Fic: Winter's Hope, PG, Erestor/Elrohir
Title: Winter’s Hope
Author: Aglarien
Characters: Erestor/Elrohir, Elrond/Glorfindel implied
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien's estate owns everything. I promise to return his elves when I'm done playing with them.
Timeline: 2911 of the Third Age. The Fell Winter.
Beta: Phyncke
Request: Finding love, sharing something in common then falling in love, wooing without being obvious. It can be angst but have a happy ending. I'd like both strong characters in any of the pairings.
Written for: Lotrangel17. My dear Steph, the elves ran roughshod over your request and refused to cooperate. I hope the outcome pleases.
The healing hall was frigid, blazing fireplaces fighting a losing battle with winter. Each opening of the heavy doors brought another blast of snow and freezing air, pushed in behind whichever unfortunate was so unlucky as to have been out in the night. Elrohir silently swore and continued to bathe the nearly frostbitten feet of the man before him, nodding his thanks and barely looking up when Erestor filled the bowl on the floor beside him with warm water that steamed in the cold air.
“Erestor, is there anything you can do about those doors?” Elrond asked from a few beds away. “And can you ask Lindir to check on what is keeping the hot soup from the kitchens? These people need something to warm them.”
Elrohir watched Erestor look around the room, nod and leave the hall. Erestor would come up with something. He always did. There was a good reason Erestor was Chief Counselor. The elegantly tall, sable-haired elf had been counselor to Gil-galad before Elrond, and it was he who had helped bring the young Elrond and Elros to Lindon. “It won’t be long now,” Elrohir told the man whose feet he was now wrapping in thick bandages. A shiver still occasionally ran through the man’s frame. “Hot food is coming. For now, stay wrapped in the blanket and rest here.” He helped the man lay down, bundled in a warm blanket, just as another blast of cold air and snow flurries heralded the arrival of a stream of elves carrying pots of nourishing, hot soup. He smiled at the man and rose to find his next patient.
The room was filled with more than forty near-frozen men, women and children; the party had tried to flee the overly-long winter to warmer lands, their food having run out. With the best of fortune, they had been spotted by an elven patrol and brought along the secret paths to Imladris.
Erestor returned, Glorfindel and two of his guards in tow, all carrying heavy fur rugs that were nailed to both the inner and outer door frames along the top, instantly stopping the advent of snow and wintery blasts into the room. Blankets were nailed to the top of window frames, providing extra protection against cold air seeping in. Elrohir could swear the room was already warmer. Elves were not bothered by the cold as Men were, and these travelers were sorely in need of warmth. He turned to his next patient, a young mother cradling a child of perhaps two years.
Frostbite, broken limbs, bruises, scrapes - not to mention a serious lack of food - the travelers had all that and more. These people were starved - and starving. Staying in Imladris during the terrible winter would do them a world of good; hopefully Erestor and his father would find them a new place to settle once the fierce weather had passed. Elrohir finished his examination of the young mother, applying healing salve to her scrapes and abused hands and feet before binding them. Somehow she had managed to protect her child but had suffered for it. The child was wrapped up warmly, her head on her mother’s lap. He reached for a bowl of the thick soup from one of the serving elves and handed it to her. “Eat this,” he said, “and feed your little one. There is more when you have emptied the bowl.” The starving woman’s hands trembled as she took the bowl.
Elrohir rose and moved to the next waiting traveler. The healer glanced up every now and then while he worked, watching Erestor as the elder elf continued to fill washbowls with hot water and distribute cloths and linen for washing and bandaging. Here and there, the councilor paused to tuck in a blanket or speak a kind word.
Time passed nearly unnoticed as Elrohir worked, and then in a few seconds of brief respite he looked up, his eyes searching for the tall figure. Erestor sat on the floor before one of the fires, several human children leaning against him or sprawled over his lap as he entertained them with a story, a few already asleep. Over the busy and crowded room, the two elves paused, eyes locked in a momentary tableau, broken only when each elf smiled. Both reluctantly tore their glance away to tend to their current charges, and the moment was gone.
* * *
Elrohir sighed tiredly as he dropped into a comfortable chair in his father’s sitting room. Only his twin and Erestor were in the room, both having finished in the healing hall, and he accepted a restoring glass of wine from Elladan. He was totally spent. “The last of the wounded have been cared for and settled down for the night. Did Glorfindel find a place to house the ones who don’t have to stay in the healing hall?”
“Glorfindel cleared out one of the small barracks,” Erestor answered, and Elrohir felt the counselor’s critical gaze on him. Elrohir had worked hard with the refugees, even though he was one of the elves who had been out on the patrol that had found the travelers. He had also stood guard the past two nights, and was exhausted.
“There was room in some of the other barracks to comfortably add the displaced guards, and Father thought it would be better to keep our visitors together,” Elladan continued. “He and Glorfindel are settling them in and making sure they have what they need.”
Elrohir nodded, taking a sip of his wine. He should have known that’s where his father would be. If he knew his father and Glorfindel, they were probably figuring out how to add kitchens for the refugees to use and a play room for the children in the barracks. Glorfindel was good for Elrond, and falling in love again had healed many of the wounds his father’s soul bore. “I am glad Father has Glorfindel,” he said.
Elladan cocked his head at his brother’s random comment. When the glass in Elrohir’s hand hung loosely in his grip, he leapt forward and snatched it before it fell.
Erestor helped Elrohir out of the chair and guided him out of the room, heading down the hall. “You are weary. How long is it since you slept?”
Elrohir shook his head. “Two days? Three?”
Erestor made a “tsk” sound and led Elrohir into the younger elf’s chambers. With economical movements, Erestor had Elrohir quickly robed in a sleeping gown and tucked under the covers of his warm and comfortable bed. Elrohir uttered a mumbled, “Good night,” to Erestor and was asleep in seconds.
* * *
Erestor laid more wood on the fire and stirred it to renewed life before settling down in a comfortable chair next to Elrohir’s bed. The Peredhel’s eyes were shadowed by dark circles of weariness and he was deeply asleep. Try as he would, Erestor could not fully understand Elladan and Elrohir’s need to continually venture away from Imladris, even in this unusually frigid winter, putting themselves in peril with their constant pursuit of Orcs. Even though Celebrían had survived the attack that Elladan and Elrohir had rescued her from over four centuries ago, her twin sons were as forever changed as she had been.
The door quietly opened and Erestor looked up to see Elrond step into the room. “He has exhausted himself,” Elrond said as he came closer to examine his son.
Erestor nodded and whispered with a wry smile, “Takes after his father.”
