Sword Play

Imladris

136, Third Age

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. There was much to oversee in Imladris; many people had gathered under his protection and even though Sauron had been vanquished with the loss of the One Ring, they must remain ever vigilant.

Easier said than done with his young sons under foot.

The past week, he had needed to shoo them out of his study repeatedly while he attempted to oversee the preparations for the coming winter months. Even though the weather was milder in the valley (due to the presence of Vilya) than in other parts of the northern lands, the seasons continued to change, resulting in the need to prepare the summer bounty for coming winter.

For hours on end he stared at the figures. Celebrían had handled the task during the first years of their marriage, but since the twins had been born, her time was taken with maternal concerns.

He shook his head. That made it sound as if she spent her time singing songs (which she often did) or lovingly teaching with cherub faces gazing up adoringly at her  (which was not uncommon), when in truth most of her time was spent looking frazzled and exhausted from keeping up with the mischievous boys Ilúvatar had given them.

Adorable as they were, they were also mirror images with a knack for finding trouble, bringing it in double measure. Elrond wondered if he and Elros had created such a challenge as children, then winced when he realized his sons were the same age he and Elros had been when their parents had been taken from them.

It was not just Celebrían who found the boys a challenge. Elrond, having spent little time with children since being one of them, found his sons very…trying.

Dirty little hands pawed at the parchments on which he worked the tallies of supplies, leaving fingerprints and smeared ink on the previously pristine pages. Curious minds led to endless questions about subjects Elrond was certain he had never pondered even as a child. There was simply no possibility that he had ever wondered why berries were red, or why puppies' tongues were pink, or how birds could fly but not people unless they had a magic boat like Grandfather Eärendil's, or why Erestor always wore black—

Actually, Elrond mused, he had wondered about that last point, but had never worked up the nerve to actually ask his advisor the reason, not even at his wife's insistence that Erestor's custom was eccentric. Perhaps Erestor simply liked black? He shook his head. That answer had not satisfied his wife nor the twins either.

Elrond pushed his thoughts away and returned his attention to his work.  It was important the calculations be completed. He focused back on the figures, and had just become thoroughly engrossed with the numbers when the door cracked open.

Without glancing up, he spoke, his voice stern. "I told you earlier to stay out and not to interrupt me again today."

"Well then," a dry, familiar and adult voice answered, "does that mean I might take the day off to enjoy this fine autumn weather?"

Elrond glanced up at the unexpected reply and met Erestor's rare half grin with a wince of chagrin. Then he frowned as his advisor's words sunk in. "You do not ever take a day off, even when ordered to do so."

Erestor's brows rose on his forehead. "I could say the same of you." Then he scowled, which was a far more common an expression on Erestor than a smile. "In fact, I think you should take the day off instead of me. I can finish that." He gestured to the papers before Elrond on the desk.

Elrond started to shake his head but paused as the small face of Elrohir peered out from behind Erestor's black robes. "Pleeease, Adar? You have not taken us for a walk in a long time!"

The mirror image of the cherubic face popped out on the other side of Erestor's legs. "Or played swords with us," Elladan complained. "Pleeease, Adar?"

He brandished a small wooden sword, thrusting it at his brother, who parried it with his own sword as both twins stretched around Erestor to reach the other, clashing the wood together.

"Well, there you have it," Erestor added, his usual blank expression replacing the scowling frown. He stepped from between the small boys and their jabs. "Out with you, Elrond. Your family needs you more than the paperwork."

Intending to refuse, Elrond opened his mouth to speak. But before he could say anything, Elrohir's sword arm dropped to his side and his expression turned from one of glee to disappointment, as if sensing his father's answer.

"I told you Ada's too busy, 'Ladan. I told you he would fuss at us again." Elrohir's face bunched into a pout, the grey eyes shining with unshed tears as he sheathed his sword by sticking it through his belt at the back of his pants.

At that moment, Elrond remembered the number of times he had shooed his sons out from underfoot all week, but failed to recall a single moment he had spent just enjoying them. They would not be children forever. Too soon, they would be grown, trading small wooden swords for real ones…

Elrond felt his world tip as a vision unfolded from the gift within him.

Two tall warriors stood on a rise of ground, back to back, holding drawn swords dripping black blood. Each had his dark hair pulled back in a single braid, except where wisps of hair had pulled loose from the exertion of fighting and the strands now danced on the mist laden wind, just as the warriors had danced the dance of death moments before.  

Hard grey eyes, full of venom and menace, surveyed the surrounding land. The ground around the rise was littered with the corpses of orcs.

