-A Child's Mind-

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: PG (For some war images)

Disclaimer: Don't own the fellows, belong to someone else. Ownership is always changing so maybe one day…

Summary: While bored stiff, young Estel goes on the hunt for a homely adventure. But his attention gets diverted when his warrior instinct kicks in and he his caught up with some familiar shards. Glorfindel makes and appearance.

Note: Aragorn is perhaps six or eight, up to nine perhaps, in this. At least I think so. Kind of up to you. This is set alone, though it could be a real real real early unrelated prequel to Rising Storm.

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A Child's Mind

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Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Boredom, defined as "the state of being weary and restless through lack of interest". Estel was weary, so he guessed he qualified at the point. Goodness knows he should be after a day of counting numbers followed by reading pointless words – which he hadn't the foggiest idea of their meaning - from a dull and lifeless book. Restlessness, well, that was brought on by weariness. And as for lack of interest, interest was a foreign word. His brain was numb beyond thought and the very notion of concentrating on one particular thing as he had been doing all morning – on a positively uninteresting subject he might add – was preposterous.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

"Estel."

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Grunt.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

"Estel, please."

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

"What."

Thunk, thun--.

Elrond grasped the short legs before they hit once more against the overstuffed chair the youngster, Aragorn, lounged in. "That. I cannot think with that incessant pounding."

"Oh, you could have said so."

The elf, fixed the boy with an unamused look. The methodical thumping now ceased, Elrond returned his attention to his book. Aragorn had sauntered in over half an hour ago, looking listless. With a halfhearted lunge, the boy had thrown himself into a chair opposite of the elder elf. Elrond had attempted a conversation with him, but had garnered nothing more than a few grunts and scattered three letter responses.

Estel stared at his adoptive father dully, more or less staring through him. For a few minutes Elrond considered just moving and letting the child wallow in his obvious self-pity, but this had gone far enough. Setting the book down calmly on his lap he leaned forward to gain better eye contact with the boy. "Estel, what pray tell is your grievance?"

Aragorn blinked slowly, "Grievance?" he asked, questioning the long word.

"Trouble, what is troubling you?" Elrond verified.

Aragorn grunted and shrugged his shoulders limply.

"Estel…" The elf said again, as he saw the boy's eyes drifting from the ceiling, to his own nose, then to his short legs.

"Bored."

Elrond sat back, his eyebrows peaking, "Oh, so boredom has struck our little worm again, has it?"

"'M not a worm."

Elrond chuckled. "So be it, sparrow." He placed a pressed leaf in his book to mark his spot then closed it and put it to his side. "Might you know what has brought on this boredom?"

"Elladan."

"Elladan? What has he done to afflict you so?" Elrond coaxed, slowly bringing the boy out of his mental black hole.

"Made me do school shtuff."

"Did he now? But don't you want to grow up and be smarter than Elrohir?"

Estel eyed him slyly, "Already smarter."

The elven lord smiled, "Hm, now do I need to give you that ego lecture?" Aragorn righted himself in his large chair and shook his head adamantly, his dark eyes growing considerably rounder. "I thought as much." Elrond laughed again. He picked the boy up under his arms and set Estel on his lap. "Why don't I tell you how I dealt with boredom when I was but as tall as a new grown spring sapling. I found, that even though I thought I knew every nook of the place I lived, that I could always find a new hiding place. Or see something I had never realized was on the wall, or under that table."

Aragorn looked at him, not completely convinced. He had spent hour upon hour exploring the great house Rivendell already. It seemed to him that in his short years he had seen all there was of every room. But when had his father ever lied to him? He flashed a grin at the elf, then leapt from Elrond's lap, eager to be about his adventure.

---

His first visit was to the kitchens. Though he had not officially started his expedition, he thought that every explorer should have the supplies to sustain him lest he get lost or some disaster might befall him. With winning smiles and kisses upon elven cheeks, Estel gathered two scones, three slices of a red apple, and a cherry pastry. A kindly elf spared a square of linen and bound the bounty up tying it neatly. Flask of water in hand, and his bag of supplies clutched under his arm he set out to find a few more key items. Rope, one always needed rope, and a sword.

The rope was quite easy in acquiring. With tiptoed steps, Aragorn had edged into Elladan's room after he had watched his brother leave, then pulled a coil of the fine elvish rope from a drawer.

As for the sword…The first thought that came to mind was the broken sword. He stood before the high – to his short standard – platform where the stone elven maid stood, smiling down at him. He stared at her smooth, white face, looking intently into her eyes. Aragorn had always thought her expression was strangely sad. The shards which she eternally bore shone in the warm light of the sun which filtered about him, golden dust danced about her figure like an aura of pureness and wonder. Idly he turned to the mural behind him, carefully portrayed upon the wall. The painting was a vivid picture of the day that Sauron was destroyed. Aragorn's heart never ceased to leap at the sight of the fearsome black cloaked lord, prepared to strike the downed man. It had been said to him, a year or so ago, that he was somehow related to this man in the picture. How that was possible, Estel didn't know. He also had lost interest in thinking about it, convinced as he was that he was really the son of Elrond.