“Hmmm.” Elrond stood next to Erestor and placed a hand on his shoulder. “When will you tell him? Why have you still not yet said anything to him of what you know?”
Erestor shook his head. Only Elrond and a few others knew that Erestor possessed a gift of foresight that was even stronger than Elrond’s. From the moment Elrohir had been born, Erestor had known what Elrond’s son would be to him, but the time was not right. He was waiting for something. What that something was he did not know, but he would know when it occurred. “Not yet. There is something yet to happen.”
“What will happen?”
Erestor merely shook his head. “I will watch over him for a while and make sure his sleep is undisturbed. Good night, Elrond. Rest well.”
Alone once more, Erestor reached out and smoothed long, dark hair from the younger elf’s face. “Soon, Elrohir. Soon.”
* * *
Erestor stood in the doorway of Elrond’s office, fighting to keep in control and not rush off in search of Elrohir. “It has happened,” he said. That which he had been waiting for had come. He had known it would be soon, but the swiftness with which it happened surprised even him. Elladan and Elrohir had only left to join the Dúnedain the month before, and winter was still upon them.
“Yes,” Elrond said, his voice strained as he paced in front of his window. “Glorfindel has just left to ride out with a patrol and meet them. Why did we let them leave again? We should have kept them here.”
“We could not have kept them.” Erestor moved across the room to join Elrond in front of the window. “This had to happen for them to see. Their time has come. I understand now. Both of them need to understand how fragile life can be.”
Elrond stared at his chief counselor, the elf who had raised him and his brother from the time they had been found by Gil-galad. “Tell me.”
“Elladan and Elrohir have allied themselves closely with the Dúnedain and we both fear, you and I, that they will choose to remain here because of it. Indeed, they are close to their decision. Their role in what is to come will be great, but not if they choose mortality instead of numbering themselves among the elves. Your brother’s heirs have need of their comradeship and skills, but he who is to come has greater need of their elven gifts than Arathorn or you could ever imagine.”
“He who is to come?”
“He who will finally reunite the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor.”
“I have seen the child - he who will unite the kingdoms. He will be raised in Imladris. I have seen him riding with Elladan and Elrohir. I have seen him studying with you.”
Erestor nodded. “Yes. And now it is up to me to convince Elrohir to choose the Eldar and stay with me, for Middle-earth has need of him, and I cannot imagine any more of my long existence without him at my side.”
“Elladan will choose as his twin does,” Elrond added. “I can feel his grief. He fears his brother already dead. I can see it - feel it.”
“Yes, but Elrohir will live. And we must make sure they both remain alive, for the trials to come will be great.”
“They are coming,” Elrond said, reaching for his cloak.
The two elves silently moved from the room to meet Glorfindel and his sons in the courtyard.
* * *
“Can you save him, Father?” Elladan hovered beside the bed as Elrond examined the wound in Elrohir’s shoulder. The elder twin’s distress was palpable and the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes shone. “We could not get to him to remove the arrow quickly in the fight. It was made of wood and the tip was splintered. I am not certain I was able to remove all the shards and thought it best to bring him here as swiftly as possible.”
The Dúnedain who had ridden with Elladan and Elrohir were having their more minor injuries seen to by the healers in the Healing Hall, and would be cared for there. Glorfindel wrapped an arm around Elladan. “Come, let me take you to your room and find you some food and a bath while we leave your father to work. If anyone can save Elrohir, Elrond can. You know this.”
Erestor reached out and touched Elladan as Glorfindel led the elder twin away from the bed. “Elrohir will live, Elladan,” he whispered. “I have seen it.”
Elladan looked up at Erestor, hope filling his eyes, and he nodded before allowing Glorfindel to take him away. Healers entered the room with bowls of herb-infused water, bandages, herbs and potions.
Foresight or no, Erestor’s distress was as bad as Elladan’s. “How bad is it? What can I do to help?”
“Bad enough,” Elrond replied, his long fingers probing the shoulder. “The wound is poisoned.” He cut deeply into the flesh with a fine, sharp blade. Blood and putrid gore shot forth and sprayed the front of Elrond’s robe. “Dear Valar, this is bad,” he whispered.
“Would you rather I do that, my Lord?” a healer asked.
Elrond shook his head. His face was grim and determined; he had already steeled himself for what he had to do. “No, I am fine. Elladan was not able to cut so deeply into his brother, hence the state of this wound. It is well that Elrohir is unconscious. Pray Elbereth he remains so.” The master healer continued to cut and clean the wound.
Erestor clasped a hand over his mouth and turned away to open a window a small crack and gasp for breath. The sight of Elrohir - his Elrohir - like that was nearly overwhelming. He wondered how the wounded elf would ever recover the use of his arm. The pain Elrohir would feel when he woke was breaking his heart. He had fought and lived through countless battles, seen thousands of wounds and inflicted scores of his own on the enemy, but never had the sight of one affected him like this. How very foolish he was to think that just because his foresight showed him a healed Elrohir that this would be easy to bear. He took a deep breath of cold air before shutting the window and returning to the bed.
In the next hour that passed, he helped Elrond clean and stitch the wound, and they finally bound Elrohir’s arm against his chest. When the dirt had been cleaned off of Elrohir’s body and he was clothed in a warm gown, Erestor and Elrond spelled each other to change out of their gory robes, and Elladan and Glorfindel returned. None of them wanted to leave the pale, unconscious elf in the bed, and in the end, Glorfindel and Elladan moved couches into the room so each could rest when the need overtook them. And then they waited.
* * *
It was Erestor who was the first to reach Elrohir’s side when the wounded elf awoke two days later. Elrohir cried out, almost a scream, as his stiff movements made the searing pain worse.
Erestor held Elrohir still, his touch cautious but firm. He could see Elrond swiftly heating the tea that would ease Elrohir’s pain. “I know it hurts, Elrohir. Try not to move. It will make the pain worse. You are home, in your room, and we are here. Your father will soothe your pain.” The fingers of Elrohir’s unbound hand pressed into Erestor’s arm in a death grip. “Hold onto me as hard as you need. Your father is coming.” He could see the moment when Elrohir’s head began to clear; he could see the moment the younger elf recognized him and knew where he was. “Yes, you are home. You are safe now.”
“Hurts. Bad. Like fire.” Elrohir’s words were barely decipherable through his clenched teeth.
Elrond held a cup to Elrohir’s lips. “Drink. As much as you can.” When Elrohir had emptied the cup, Elrond gently moved his hands over Elrohir’s shoulder. Elrond’s eyes were closed and his lips moved as he spoke the words that would allow some of his healing grace to flow into his son. When he had used as much of his healing powers as he was able, Elrohir was asleep.
