Author's Note: If this story looks a bit familiar, it is because I started it several years ago under the name From The Jaws Of Death. But I never managed to get past the first couple of chapters, so I pulled it down as I dislike unfinished stories left lingering online. Well, it's now mostly complete and the first few chapters have been heavily edited from the original version and the story has a new name, more fitting with the direction the story is going. I hope you enjoy it. :)

WARNING: This story contains descriptions of an animal attack, injury and medical treatment of a small child, which is why I rated it PG-13. While not overly graphic, reader discretion is advised.

Healing Hope

By Nieriel Raina

"Thus it befell that when Aragorn was only two years of age Arathorn went riding with the sons of Elrond and fought with Orcs that had made an inroad into Eriador, and he was slain, for an orc-arrow pierced his eye; and so he proved indeed short-lived for one of his race, being no more than sixty winters when he fell.

But the child Aragorn became thus untimely Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and he was nurtured in the House of Elrond, and there he was loved by all, and Elrond was a father to him."

—    JRR Tolkien, The Making of Appendix A,  The Peoples of Middle-earth

Chapter One

2934 3^rd Age, Imladris

Summer

"So I may take him?"

"Pees, ada?"

Elrond looked from his three year old foster son to the Captain of Imladris and back again.

"We are simply going to picnic in a meadow, perhaps swim in the pond, watch bugs, do little boy things." Glorfindel's confident voice stated.

But there was a lingering doubt in his mind, some nagging feeling that trouble brewed on the horizon, and yet, Elrond could not say it was truly foresight he sensed. Rather, a father's hesitance.

Estel had been a part of their household for such a short time, but in the months since Arathorn's death, the child had managed to wrap the majority of the household around those small fingers. For Elrond, it had been the day Estel had first called him ada.

Gilraen had been horrified at the use of the word, but Elrond had seen something significant in that moment. He had seen a child reaching out for what he had lost, and finding it again. It had shown Elrond that Estel trusted him, and needed him, and so Elrond had convinced Gilraen to allow the child to call him father.

And a father was what he had become to the child. His heart had taken the boy as his own and he cared for Estel as much as he did his own flesh and blood.

He gazed down into those pleading blue-grey eyes. How could he tell the little boy no?

Elrond sighed, nodded, and forced a small smile, even as he forced his hesitations down. He was only being over protective of the boy, given the death of Arathorn and the inroads the orcs had made into Eriador. But it was not as if Glorfindel would be taking the child from his borders or out into the wilds.

"Very well, you may go." He glanced back to Glorfindel. "I trust you to keep him safe, my friend."

"But of course, Elrond!"

Glorfindel looked almost insulted at even the hint of suggestion that something might go wrong. "It is not as if we are crossing the Hithaeglir. We are simply going to picnic in my meadow." Glorfindel flashed him an impish grin at the possessive term, and Elrond could not help but chuckle.

"Very well, enjoy your day. I wish I could accompany you."

He had not thought to go until the words left his mouth, but he had too much to accomplish today. He had been putting many duties aside of late so he might spend the early summer days with Estel in order to cultivate a greater bond between them. As a result, his herb garden was full of weeds, his assistant healers complained of a lack of certain tinctures in the storeroom, his correspondence was piled so high on his desk that Erestor would stare at the piles as if they were orcs to be battled—

Elrond looked down at the three year old bouncing happily, a small hand encased in Glorfindel’s much larger one.

"Estel." Elrond knelt down before the boy, feeling a surge of love for the child.

Has it truly been less than a year since he and Gilraen came to us?

Of all the children of the Dúnedain he had fostered over the years, none had captured his heart like this one. Perhaps it was because he could see the mark of destiny upon the child. More likely it was because he saw this one as his son, not just a fosterling.

He lifted the small chin with his finger, reminding Estel that he needed to listen.

Estel obediently gazed back, though he continued to bounce.

"Yes, Ada, I lis’n."

Elrond smiled at the childish lisp, his heart warming once again at hearing Estel call him 'Ada'. For all he had bemoaned rearing his twin sons, he missed their childish days and the simple trust and love that only a child could give. And he cherished every day he was gifted with the love of this child. Far too soon did the sons of Men leave behind childhood, and once Estel reclaimed his destiny, Elrond knew everything would change.

But even as he gave his blessing to the outing, he felt the nagging feeling that something was wrong and he should not allow the child to go. He pushed the feeling aside, and fixed Estel with a stern gaze.  

"Estel, it is very important that you do exactly as Glorfindel tells you. You must obey him in all things. Do you understand?"

The small head bobbed up and down. "Do what G’orfin’el tell me or I get twubble."

