Son of Arathorn
Elrond had survived sieges, councils, prophecies, and at least two feasts where Thranduil’s wine was “experimental.” Yet none of those trials... none... had prepared him for a four-year-old Aragorn son of Arathorn, who had just declared himself King of the Elves, clad in a blanket, one boot, and Elrohir’s circlet (pilfered during nap time).
“I command thee to give me honeycakes!” Estel bellowed from atop a garden bench, brandishing a wooden sword with all the gravitas of a muddy squirrel.
“You already had three,” Elrond replied, calm as stone. “And also half a jar of strawberry jam. Which you are currently wearing as war paint.”
Estel blinked. “Warriors need fuel.”
“You smeared it into your eyebrows.”
“Battle brows,” Estel corrected, proudly pointing to his sticky face. “For intimidation.”
From the colonnade, Gilraen laughed softly, one hand pressed to her lips. Her eyes never left her son, every gesture, every shout, every gloriously undignified tumble off the bench (which Estel recovered from by yelling, “I meant to roll!”).
Elrond offered her a look of long-suffering amusement as he gently wiped jam from his robes.
“I command thee to give me honeycakes!” Estel bellowed from atop a garden bench, brandishing a wooden sword with all the gravitas of a muddy squirrel.
“You already had three,” Elrond replied, calm as stone. “And also half a jar of strawberry jam. Which you are currently wearing as war paint.”
Estel blinked. “Warriors need fuel.”
“You smeared it into your eyebrows.”
“Battle brows,” Estel corrected, proudly pointing to his sticky face. “For intimidation.”
From the colonnade, Gilraen laughed softly, one hand pressed to her lips. Her eyes never left her son, every gesture, every shout, every gloriously undignified tumble off the bench (which Estel recovered from by yelling, “I meant to roll!”).
Elrond offered her a look of long-suffering amusement as he gently wiped jam from his robes.
By evening, the self-proclaimed king was sleeping sprawled across a chaise in the library, snoring softly into an open book about mushrooms.
“He insisted it was a sword manual,” Elrond said, voice hushed. “I chose not to correct him.”
Gilraen settled in beside the fire, a small smile on her lips. “He talks about you like you hung the moon.”
Elrond raised a brow. “I’ve merely kept him from flinging himself off the roof this week.”
“That’s more than I could’ve done.” Her gaze lingered on Estel’s small form, so peaceful, so temporary. “He was born on the run, you know. Cried like he was challenging the world itself.”
“He still does,” Elrond said with affection.
They sat in silence for a while. The fire crackled, throwing golden light across the library’s high shelves.
“You’ll keep him safe,” Gilraen murmured. It wasn’t a question. It was a mother’s quiet surrender.
Elrond’s answer was soft, but firm. “With everything I have.”
She nodded once, her chin high. A queen in exile. A woman who carried the sorrow of a lost line and the hope of its return, all wrapped in the soft blanket now tangled around her sleeping child.
“He insisted it was a sword manual,” Elrond said, voice hushed. “I chose not to correct him.”
Gilraen settled in beside the fire, a small smile on her lips. “He talks about you like you hung the moon.”
Elrond raised a brow. “I’ve merely kept him from flinging himself off the roof this week.”
“That’s more than I could’ve done.” Her gaze lingered on Estel’s small form, so peaceful, so temporary. “He was born on the run, you know. Cried like he was challenging the world itself.”
“He still does,” Elrond said with affection.
They sat in silence for a while. The fire crackled, throwing golden light across the library’s high shelves.
“You’ll keep him safe,” Gilraen murmured. It wasn’t a question. It was a mother’s quiet surrender.
Elrond’s answer was soft, but firm. “With everything I have.”
She nodded once, her chin high. A queen in exile. A woman who carried the sorrow of a lost line and the hope of its return, all wrapped in the soft blanket now tangled around her sleeping child.
Later, when the halls of Imladris were still and the moon lay silver on the floor, Elrond paused outside the boy’s room. Estel stirred in his sleep, whispering something about dragons and apples.
Elrond smiled faintly. He reached out, brushing a hand over the boy’s brow, cleansing what little jam remained, whispering an old blessing from the West. One his own mother had once whispered to him, when the world was young and his future unwritten.
“You are loved,” he murmured. “And you are watched.”
Behind him, Gilraen leaned silently against the doorframe, watching them both. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
Elrond smiled faintly. He reached out, brushing a hand over the boy’s brow, cleansing what little jam remained, whispering an old blessing from the West. One his own mother had once whispered to him, when the world was young and his future unwritten.
“You are loved,” he murmured. “And you are watched.”
Behind him, Gilraen leaned silently against the doorframe, watching them both. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
And far beyond Rivendell’s borders, in the lands where shadows stirred, a name slept beneath the stars, waiting. A name that would rise like fire from the ashes.
But for now, he was simply Estel. Hope.
But for now, he was simply Estel. Hope.