Erestor breathed a sigh of relief that Elrohir was once again oblivious of his pain. “Will he sleep long, do you think?”
“A few hours, I would imagine. When he wakes again he should be more comfortable and have much less pain. He will need to eat if he is going to keep up his strength.” Elrond’s body weaved with weariness.
Glorfindel appeared at Elrond’s side. “Erestor will watch over Elrohir. You must rest and rebuild your strength.”
Elrond merely nodded and allowed himself to be led away.
* * *
When Elrohir next woke, he lay quietly, his eyes scanning the room, until he saw he was home in Imladris, in his own room. Yes, now he remembered. He had awoken in terrible pain, and his father and Erestor were there. His eyes looked to the other side of the bed, where he found Erestor watching him. “Why are you still here?” His voice was more of a croak and speaking made his throat hurt, it was so dry.
“Because you are. Would you like something to drink?”
“Please. The pain is much less, but I am so thirsty.”
Erestor slid an arm under Elrohir’s shoulders and lifted him carefully. With his free hand, he took a glass from the bedside table and helped Elrohir drink. The tea had cooled, but it would sooth Elrohir’s throat better than water.
When Elrohir had drunk his fill, he nodded his thanks to Erestor. His shoulder was better than it had been, but it still hurt, and he was so weak he felt like a newborn colt, unable to hold its head up. If Erestor hadn’t been holding him, he wouldn’t be able to even sit up enough to drink. He knew he needed to eat to regain his strength, but he was so tired.
“Do you think you can eat something before you sleep again?” Erestor asked.
“I should like to try. I am hungry.”
Erestor replaced his arm with pillows and then brought Elrohir a cup of the soup that had been kept warm in a pot hanging over the fire. Elrohir recognized the fragrant, thick soup. It was regularly served in the healing hall and was rich with nourishing meat and vegetables, thickened with potato, all mashed into a broth that could be easily drunk from a cup. With Erestor’s help, he finished the soup and was finding it nearly impossible to stay awake, but he needed to know something. “Did my father share his healing gift with me? Is that why I do not have as much pain and he is not here? Is he all right? Is Elladan all right? Arathorn?”
“Your father healed you as much as he was able and he is fine. Glorfindel took him away to rest and is watching over him. Your brother has gone to check on the Dúnedain and will be back soon. There were only minor injuries among their number and Arathorn is well.”
Elrohir nodded his thanks and once again drifted off.
In the days that followed, Elrohir improved, although the arm proved to be stubborn in healing, so great was the damage done to it. He awoke one morning to find Erestor seated in the chair beside the bed, watching him. “Why are you still here?” he asked. His father and brother came to see him several times a day, but both had given way and allowed Erestor to stay with Elrohir.
“Because you are.”
“Doesn’t Father need you?”
“I think your father is perfectly capable of running Imladris without my assistance for a few days.”
Elrohir chuckled. “I suppose he is. Thank you for staying with me, for taking care of me.” Truth be told, he didn’t think there was anyone he would rather have in that role. “Do you remember when I was little and I fell out of that tree and broke my leg? You stayed with me until I was able to walk again.” It had been nearly three thousand years ago, and Elrohir remembered those days as if it was yesterday. Erestor had stayed with him, even when Elladan had grown bored and gone off in search of more interesting activity than sitting with his invalid twin.
“I remember.” Erestor returned the smile. “You are feeling better today, I think. Perhaps you would like to get out of bed? Your father has approved it, as long as you keep your arm bound. You could even go to the dining hall for breakfast this morning if you like.”
“It is healing so slowly.” Elrohir frowned at the offending limb. “Elladan and I need to be out with the Dúnedain, our kin, again. The orcs are encroaching on their northern lands.”
“That time will come soon enough, Elrohir,” Erestor answered solemnly. “You will do no one any good if you return to the fight before you are fully healed. It heals slowly because it was poisoned. Your father had to cut away a lot of the flesh around it.”
Elrohir sighed, but did not complain further. He was grateful when Erestor once again helped him with the simple tasks of washing and dressing, and even more grateful when the counselor steadied him on his feet for the first, unsure steps. “I feel better than I thought I might,” he said as they walked down the hall towards the dining hall.
As luck would have it, it was late enough in the morning that only his family and those closest to them were in the dining hall, having been advised by a message from Erestor that Elrohir would join them if they would delay their meal. Elrohir was as happy to see everyone as he habitually was, and patiently suffered his father checking on the state of his health before he was allowed to take his place at the table.
“It is good to see you up and around again, my son,” Elrond said once everyone was seated and their breakfasts served. “If you feel well, you may stay out of your bed, as long as you keep your arm bound and rest when you tire. You are not to exert yourself yet.”
“I feel well, Father,” Elrohir replied. “I was a little light-headed at first, but that has passed. I think I should be able to relinquish Erestor to his regular tasks again.”
Erestor looked at Elrond and smiled, their thoughts flying unseen and unheard across the table. It was time. They would speak to the twins after breakfast.
* * *
Elrohir watched as Erestor stood and crossed Elrond’s office to the windows, standing and looking out to the courtyard. “What is it you and Erestor wished to speak to Elladan and me about, Father?”
Elrond sat, his hands folded on the desk before him. He looked at his sons and began to speak quietly. “We know that you both have been thinking about your decision. The time is not far off when great events will come to pass, and our people are already leaving these shores. The time of the Elves is coming to an end. My time in Arda is coming to an end, and your decision must be made before it does.”
Elladan spoke up. “We have been talking about choosing as your brother did, Father. The Dúnedain are our kin through him, and they need our help, especially if the time of the elves is coming to an end.”
“We cannot abandon them, Father,” Elrohir added. “For the sake of our uncle, your brother Elros, we cannot abandon them.”
“And yet that is exactly what you will be doing if you choose to be numbered among Men,” Erestor said, turning from the window. “Arathorn is not the one. One who is greater and in whose hands the fate of Arda rests will come after him.”
“How do you know this? Father, have you seen this as well?” The twins voiced their questions, one after the other.
“Elrond and I have both foreseen this,” Erestor replied.
“And you know his power of foresight is greater than mine,” Elrond said. “You must be here to aid and strengthen the one who is to come.”
“And that will not come to pass if you choose to number yourself among Men. If you do, all will fail and Arda will be overtaken by evil.” Erestor turned away again. “It will be the end of the race of Men. The end of all that is good and pure.”
Elrohir rose and walked to where Erestor stood once again gazing out of the window. Taking Erestor’s arm, he turned him until he could look into Erestor’s eyes. What he saw at once startled and dismayed him, for Erestor’s eyes were haunted, already seeing into the bleak future. “You are sure of this?” Not waiting for a reply, he answered his own question. “Yes. You are sure.” He turned to his father. “And you, Father?”