Biting back a grin, Elrond nodded. "Yes, you must do as Glorfindel tells you, or you will be in trouble. I will have to discipline you if you cannot obey, and you will not be allowed to go again for a very long time."

Bright slate-grey eyes widened and the bouncing ceased. "Not go ‘gain?"

"If you do not obey Glorfindel, no, you will not be allowed to go again for a long time." Long, at least, to the mind of a three year old boy. "Do you understand?"

Excitement brightened Estel’s eyes once more. "I ‘bey! I be ver’ good!"

"That is well." Elrond drew his foster son into his arms.

Oh how good it felt to hold a child again and to feel tiny arms around his neck. If only Celebrían were here to help him—

He put a stop to those thoughts as soon as they arose within him. Estel had a mother — a very good mother — and wishing for something impossible would not relieve Elrond's lingering pain. No matter how many years passed, the longing for his wife never waned.

Releasing his young son, Elrond stood and watched as the boy toddled off next to Glorfindel towards the stables. He took note of the captain's long sword strapped to his side and the hunting knife poking out of the top of a boot.  

Estel will be safe.

He had to believe that. Everything he had foreseen of Estel's future depended upon it.

Elrond continued to watch as Glorfindel picked up a pack bulging with who knew what — best to hope it was healthy food for the growing child — and only turned away when the two entered the stable to collect ‘the horse’.

Elrond paused and closed his eyes for a moment. He would not think about that ‘horse’, nor what the beast had done.

Only then did he realize that he had begun to self-consciously rub his backside. He jerked his hand away and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. To his relief, none were about to see his remembered pain.

Absently, he wondered if the scar was still there.

No, better not to think about it…or look for the teeth marks.  

'The horse', for all his foul disposition towards those he disliked — mainly Elrond and Erestor — loved Glorfindel and showed a special fondness for Estel. The boy would be safe with the creature — spawn of Morgoth, though he was!

With determined steps, Elrond retreated to his study to work on the mound of papers, hoping such work would take his mind off the niggling suspicion that something was justs not right.

Why can I not take this as Gilraen has? Is it not the mother who is supposed to struggle with letting a child stretch their wings?

But no, Gilraen had smiled and agreed to the idea with no concern whatsoever. A huge leap for her, for she had hardly let the child from her sight the first few months after they arrived in Imladris.

Having lost her husband so tragically, she had clung to Estel to the point of secluding herself from the household. It had taken gentle persuasion and, he admitted to himself, a bit of subtle manipulation, to convince her to let them enfold her and Estel in their family and make him one of their own.

Now, things were different. Gilraen had been befriended by several of the women in his house. She had begun to find enjoyment in once again seeing her growing child clothed in garments she made with her own hands, a big task considering the child seemed to outgrow his breeches nearly every month!

Gilraen would use her free time wisely, meeting with her friends to get some much needed mending and sewing finished. She might even relish the break from having the busy boy underfoot for a few hours. Estel was a delight, but he was also inquisitive and constantly busy.

No, Gilraen showed no sign of being worried, and why should she? She had been assured of the safety of the valley by his sons, himself and Glorfindel. It was why she and her son had been brought here — to keep them safe!

And while it was true that Imladris was the safest place for the boy, it was not without its dangers. Evil did not venture here, at least not undetected and not without being met with great force, but many natural dangers abounded from rock slides, wild animals, or even a fall from a horse.

He stiffened at that thought, his hand moving again towards his nether region when a voice caused him to jump.

"Master Elrond, if I may have a few minutes?"

Ah, just the distraction needed!

"Yes, of course, Istnir."

With only a single glance back, he allowed Erestor’s assistant to lead him away to discuss a matter of the household.

—    o —

"Nor’ lim, B’an’lir! Nor’ lim!"

Glorfindel smirked as one charcoal ear rotated backwards and then pricked back forward as Brandlir continued his slow walk along the forest path. The horse ignored the boy’s heels in his withers and flicked his long silvery tail across his rump to brush off a fly. He even tolerated the tight grip on his long mane, though Glorfindel sensed his mount's patience nearing its end and prepared himself for a show of temper, though he knew Brandlir would never put the child at risk.

When a small palm smacked down hard on his neck, Brandlir balked, freezing in his tracks. The horse arched his neck and glared back over his shoulder at them.

Glorfindel grinned cheekily back at him, enjoying his horse's irritation. Brandlir snorted and stamped a foot, rolling his eyes so the whites showed.

"All right, all right, Glir!" Glorfindel said with a laugh, shifting the boy in front of him so that he could look into Estel’s eyes. It was time to intervene.