As quickly as it had come upon him, the vision was gone, replaced by the view of his small, innocent boys. He sucked in a breath and just stared.

"My lord?"

Elrond could not answer. The vision had shaken him. He could only stare at the small faces, so innocent, so troubled: Elrohir bit his lip, while Elladan was white with fear. So different from the faces he had just seen in his vision.

"Elrond?" Erestor strode to his desk and came around to his side, squatting down to his level.

Elrond dragged his eyes from his small sons to look at the one who had been there for as long as he could remember. Even after Maedhros and Maglor took them away, Erestor had been there, insisting on not leaving his charges.

"What did you see?" Erestor asked, his face a mask of concern. This was not his chief counsellor. This was his friend.

"My sons," Elrond whispered. "Grown and covered in orc filth."

He shook the image away. No! The darkness was gone from the land! They lived in peace!

"It is not over, is it?"

Elrond swallowed, not sure how he knew it, but knowing it all the same. "No. But long it will be before it rises again."

"Then today, go. Go play with your sons. Enjoy the peace while you may."

"Ada?" Elrohir's tremulous voice drew his gaze back to where his sons huddled near the door.

But Elrond had no answer for him. How could he possibly explain to such young children what he had seen of their future?

He could not. But the vision held him frozen, staring, unable to respond to his son's query.

Elladan bravely lifted a wobbly chin as he reached out and took his brother's hand. "It's alright, 'Rohir. We can go play with that puzzle 'Restor gave us." Elladan hated puzzles of any sort, including riddles, while Elrohir seemed to figure them out without even giving them much thought.

"It's no day for doing puzzles," Erestor said. "Puzzles are meant for rainy days, and the sun beckons one outdoors."

Elrond glanced to where Erestor squatted by his chair. His friend looked pointedly back, then gave the same look to the layers of parchment on the desk, the followed it with a pointed turn of his gaze to the door, as if shoving Elrond out with his eyes alone.

The message was clear; I'll do this, get out!

Elrond looked back at his sons — so innocent, so fragile, yet full of hope and life and none of the darkness he had seen in the grown figures standing on that hill. Elrond did not wish to know what would bring his children to such a place. The horror of that vision shook him to his core.

Forcing a demeanor of calm he did not feel, Elrond rose to his feet, leaving the now meaningless calculations. He would never forget the vision of the grown warriors — his sons — amid such slaughter, but that was the future, not the present.

Elrond blinked away a sudden rush of moisture that misted his eyes. How fast life could change. How quickly boys became men and picked up real swords to protect those they loved. Had not his own childhood been cut short in such a manner? What guarantee was there that his sons would not experience the same fate?

There was none. He only had this moment, this day, and with firm resolve, he decided he would not waste it. Erestor was correct — was he not always so? — and today he would play.

A shove to his back propelled him forwards. Yes, the best use of his time today would be to spend it with his sons.

Behind him, he heard Erestor settling into his chair with a slight ruffling of papers.  Erestor would have his work done in half the time with not a mistake to be found —

He paused his steps and turned back around. "I think this task shall be yours from now on, Erestor. You are better at it anyway."

His only answer was a slight nod of Erestor's head. And a slight shooing motion from Erestor's fingers.

Elrond turned back to his sons and smiled at them, then winced as boyish squeals reverberated through the room.

Elladan bounded around wildly, one fist waving his toy sword in triumph as he leapt and spun around the room.

Not nearly as demonstrative, Elrohir simply bounced on his toes, his eyes sparkling with joy as a huge grin caused both dimples to become pronounced in each cheek.

Elrond took each boy by a hand and led them from the room, casting a last look at Erestor sitting in his chair and scribbling with the quill in that neat, small script of his. An odd gleam had filled Erestor's eyes, and Elrond understood that he had no reason to feel the slightest bit guilty for enjoying a day with his family.

He turned his attention to his sons, who were jabbering to each other in incomplete sentences, only half of the conversation spoken aloud. Elrond smiled. How many times had he and Elros also begun a sentence verbally only to finish it mentally?

"Did someone say something about swords?" he asked.

"Yes!" both boys answered simultaneously.

"Then we need to change into clothes appropriate for sparring, and I shall need to fetch my own practice sword." Elrond eased his hands from the small ones clutching him as his muscles bunched beneath his robes. "Race you to your room!"

And with that parting phrase, the Lord of Imladris, Master Elrond himself, darted through the Last Homely House with two yelling boys on his heels, as other members of the household scrambled to get out of their way with looks of shock followed by smiles on their faces.

End