Elrond nodded. “The fate of Men, the continuation of both Elros’ line and mine, relies on you.”
“On your line, Father?” Elladan rose and walked to his father. “How can that be? What has our choosing to do with Elrohir or me continuing your line?”
Elrond closed his eyes, momentarily overcome with the force of his visions. A tear flowed down his cheek and he brushed it away. “I have another child, Elladan,” he whispered.
Erestor groaned and faltered as Elrond’s words painted a new and unexpected vision. He swayed and would have fallen had Elrohir not wrapped his free arm around Erestor’s waist to steady him.
“Arwen?” Elrohir looked at his twin. “Are you saying that our decision is going to impact Arwen?”
“Your decision will determine your sister’s fate as well,” Elrond replied.
Elrohir felt his world spin out of control, and he collapsed onto the window seat, taking Erestor down with him. “Then we have no choice, Elladan.”
* * *
Later that night, Elrohir was helped to his room by Erestor. The day had been a long and emotional one, and the still-healing elf was bone tired. Once they had made it to the room and Erestor had helped him into a warm night robe, Elrohir sat on the edge of his bed and the two elves looked at each other for a long moment, neither saying a word and each afraid to start the conversation. Finally, it was Elrohir who spoke. “I have lived for nearly three thousand years, Erestor. Why is it that I have not been able to find someone to love? Someone who will love me above all others? Father has lived for six thousand years, but at least he has found love twice now. Deep inside, I didn’t want to choose to be numbered among the elves because I am afraid of never finding anyone. If I chose to be a man, then I could look forward to dying in a few hundred years. I am so tired of being alone.”
Silence hung in the room.
“You do not have to be alone, Elrohir,” Erestor finally replied. He walked to the bed and dropped to his knees in front of Elrohir, placing his folded hands on the younger elf’s lap. “I would love you, if you would have me.”
Elrohir looked into Erestor’s eyes, startled by the counselor’s actions and words. “You would?” he whispered. “But how could someone like you love someone like me?”
Erestor tilted his head, confused. “Someone like you? What do you mean? It is I who should be asking if someone like you could love someone like me.”
“But I do,” Elrohir said, simply blurting out the words. This whole day, this whole conversation felt like a dream. If it was a dream, what he said wouldn’t matter, and if it wasn’t a dream…well, then he may as well say it, if he had any hope of happiness at all - any hope of not spending thousands of years alone. “I mean, I’ve always loved you. Didn’t you know that? I don’t know how anyone couldn’t know I was in love with you, the way I’m always looking at you. I never looked at anyone else or took an interest in anyone else, so I thought it was rather obvious.” He blushed and felt like a child instead of the now quite old elf that he was, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Erestor. “Wait. Are you saying you love me, too?”
Erestor slowly nodded. “I am afraid to believe that this is actually happening. I think I must have taken a fall and hit my head. Yes, I love you, Elrohir. I have since you were barely of age, but I am an old elf. How could someone as young and vibrant as you love such an old and wizened creature as me?” He cautiously took Elrohir’s free hand in his own and smiled when he felt the gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“Wizened? Wise, certainly, but not wizened. Erestor, you are far from old and wizened. There are many handsome elves in Imladris, but you - you are beautiful. You always have been, and it is not just me who thinks so. And as for me, well, I can hardly be called young anymore.” Deciding that actions were usually preferable to words, Elrohir bent his head and brushed his lips across Erestor’s. “Yes, I would have you, Erestor. I would very much like for you to love me, and I would love you back with all my heart.”
Erestor’s answer was a searing kiss that took both of their breaths away.
Epilogue
T.A. 2933
Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor stood at the window of Elrond’s office, looking out over the courtyard.
“It is time,” Erestor said.
“Yes, they are nearly here. Much depends on us now, on how we raise this child,” Elrond said. “If we - if he - wins through, this child will be the last of my brother’s line we will ever foster here in Imladris.”
“Come, they are approaching,” Glorfindel said, his keen eyesight spying the rising dust from the distant road. “Let us go down and meet them.”
Erestor turned from the window and led the way from the office, anxious to see his mate safely home. Gilraen, Arathorn’s young widow, had sent word of Arathorn’s death, and she was bringing the young Aragorn to Imladris to be fostered, as so many of Elros’ descendants had been before him. Elladan and Elrohir had ridden out to meet the party of Dúnedain escorting them, and the courtyard would be full of activity before long.
Elrohir entered the courtyard first, the two-year-old Aragorn wrapped warmly in the elf’s cloak and seated before him. He was closely followed by Elladan and Gilraen, and all of them were flanked by the Dúnedain. Their future, too, lay with the child Elrohir carried.
“Father,” Elrohir said, stopping his horse where Elrond and Erestor stood, “this is Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, and Gilraen, his widow.”
Elrond walked to Gilraen’s horse and bowed before her. “You are welcome here, Gilraen, and your son. We will guard him and care for him, as we did his fathers before him. You are welcome here for as long as you wish.” Turning to Elrohir, he reached up with his arms to take the child. Aragorn smiled up at him, and little fingers grabbed onto a lock of Elrond’s hair. Elrond smiled down on the child, instantly enchanted.
“Hope has come to Imladris this day,” Erestor said quietly.
“Hope. Yes, Erestor.” Elrond nodded. “We shall call him Estel, for he is the hope of Arda.”
* * *
Later that night, Elrohir lay curled around Erestor in their bed, sated after the ardor of their lovemaking. “What do you see, Erestor?” he whispered. “What do you see for the child? For Estel?”
“I see a hard road. Years of training and forging the man he will become. All of us will play a part in that.”
“And will he win in the end?”
“I believe so,” Erestor said. “I have to believe that he will and I have seen it, but you know sometimes the gift of foresight only shows one possible future. You and Elladan will support him and be of great aid to him.”
Elrohir nodded. He already knew that. His father and Erestor had told them that the day they convinced Elrohir and Elladan to make their choice for the elves, but he needed to hear it again. “I love you, Erestor,” he whispered, curling closer around his mate.
“I love you, too. So very much. Do you ever regret your choice? Choosing to be numbered among the elves?”
“Never,” Elrohir replied. “That choice gave me you, and for that I will always be grateful. I thought I would never find someone to love me, but you were there all along, loving me in silence and patiently waiting. In the years to come - and I imagine they are going to be trying ones - I know I will always have you and your love.”
“That you will always have,” Erestor said, right before he pulled Elrohir up for a soul-searing kiss. “Always.”