"Estel, Brandlir does not appreciate your attempts to make him go faster. It is a nice day, and he is enjoying his walk through the woods."

Brandlir shook his head, sending his long mane flying, and gave a soft whicker. In truth, the horse would like to run, but had more sense than to do so with such a small charge in tow. Consequently, Brandlir got back at them both as best he could — he resumed the plodding pace of a plow horse.

Glorfindel sighed. "Truthfully, Glir, this is overdoing it a bit, do you not think? We will never reach the meadow in time to enjoy the day if you do not pick up your pace at least a little." He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "All that tall, sweet grass, running water and rabbits to chase?"

His words seemed to improve the horse’s spirits, for with another swish of his tail, Brandlir picked up his walk to a pleasant, springy pace.

"Nor’ lim, B’an’li!"   

Chest rumbling with another nicker, Brandlir moved into a slow, comfortable trot, the sound growing louder as the boy laughed. Glorfindel chuckled and tightened his grip on Estel.

Ah, summer days were his favorite time of the year.  

— o —     

"Cat' me!"

Estel launched himself from the rock into Glorfindel's arms, showing no sign of fear. Glorfindel caught him and let them both fall back into the coolness of the lake, laughing when they came up, eyelashes shining with drops of water that ran down their faces.

His favorite meadow* of old had changed over the past millennium. The pond from the dammed stream was now a small lake that filled more than half of what once had been a peaceful glade. But the meadow had grown as well.

Over the years, the beavers and their descendants had kept busy by taking trees down. The forest had receded in some places, grown up in others. On most sides, the trees came right down to the shoreline. Willows trailed their branches into the water in some places, but one side opened up to the large, flat meadow.

Time had made the field even more beautiful, Glorfindel thought, as he looked around at the grasses, wildflowers and the occasional rock dotting the landscape.

Estel giggled as Brandlir galloped by, chasing a rabbit. The horse was quite adept at getting close enough to nip the fuzzy little tail, keeping up with the hare's darting ways by sliding on his haunches and spinning as fast as a deer. The rabbit soon had enough, however, and darted down into a dark burrow. Brandlir whinnied plaintively causing Glorfindel and Estel to laugh at him.

With a snort, Brandlir spun around, looking sulkily at them through his long, silver forelock. Then the horse charged, splashing by them through the shallows and sending a shower of water raining down on them. Glorfindel ducked as the stallion hurtled past, water spraying from the churning hooves.

" ‘Gain, ‘gain!" Estel cried out, and Brandlir whirled and ran past them once more, sending another spray of water over them from his pummeling hooves. When Brandlir tired of that game, he buried his nose into the tall grasses, his tail never still as it swished back and forth.

"Good idea, Glir," Glorfindel called.

Eating seemed a good plan for them as well. The sun was now high in the sky and Estel was getting a bit grumpy. Nothing a good meal and then a nap in the sun would not fix. Dressing in their sun warmed leggings, they left their tunics by the shore.  Brandlir had soaked them when he had shaken the water from his coat, so Glorfindel and Estel ate shirtless, enjoying the warm rays on their skin.

As expected, Estel’s mood improved with the bread, sliced meats, cheeses and especially the apple pastries Glorfindel pulled from his sack. They ate and chatted, which mostly consisted of Glorfindel responding to Estel's constant, "Wha' dat?" 

Glorfindel turned the question game into a lesson by giving the boy the answers in Westron and Edhellen as well as Adûnaic and asking Estel to repeat them back.

After their meal, it took him some doing to convince Estel that he needed to lie down and rest on the spread out blanket. Glorfindel spent several minutes of trying to reason with the child, but when Estel scrunched his face up and declared "No s'eep!" Glorfindel employed another tactic.

"Have you forgotten what your adar told you?" Glorfindel reminded the boy with a stern look.

Estel's expression changed to one of confusion, then his eyes widened. "'Bey, o' not come 'gain."

Glorfindel inclined his head and pointed to the blanket, amused when Estel immediately dropped down onto it and flopped back in a sulk, his arms crossed on his chest and his lower lip poking out. Glorfindel sat as well, humming a lullaby and dutifully ignoring the childish pouting. Once he had slept, Estel's more cheerful temperament would return; until then, so long as the boy was lying down, Glorfindel would not comment on Estel's determined attempts to avoid a nap.

As he expected, it did not take long for the sun, his full belly and Glorfindel's song to overcome Estel’s attempts to stay awake. The boy yawned, his eyes fluttering shut and within moments he was sound asleep. Glorfindel curled an arm around his charge with a smile, his other hand on his sword as he rested. All in all, it had been a most pleasant day.  

— o —     

Something was wrong.

