s voice. It brought him away from the ranger’s new camp, to the area of the forest where bodies still littered the ground. Despite himself and his worry for his friend and brother Elrohir felt pity well up in his chest. Surely there was not a lone child here?
As he entered a clearing in the woods he momentarily forgot all about the child he searched for. There, laying along with bodies of orcs and men, was Arathorn.
“No…” Elrohir breathed and felt himself rush forward and drop to his knees. He reached out a hand to feel Arathorn’s pulse, but stopped. He already knew the answer, but simply not grasping the truth. Somehow, a lucky orc had managed to shoot the mighty warrior straight in the chest. The black arrowed dripped of poison and Arathorn’s silver eyes stared blindly up in the sky. “Arathorn”, Elrohir murmured and dropped his head in grief. No matter how many battles he fought or how many men he saw die, he would never be used to his friends dying. Yet another reason to slaughter as many orcs as possible, Elrohir thought bitterly.
But there was so much more than Elrohir and Elladan loosing a friend! The ranger’s would stand without a leader, ay Eru, the line of Isildur was broken! Whatever would they do now? But now Elrohir was only selfish. What would happen to Gilraen, Arathorn’s charming wife?
He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. The poor young woman would be a widow, forced to from now on live a lonely and painful life, forever reminded of the man she had lost. Oh, if the elven twins had arrived sooner!
“Mister Elf, sir?” a small voice whispered and Elrohir’s head shot up. His eyes met exact copies of Arathorn’s silver eyes and the elf forced himself to not fall backwards in shock. He blinked carefully. A small child who couldn’t have been more than three years old looked at him with tears streaming down his cheeks. “Can you help him?” he asked softly and Elrohir could only stare. Valar, this child looked like Arathorn. Same black, curly hair and silver eyes, same straight nose and jaw..
“Can you help my Adar?”
Elrohir froze and forgot to breath. Had the child truly said that? “Your… adar?” he finally choked out and the boy trembled.
“Yes”, he whimpered and looked up at the elf with big, watery eyes. “Can you help him?”
“I…” Suddenly Elrohir was at loss for words. How would he explain to a child that his father was dead? And here Elrohir was known for being the more diplomatic and poetic of the two brothers. Bit since his mother had left for Valinor there had been little time for anything else than orc-hunting. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the boy. “No, little one”, he begun softly, with what he hoped was a soothing voice. “I fear that your father is beyond my reach. He has gone to the Halls of Mandos to join his own parents and old friends. But don’t worry: he’s still here and will be watching over you all the time!”
The boy’s eyes darkened and Elrohir winced. So much for being soothing. Of course the old saying about ‘going to a better place’ thing didn’t work.
“So he is dead, then?” the boy asked and bowed his head.
Elrohir hesitated again. Then, without answering, he spread out his arms. “Come here, little one”, he murmured. The boy didn’t have to be told twice. He leaped into the elf’s arms and cried out his little heart into Elrohir’s chest, while the elf’s awkward feeling slowly melted away and he hugged the boy tightly. It pained him that the small boy would have to now the cruelty of the word at such a young age.
“I know how it feels to loose someone you love, little one”, he breathed in the boys hair. As expected he received no answer, and for a long time they sat together in the woods.
“Elrohir!” a voice shouted and said elf looked up. Elladan was rushing towards them with a relieved expression on his face. “Eru, don’t run away like that, gwador nin! I thought I…”
Elladan’s voice trailed off and Elrohir knew his brother had seen Arathorn.
“Elbereth…”
Elladan sank to his knees on the other side of Arathorn’s body and bowed his head in grief. His breath came out through clenched teeth and Elrohir saw his brother’s hand grip his sword fiercely.
When he finally looked up Elladan’s eyes were dry and burned with the same thirst of revenge as ever. Elrohir shook his head slightly: not now. He looked down at the small form in his arms and Elladan blinked.
“Who is your little friend?” he asked with raw voice.
Elrohir looked down at the boy. “What’s your name?” he wondered quietly.
“…Aragorn”, the boy sniffed and buried himself in Elrohir’s shirt.
“I’m Elrohir, and this is my brother Elladan”, he replied with a small smile, embarrassed that he had not presented himself yet. He stood up and motioned to Elladan to follow him. They had to get Aragorn away from his father’s body. They would have time for Arathorn later. The living was needed right now. Aragorn looked from one brother to another and frowned.
“You look the same”, he declared with almost scolding voice and to Elrohir’s surprise it tore a laugh from his lips. He laughed for the child’s simple statement: it had been so long since someone had had time to point it out. Elladan looked at him in bewildered for it had been years since any of them had laughed a carefree laugh. Soon Elladan joined the laughing, leaving poor Aragorn completely confused.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+
They found Aragorn’s mother, lady Gilraen, in the Ranger’s camp. She had been close to hysterical, and when they returned with her son she had hugged him closely to her chest as thought he would disappear if she let go. Then there came a bunch of other problems. Dark powers were rising in South, the forces of Mordor waking. And if Isildur’s heir was alive in the North, Sauron would be determined to kill him.
Let him think he has succeeded, was Elladan’s sharp words. The orcs might leave the ranger’s alone if they think they have nothing to fear from the Dunedain.
They didn’t have much time. A decision had been reached quickly: take the boy to Rivendell and ask Lord Elrond for guidance. Imladris had long been a place for Dunedain to learn in: the boy could be protected there.
Elrohir walked to his horse. It was already time to go, even though Arathorn’s death lay heavy on his heart. But when he reached the horses, there was already another one there.
Lady Gilraen.
“Milady”, Elrohir said, bowing swiftly in respect. “Please, step aside. We have to ride to Rivendell as soon as-“
“Aye”, the young woman interrupted neatly. “We will.” Too late did Elrohir see the small backpack slung over Gilraen’s shoulder and the way she held her son: she was not going to let him go.
“Milady, you cannot…”
“Do not tell me to stay here”, Gilraen warned with gleaming eyes. “My husband has been taken from me, that I can bear. But do you wish Aragorn to lose both his parents? Do you really wish him to be alone?”
“He wouldn’t be alone”, Elrohir murmured and looked away.
Gilraen’s gaze softened slightly. “Nevertheless, I come with you, or I stay here with Aragorn. For he is hope, and hope should grow up with at least one human around.”
Elrohir opened his mouth to disagree again, but now he was interrupted by another one.
“Let it be, brother”, Elladan said and clapped his shoulder. “I believe it would be befitting if she come along. And by the way”, he added in a whisper and leaned in closer, “I would like to see Erestor’s face when another little rascal enters the house.”
With a wicked wink Elladan jumped up at the horse and Elrohir was left staring.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Gilraen asked calmly, holding her son in one arm and the horse with the other. She looked down at Aragorn with such love and hope in her eyes that Elrohir immediately knew the name he would call the little boy.
“And so we bring home Hope to Imladris.”