~The end
Author: Aglarien
Characters: Erestor/Elrohir, Elrond/Glorfindel implied
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien's estate owns everything. I promise to return his elves when I'm done playing with them.
Timeline: 2911 of the Third Age. The Fell Winter.
Beta: Phyncke
Request: Finding love, sharing something in common then falling in love, wooing without being obvious. It can be angst but have a happy ending. I'd like both strong characters in any of the pairings.
Written for: Lotrangel17. My dear Steph, the elves ran roughshod over your request and refused to cooperate. I hope the outcome pleases.
The healing hall was frigid, blazing fireplaces fighting a losing battle with winter. Each opening of the heavy doors brought another blast of snow and freezing air, pushed in behind whichever unfortunate was so unlucky as to have been out in the night. Elrohir silently swore and continued to bathe the nearly frostbitten feet of the man before him, nodding his thanks and barely looking up when Erestor filled the bowl on the floor beside him with warm water that steamed in the cold air.
“Erestor, is there anything you can do about those doors?” Elrond asked from a few beds away. “And can you ask Lindir to check on what is keeping the hot soup from the kitchens? These people need something to warm them.”
Elrohir watched Erestor look around the room, nod and leave the hall. Erestor would come up with something. He always did. There was a good reason Erestor was Chief Counselor. The elegantly tall, sable-haired elf had been counselor to Gil-galad before Elrond, and it was he who had helped bring the young Elrond and Elros to Lindon. “It won’t be long now,” Elrohir told the man whose feet he was now wrapping in thick bandages. A shiver still occasionally ran through the man’s frame. “Hot food is coming. For now, stay wrapped in the blanket and rest here.” He helped the man lay down, bundled in a warm blanket, just as another blast of cold air and snow flurries heralded the arrival of a stream of elves carrying pots of nourishing, hot soup. He smiled at the man and rose to find his next patient.
The room was filled with more than forty near-frozen men, women and children; the party had tried to flee the overly-long winter to warmer lands, their food having run out. With the best of fortune, they had been spotted by an elven patrol and brought along the secret paths to Imladris.
Erestor returned, Glorfindel and two of his guards in tow, all carrying heavy fur rugs that were nailed to both the inner and outer door frames along the top, instantly stopping the advent of snow and wintery blasts into the room. Blankets were nailed to the top of window frames, providing extra protection against cold air seeping in. Elrohir could swear the room was already warmer. Elves were not bothered by the cold as Men were, and these travelers were sorely in need of warmth. He turned to his next patient, a young mother cradling a child of perhaps two years.
Frostbite, broken limbs, bruises, scrapes - not to mention a serious lack of food - the travelers had all that and more. These people were starved - and starving. Staying in Imladris during the terrible winter would do them a world of good; hopefully Erestor and his father would find them a new place to settle once the fierce weather had passed. Elrohir finished his examination of the young mother, applying healing salve to her scrapes and abused hands and feet before binding them. Somehow she had managed to protect her child but had suffered for it. The child was wrapped up warmly, her head on her mother’s lap. He reached for a bowl of the thick soup from one of the serving elves and handed it to her. “Eat this,” he said, “and feed your little one. There is more when you have emptied the bowl.” The starving woman’s hands trembled as she took the bowl.
Elrohir rose and moved to the next waiting traveler. The healer glanced up every now and then while he worked, watching Erestor as the elder elf continued to fill washbowls with hot water and distribute cloths and linen for washing and bandaging. Here and there, the councilor paused to tuck in a blanket or speak a kind word.
Time passed nearly unnoticed as Elrohir worked, and then in a few seconds of brief respite he looked up, his eyes searching for the tall figure. Erestor sat on the floor before one of the fires, several human children leaning against him or sprawled over his lap as he entertained them with a story, a few already asleep. Over the busy and crowded room, the two elves paused, eyes locked in a momentary tableau, broken only when each elf smiled. Both reluctantly tore their glance away to tend to their current charges, and the moment was gone.
* * *
Elrohir sighed tiredly as he dropped into a comfortable chair in his father’s sitting room. Only his twin and Erestor were in the room, both having finished in the healing hall, and he accepted a restoring glass of wine from Elladan. He was totally spent. “The last of the wounded have been cared for and settled down for the night. Did Glorfindel find a place to house the ones who don’t have to stay in the healing hall?”
“Glorfindel cleared out one of the small barracks,” Erestor answered, and Elrohir felt the counselor’s critical gaze on him. Elrohir had worked hard with the refugees, even though he was one of the elves who had been out on the patrol that had found the travelers. He had also stood guard the past two nights, and was exhausted.
“There was room in some of the other barracks to comfortably add the displaced guards, and Father thought it would be better to keep our visitors together,” Elladan continued. “He and Glorfindel are settling them in and making sure they have what they need.”
Elrohir nodded, taking a sip of his wine. He should have known that’s where his father would be. If he knew his father and Glorfindel, they were probably figuring out how to add kitchens for the refugees to use and a play room for the children in the barracks. Glorfindel was good for Elrond, and falling in love again had healed many of the wounds his father’s soul bore. “I am glad Father has Glorfindel,” he said.
Elladan cocked his head at his brother’s random comment. When the glass in Elrohir’s hand hung loosely in his grip, he leapt forward and snatched it before it fell.
Erestor helped Elrohir out of the chair and guided him out of the room, heading down the hall. “You are weary. How long is it since you slept?”
Elrohir shook his head. “Two days? Three?”
Erestor made a “tsk” sound and led Elrohir into the younger elf’s chambers. With economical movements, Erestor had Elrohir quickly robed in a sleeping gown and tucked under the covers of his warm and comfortable bed. Elrohir uttered a mumbled, “Good night,” to Erestor and was asleep in seconds.
* * *
Erestor laid more wood on the fire and stirred it to renewed life before settling down in a comfortable chair next to Elrohir’s bed. The Peredhel’s eyes were shadowed by dark circles of weariness and he was deeply asleep. Try as he would, Erestor could not fully understand Elladan and Elrohir’s need to continually venture away from Imladris, even in this unusually frigid winter, putting themselves in peril with their constant pursuit of Orcs. Even though Celebrían had survived the attack that Elladan and Elrohir had rescued her from over four centuries ago, her twin sons were as forever changed as she had been.
The door quietly opened and Erestor looked up to see Elrond step into the room. “He has exhausted himself,” Elrond said as he came closer to examine his son.
Erestor nodded and whispered with a wry smile, “Takes after his father.”
“Hmmm.” Elrond stood next to Erestor and placed a hand on his shoulder. “When will you tell him? Why have you still not yet said anything to him of what you know?”