Elrond stood before the large window looking down into the courtyard of the Last Homely House. For a long time he just stood there, watching for what he did not know. Inside him, the agitation and feeling of unrest that had plagued him all day had turned into something greater – an inner knowledge that one of his children was hurt.

He began pacing to give himself something to do, stopping to glance out the window every few minutes then resuming his walking back and forth. His fists clenched at his sides, and his head was beginning to pound from his persistent frowning. He hated this feeling, this knowing that something was wrong and yet being unable to do anything about it.

The strong bond between he and his family allowed Elrond to sense his children and get an accurate grasp of their emotions. Arwen, on another long visit with her grandparents in Lothlórien, was perfectly safe. Her spirit felt content and somewhat distracted, which meant she was probably toiling over some needlework or talking with friends.

Elladan and Elrohir were due home any day after being gone for over a fortnight with the border wardens. Much to Elrond's relief, ever since they had brought Estel and Gilraen to the valley, his sons had obeyed his order — if grudgingly — to cease their long patrols with the dúnedain, as well as the more disturbing long months or even years in which they disappeared into the mountains to hunt orcs.

Instead, they had taken up posts under Glorfindel, acting as his liaisons to the patrols on the outer fences, which only required them to make occasional forays into the wilds. When it came to Estel, they were polite but distant, making little effort to spend time with the boy, which was not typical of their interactions with previous fosterlings. But then the circumstances were not the norm for fostering.

Typically, Chieftains were sent to learn under elven tutors only after they had achieved the age of twelve summers. Estel was only three. But Elrond also suspected it was not just the difference in age that kept his sons back from truly befriending the child. He suspected the twins' closeness with Arathorn, and their guilt at being unable to prevent their friend's untimely demise, played a part in their holding the boy at a distance.

And so, even now, Elladan and Elrohir were not at home, but traveling between the border wardens and the Last Homely House. They were strong and safe. He could sense them on the outskirts of the valley and their excitement was that of amusement rather than alarm. If he had to guess, he would say they were absorbed in hunting game, and probably engaged in some contest between them judging by Elrohir's sudden glee and Elladan's flash of indignation.

The feeling of unease did not leave him, but only grew stronger by the moment, and no matter how he searched for the reason, it eluded him. Elrond closed his eyes, berating himself. It had to be Estel, no matter how much he tried to assure himself the child was safe with Glorfindel and ‘the horse’, deep down he knew his young son was the cause of his foreboding.

The distant blood relation to the Dúnedain through Elros allowed Elrond to sense some things with those children he had fostered over the years. With Estel, he had found that the close bond between them caused those senses to be even stronger. Even so, it was not the same as the connection he shared with Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. He could not feel Estel's emotions; rather, it was a nagging, persistent, uncertain feeling rather than a surety of knowing.

He should have kept the boy at home! He had sensed from the start that something was amiss in the valley, even if he could not clearly identify it. But knowing what he should have done did not help him now that he sensed the danger had played out. There was little he could do until… 

The sound of a horse’s hooves ringing off of the paving stones in the courtyard had Elrond moving before the clatter came to a sliding stop. Alarmed voices hastened his steps into a run and he flung open the door and descended the steps two at a time, his eyes fixed on Brandlir.

The horse's sides heaved for air and his head hung in exhaustion. He had run long and far, but the sight of the white foam mixed with blood covering the animal's sides and legs drew Elrond up short. He swiftly judged that the blood belonged to not just his captain’s mount, for the wounds Elrond could see on the stallion appeared superficial. No, the amount of blood was too great. It had come from some thing or some oneelse.

His eyes darted to Glorfindel and alighted on the burden in the captain's arms as he slid from the horse’s back. Elrond’s breathing momentarily stopped as he just stared in disbelief.

No! It could not be! 

His father’s heart wrenched with grief, but the healer in him took over. "Bring him!" he ordered, turning on his heel. 

It was a long, hard walk, striding down the corridors, knowing that behind him Glorfindel followed with a weight Elrond would rather be bearing himself — the still and bloody body of his three year old son.

To Be Continued....

Brandlir – ‘lofty song’ – Glorfindel’s current stallion. He is a dappled grey with charcoal points. The word is formed from the Sindarin words brand (lofty) + glir (song). Glorfindel shortens it to simply Glir

Nor'lim - Estel's attempts at Noro lim, 'run fast', Sindarin

B’an’li– Estel’s attempt at Brandlir’s name.

Edhellen – 'Elvish'. Sindarin is a Quenya term. I'm using the more accurate term Edhellen, which is what the elves of Middle-earth called the Sindarin tongue.

*Glorfindel's meadow was first introduced in Let It Snow!

Thanks for reading!