Erestor shook his head. Only Elrond and a few others knew that Erestor possessed a gift of foresight that was even stronger than Elrond’s. From the moment Elrohir had been born, Erestor had known what Elrond’s son would be to him, but the time was not right. He was waiting for something. What that something was he did not know, but he would know when it occurred. “Not yet. There is something yet to happen.”
“What will happen?”
Erestor merely shook his head. “I will watch over him for a while and make sure his sleep is undisturbed. Good night, Elrond. Rest well.”
Alone once more, Erestor reached out and smoothed long, dark hair from the younger elf’s face. “Soon, Elrohir. Soon.”
* * *
Erestor stood in the doorway of Elrond’s office, fighting to keep in control and not rush off in search of Elrohir. “It has happened,” he said. That which he had been waiting for had come. He had known it would be soon, but the swiftness with which it happened surprised even him. Elladan and Elrohir had only left to join the Dúnedain the month before, and winter was still upon them.
“Yes,” Elrond said, his voice strained as he paced in front of his window. “Glorfindel has just left to ride out with a patrol and meet them. Why did we let them leave again? We should have kept them here.”
“We could not have kept them.” Erestor moved across the room to join Elrond in front of the window. “This had to happen for them to see. Their time has come. I understand now. Both of them need to understand how fragile life can be.”
Elrond stared at his chief counselor, the elf who had raised him and his brother from the time they had been found by Gil-galad. “Tell me.”
“Elladan and Elrohir have allied themselves closely with the Dúnedain and we both fear, you and I, that they will choose to remain here because of it. Indeed, they are close to their decision. Their role in what is to come will be great, but not if they choose mortality instead of numbering themselves among the elves. Your brother’s heirs have need of their comradeship and skills, but he who is to come has greater need of their elven gifts than Arathorn or you could ever imagine.”
“He who is to come?”
“He who will finally reunite the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor.”
“I have seen the child - he who will unite the kingdoms. He will be raised in Imladris. I have seen him riding with Elladan and Elrohir. I have seen him studying with you.”
Erestor nodded. “Yes. And now it is up to me to convince Elrohir to choose the Eldar and stay with me, for Middle-earth has need of him, and I cannot imagine any more of my long existence without him at my side.”
“Elladan will choose as his twin does,” Elrond added. “I can feel his grief. He fears his brother already dead. I can see it - feel it.”
“Yes, but Elrohir will live. And we must make sure they both remain alive, for the trials to come will be great.”
“They are coming,” Elrond said, reaching for his cloak.
The two elves silently moved from the room to meet Glorfindel and his sons in the courtyard.
* * *
“Can you save him, Father?” Elladan hovered beside the bed as Elrond examined the wound in Elrohir’s shoulder. The elder twin’s distress was palpable and the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes shone. “We could not get to him to remove the arrow quickly in the fight. It was made of wood and the tip was splintered. I am not certain I was able to remove all the shards and thought it best to bring him here as swiftly as possible.”
The Dúnedain who had ridden with Elladan and Elrohir were having their more minor injuries seen to by the healers in the Healing Hall, and would be cared for there. Glorfindel wrapped an arm around Elladan. “Come, let me take you to your room and find you some food and a bath while we leave your father to work. If anyone can save Elrohir, Elrond can. You know this.”
Erestor reached out and touched Elladan as Glorfindel led the elder twin away from the bed. “Elrohir will live, Elladan,” he whispered. “I have seen it.”
Elladan looked up at Erestor, hope filling his eyes, and he nodded before allowing Glorfindel to take him away. Healers entered the room with bowls of herb-infused water, bandages, herbs and potions.
Foresight or no, Erestor’s distress was as bad as Elladan’s. “How bad is it? What can I do to help?”
“Bad enough,” Elrond replied, his long fingers probing the shoulder. “The wound is poisoned.” He cut deeply into the flesh with a fine, sharp blade. Blood and putrid gore shot forth and sprayed the front of Elrond’s robe. “Dear Valar, this is bad,” he whispered.
“Would you rather I do that, my Lord?” a healer asked.
Elrond shook his head. His face was grim and determined; he had already steeled himself for what he had to do. “No, I am fine. Elladan was not able to cut so deeply into his brother, hence the state of this wound. It is well that Elrohir is unconscious. Pray Elbereth he remains so.” The master healer continued to cut and clean the wound.
Erestor clasped a hand over his mouth and turned away to open a window a small crack and gasp for breath. The sight of Elrohir - his Elrohir - like that was nearly overwhelming. He wondered how the wounded elf would ever recover the use of his arm. The pain Elrohir would feel when he woke was breaking his heart. He had fought and lived through countless battles, seen thousands of wounds and inflicted scores of his own on the enemy, but never had the sight of one affected him like this. How very foolish he was to think that just because his foresight showed him a healed Elrohir that this would be easy to bear. He took a deep breath of cold air before shutting the window and returning to the bed.
In the next hour that passed, he helped Elrond clean and stitch the wound, and they finally bound Elrohir’s arm against his chest. When the dirt had been cleaned off of Elrohir’s body and he was clothed in a warm gown, Erestor and Elrond spelled each other to change out of their gory robes, and Elladan and Glorfindel returned. None of them wanted to leave the pale, unconscious elf in the bed, and in the end, Glorfindel and Elladan moved couches into the room so each could rest when the need overtook them. And then they waited.
* * *
It was Erestor who was the first to reach Elrohir’s side when the wounded elf awoke two days later. Elrohir cried out, almost a scream, as his stiff movements made the searing pain worse.
Erestor held Elrohir still, his touch cautious but firm. He could see Elrond swiftly heating the tea that would ease Elrohir’s pain. “I know it hurts, Elrohir. Try not to move. It will make the pain worse. You are home, in your room, and we are here. Your father will soothe your pain.” The fingers of Elrohir’s unbound hand pressed into Erestor’s arm in a death grip. “Hold onto me as hard as you need. Your father is coming.” He could see the moment when Elrohir’s head began to clear; he could see the moment the younger elf recognized him and knew where he was. “Yes, you are home. You are safe now.”
“Hurts. Bad. Like fire.” Elrohir’s words were barely decipherable through his clenched teeth.
Elrond held a cup to Elrohir’s lips. “Drink. As much as you can.” When Elrohir had emptied the cup, Elrond gently moved his hands over Elrohir’s shoulder. Elrond’s eyes were closed and his lips moved as he spoke the words that would allow some of his healing grace to flow into his son. When he had used as much of his healing powers as he was able, Elrohir was asleep.
Erestor breathed a sigh of relief that Elrohir was once again oblivious of his pain. “Will he sleep long, do you think?”
“A few hours, I would imagine. When he wakes again he should be more comfortable and have much less pain. He will need to eat if he is going to keep up his strength.” Elrond’s body weaved with weariness.
Glorfindel appeared at Elrond’s side. “Erestor will watch over Elrohir. You must rest and rebuild your strength.”
Elrond merely nodded and allowed himself to be led away.
* * *
When Elrohir next woke, he lay quietly, his eyes scanning the room, until he saw he was home in Imladris, in his own room. Yes, now he remembered. He had awoken in terrible pain, and his father and Erestor were there. His eyes looked to the other side of the bed, where he found Erestor watching him. “Why are you still here?” His voice was more of a croak and speaking made his throat hurt, it was so dry.
“Because you are. Would you like something to drink?”
“Please. The pain is much less, but I am so thirsty.”
Erestor slid an arm under Elrohir’s shoulders and lifted him carefully. With his free hand, he took a glass from the bedside table and helped Elrohir drink. The tea had cooled, but it would sooth Elrohir’s throat better than water.
When Elrohir had drunk his fill, he nodded his thanks to Erestor. His shoulder was better than it had been, but it still hurt, and he was so weak he felt like a newborn colt, unable to hold its head up. If Erestor hadn’t been holding him, he wouldn’t be able to even sit up enough to drink. He knew he needed to eat to regain his strength, but he was so tired.
“Do you think you can eat something before you sleep again?” Erestor asked.
“I should like to try. I am hungry.”
Erestor replaced his arm with pillows and then brought Elrohir a cup of the soup that had been kept warm in a pot hanging over the fire. Elrohir recognized the fragrant, thick soup. It was regularly served in the healing hall and was rich with nourishing meat and vegetables, thickened with potato, all mashed into a broth that could be easily drunk from a cup. With Erestor’s help, he finished the soup and was finding it nearly impossible to stay awake, but he needed to know something. “Did my father share his healing gift with me? Is that why I do not have as much pain and he is not here? Is he all right? Is Elladan all right? Arathorn?”
“Your father healed you as much as he was able and he is fine. Glorfindel took him away to rest and is watching over him. Your brother has gone to check on the Dúnedain and will be back soon. There were only minor injuries among their number and Arathorn is well.”
Elrohir nodded his thanks and once again drifted off.
In the days that followed, Elrohir improved, although the arm proved to be stubborn in healing, so great was the damage done to it. He awoke one morning to find Erestor seated in the chair beside the bed, watching him. “Why are you still here?” he asked. His father and brother came to see him several times a day, but both had given way and allowed Erestor to stay with Elrohir.
“Because you are.”
“Doesn’t Father need you?”
“I think your father is perfectly capable of running Imladris without my assistance for a few days.”
Elrohir chuckled. “I suppose he is. Thank you for staying with me, for taking care of me.” Truth be told, he didn’t think there was anyone he would rather have in that role. “Do you remember when I was little and I fell out of that tree and broke my leg? You stayed with me until I was able to walk again.” It had been nearly three thousand years ago, and Elrohir remembered those days as if it was yesterday. Erestor had stayed with him, even when Elladan had grown bored and gone off in search of more interesting activity than sitting with his invalid twin.
“I remember.” Erestor returned the smile. “You are feeling better today, I think. Perhaps you would like to get out of bed? Your father has approved it, as long as you keep your arm bound. You could even go to the dining hall for breakfast this morning if you like.”
“It is healing so slowly.” Elrohir frowned at the offending limb. “Elladan and I need to be out with the Dúnedain, our kin, again. The orcs are encroaching on their northern lands.”
“That time will come soon enough, Elrohir,” Erestor answered solemnly. “You will do no one any good if you return to the fight before you are fully healed. It heals slowly because it was poisoned. Your father had to cut away a lot of the flesh around it.”
Elrohir sighed, but did not complain further. He was grateful when Erestor once again helped him with the simple tasks of washing and dressing, and even more grateful when the counselor steadied him on his feet for the first, unsure steps. “I feel better than I thought I might,” he said as they walked down the hall towards the dining hall.
As luck would have it, it was late enough in the morning that only his family and those closest to them were in the dining hall, having been advised by a message from Erestor that Elrohir would join them if they would delay their meal. Elrohir was as happy to see everyone as he habitually was, and patiently suffered his father checking on the state of his health before he was allowed to take his place at the table.
“It is good to see you up and around again, my son,” Elrond said once everyone was seated and their breakfasts served. “If you feel well, you may stay out of your bed, as long as you keep your arm bound and rest when you tire. You are not to exert yourself yet.”
“I feel well, Father,” Elrohir replied. “I was a little light-headed at first, but that has passed. I think I should be able to relinquish Erestor to his regular tasks again.”
Erestor looked at Elrond and smiled, their thoughts flying unseen and unheard across the table. It was time. They would speak to the twins after breakfast.
* * *
Elrohir watched as Erestor stood and crossed Elrond’s office to the windows, standing and looking out to the courtyard. “What is it you and Erestor wished to speak to Elladan and me about, Father?”
Elrond sat, his hands folded on the desk before him. He looked at his sons and began to speak quietly. “We know that you both have been thinking about your decision. The time is not far off when great events will come to pass, and our people are already leaving these shores. The time of the Elves is coming to an end. My time in Arda is coming to an end, and your decision must be made before it does.”
Elladan spoke up. “We have been talking about choosing as your brother did, Father. The Dúnedain are our kin through him, and they need our help, especially if the time of the elves is coming to an end.”
“We cannot abandon them, Father,” Elrohir added. “For the sake of our uncle, your brother Elros, we cannot abandon them.”
“And yet that is exactly what you will be doing if you choose to be numbered among Men,” Erestor said, turning from the window. “Arathorn is not the one. One who is greater and in whose hands the fate of Arda rests will come after him.”
“How do you know this? Father, have you seen this as well?” The twins voiced their questions, one after the other.
“Elrond and I have both foreseen this,” Erestor replied.
“And you know his power of foresight is greater than mine,” Elrond said. “You must be here to aid and strengthen the one who is to come.”
“And that will not come to pass if you choose to number yourself among Men. If you do, all will fail and Arda will be overtaken by evil.” Erestor turned away again. “It will be the end of the race of Men. The end of all that is good and pure.”
Elrohir rose and walked to where Erestor stood once again gazing out of the window. Taking Erestor’s arm, he turned him until he could look into Erestor’s eyes. What he saw at once startled and dismayed him, for Erestor’s eyes were haunted, already seeing into the bleak future. “You are sure of this?” Not waiting for a reply, he answered his own question. “Yes. You are sure.” He turned to his father. “And you, Father?”
Elrond nodded. “The fate of Men, the continuation of both Elros’ line and mine, relies on you.”
“On your line, Father?” Elladan rose and walked to his father. “How can that be? What has our choosing to do with Elrohir or me continuing your line?”
Elrond closed his eyes, momentarily overcome with the force of his visions. A tear flowed down his cheek and he brushed it away. “I have another child, Elladan,” he whispered.
Erestor groaned and faltered as Elrond’s words painted a new and unexpected vision. He swayed and would have fallen had Elrohir not wrapped his free arm around Erestor’s waist to steady him.
“Arwen?” Elrohir looked at his twin. “Are you saying that our decision is going to impact Arwen?”
“Your decision will determine your sister’s fate as well,” Elrond replied.
Elrohir felt his world spin out of control, and he collapsed onto the window seat, taking Erestor down with him. “Then we have no choice, Elladan.”
* * *
Later that night, Elrohir was helped to his room by Erestor. The day had been a long and emotional one, and the still-healing elf was bone tired. Once they had made it to the room and Erestor had helped him into a warm night robe, Elrohir sat on the edge of his bed and the two elves looked at each other for a long moment, neither saying a word and each afraid to start the conversation. Finally, it was Elrohir who spoke. “I have lived for nearly three thousand years, Erestor. Why is it that I have not been able to find someone to love? Someone who will love me above all others? Father has lived for six thousand years, but at least he has found love twice now. Deep inside, I didn’t want to choose to be numbered among the elves because I am afraid of never finding anyone. If I chose to be a man, then I could look forward to dying in a few hundred years. I am so tired of being alone.”
Silence hung in the room.
“You do not have to be alone, Elrohir,” Erestor finally replied. He walked to the bed and dropped to his knees in front of Elrohir, placing his folded hands on the younger elf’s lap. “I would love you, if you would have me.”
Elrohir looked into Erestor’s eyes, startled by the counselor’s actions and words. “You would?” he whispered. “But how could someone like you love someone like me?”
Erestor tilted his head, confused. “Someone like you? What do you mean? It is I who should be asking if someone like you could love someone like me.”
“But I do,” Elrohir said, simply blurting out the words. This whole day, this whole conversation felt like a dream. If it was a dream, what he said wouldn’t matter, and if it wasn’t a dream…well, then he may as well say it, if he had any hope of happiness at all - any hope of not spending thousands of years alone. “I mean, I’ve always loved you. Didn’t you know that? I don’t know how anyone couldn’t know I was in love with you, the way I’m always looking at you. I never looked at anyone else or took an interest in anyone else, so I thought it was rather obvious.” He blushed and felt like a child instead of the now quite old elf that he was, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Erestor. “Wait. Are you saying you love me, too?”
Erestor slowly nodded. “I am afraid to believe that this is actually happening. I think I must have taken a fall and hit my head. Yes, I love you, Elrohir. I have since you were barely of age, but I am an old elf. How could someone as young and vibrant as you love such an old and wizened creature as me?” He cautiously took Elrohir’s free hand in his own and smiled when he felt the gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“Wizened? Wise, certainly, but not wizened. Erestor, you are far from old and wizened. There are many handsome elves in Imladris, but you - you are beautiful. You always have been, and it is not just me who thinks so. And as for me, well, I can hardly be called young anymore.” Deciding that actions were usually preferable to words, Elrohir bent his head and brushed his lips across Erestor’s. “Yes, I would have you, Erestor. I would very much like for you to love me, and I would love you back with all my heart.”
Erestor’s answer was a searing kiss that took both of their breaths away.
Epilogue
T.A. 2933
Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor stood at the window of Elrond’s office, looking out over the courtyard.
“It is time,” Erestor said.
“Yes, they are nearly here. Much depends on us now, on how we raise this child,” Elrond said. “If we - if he - wins through, this child will be the last of my brother’s line we will ever foster here in Imladris.”
“Come, they are approaching,” Glorfindel said, his keen eyesight spying the rising dust from the distant road. “Let us go down and meet them.”
Erestor turned from the window and led the way from the office, anxious to see his mate safely home. Gilraen, Arathorn’s young widow, had sent word of Arathorn’s death, and she was bringing the young Aragorn to Imladris to be fostered, as so many of Elros’ descendants had been before him. Elladan and Elrohir had ridden out to meet the party of Dúnedain escorting them, and the courtyard would be full of activity before long.
Elrohir entered the courtyard first, the two-year-old Aragorn wrapped warmly in the elf’s cloak and seated before him. He was closely followed by Elladan and Gilraen, and all of them were flanked by the Dúnedain. Their future, too, lay with the child Elrohir carried.
“Father,” Elrohir said, stopping his horse where Elrond and Erestor stood, “this is Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, and Gilraen, his widow.”
Elrond walked to Gilraen’s horse and bowed before her. “You are welcome here, Gilraen, and your son. We will guard him and care for him, as we did his fathers before him. You are welcome here for as long as you wish.” Turning to Elrohir, he reached up with his arms to take the child. Aragorn smiled up at him, and little fingers grabbed onto a lock of Elrond’s hair. Elrond smiled down on the child, instantly enchanted.
“Hope has come to Imladris this day,” Erestor said quietly.
“Hope. Yes, Erestor.” Elrond nodded. “We shall call him Estel, for he is the hope of Arda.”
* * *
Later that night, Elrohir lay curled around Erestor in their bed, sated after the ardor of their lovemaking. “What do you see, Erestor?” he whispered. “What do you see for the child? For Estel?”
“I see a hard road. Years of training and forging the man he will become. All of us will play a part in that.”
“And will he win in the end?”
“I believe so,” Erestor said. “I have to believe that he will and I have seen it, but you know sometimes the gift of foresight only shows one possible future. You and Elladan will support him and be of great aid to him.”
Elrohir nodded. He already knew that. His father and Erestor had told them that the day they convinced Elrohir and Elladan to make their choice for the elves, but he needed to hear it again. “I love you, Erestor,” he whispered, curling closer around his mate.
“I love you, too. So very much. Do you ever regret your choice? Choosing to be numbered among the elves?”
“Never,” Elrohir replied. “That choice gave me you, and for that I will always be grateful. I thought I would never find someone to love me, but you were there all along, loving me in silence and patiently waiting. In the years to come - and I imagine they are going to be trying ones - I know I will always have you and your love.”
“That you will always have,” Erestor said, right before he pulled Elrohir up for a soul-searing kiss. “Always.”
~The end