Shaking himself back to his current pressing need for a weapon, he thought hard on the use of the sharpened shards on the platter. He pursed his lips and carried out an internal ethics discussion. Father had told him not to touch the shards until he was older, but what was older? Wasn't he old enough now? If he was really related to the man who owned this sword, then why shouldn't he be able to take the sword up? After all, wouldn't it be his right? Finally he nodded, and stepped forward and reached for the hilt piece of the shards, and…

…Found he was too short to reach.

His small brow furrowed fiercely at this new hindrance. He tried a hop, then another, but each time the elven maiden seemed to pull the platter higher, just out of his reach. Glaring fearsomely at the statue, once so beautiful and kind to him, then moved around behind the statue and began an attempt to climb. Since his arms were far too short to reach around the elven maid, he leapt and grabbed on to the crooked elbow holding the platter. There he hung for a moment, unsure of his next move. It was quite a funny sight as the stubby child hung from the arm of a statue, his face round and determined. Then his fingers slipped.

He fell to the floor with a thump, landing solidly on his bottom. Again, Estel's face twisted into a scowl as he glowered up at the statue, as always looking down at him with a mockingly sad expression. Pulling himself to his feet, he crossed his arms in a fashion he had seen his elder brothers do. Unperturbed by his former failure, he again jumped and caught hold of the arm, then pulling for all he was worth, he threw a leg over the arm and hoisted himself to straddle the arm. Quite pleased with his accomplishment, and thinking it quite the test of warrior-hood, it was some time before he realized that he was facing the wrong direction. So with much twisting and grunting, he maneuvered himself around until he was facing the right direction.

Estel's eyes glittered as his mind spun with the childish dreams of the acts of heroism and bravery he could accomplish with such a sword, even in its shattered state. I will fix it one day! he pledged to himself. Inching forward, he leaned out to grasp the smooth hilt. As he hefted it with both his small hands, he stared at his reflection in the shinning shard still attached to the simple, but elegant hilt. Transfixed as he was, Aragorn didn't hear or see the noble elf, Glorfindel, step silently into the hall.

---

The young, Glorfindel mused, the young were so easily caught in the dreams of grandeur. Never did they think of the blood and tears of battle in which they thought their greatness would be assumed. Never would they know until they suffered witnessing their brothers and comrades cut down in a sea of black and red blood, never to be remembered, or honored, never to be found in a vast battlefield.

The golden haired elf gazed sadly at the child seated precariously upon the arm of the statue, grasping the broken hilt of Narsil. Little did the child know of his future, though told in short of his bloodline.

Suddenly, his elven warning blared as Estel toppled from his precarious perch.

---

Aragorn had been so consumed in his dreams and caught in his imagination, he had forgotten to balance himself properly. With an alarmed cry he fell, sword still clutched in his hands. Shutting his eyes tightly, he prepared himself for a painful landing, thinking nothing of the sharp shard he still held dangerously close to his face.

If Glorfindel had not been there to catch him, unbeknownst to him he would have suffered more than a bump on the head. Looking tearfully up at the silver eyes of the elven noble, he reluctantly relinquished his hold on the sword hilt. "Little one, did your father not ever tell you that you should not play with sharp objects? Or fall with them?" Glorfindel chastised gently.

Biting his lower lip, Estel averted his eyes. The elf set him down, while kneeling before him with Narsil across his knees. Estel stood with his hands grasped tightly behind him, head lowered the picture of remorse. His chin quivered. He hated disappointing anyone and Glorfindel was just as bad as if he had disobeyed his father. "I'm not angry with you Estel," Glorfindel assured. "I just want you to understand how dangerous what you did was." Gently, he lifted the small face to meet his eyes, "Promise me you will not do that again? Next time I don't think your father would like me to let it go so easily."

Estel nodded his head adamantly. He threw himself into Glorfindel's arms, bursting at the seams with contrition. "I be good!" Estel promised.

"There, there little one. Don't go and turn your eyes red. Then your father would be sure to know what you had been up to." Glorfindel smiled warmly the child. "You aren't the only one that has done things like that in this house. Your very immortal and supposedly perfect brothers have had their share of smacked posteriors and have done more than their share of foolish pranks and adventures." He patted the boy's dark haired head. "But that doesn't make it right for you to go an do the same." He rose and reverently placed Narsil back upon its pedestal. He stared at the shinning blades, eyes turning sad. You will have more than enough time to wield this when the time comes young one. You need not rush time.

Aragorn watched Glorfindel's face intently, his brow furrowed. Even in his young years, the boy could see the sadness on the elf's face. Seeking to cheer Glorfindel he tugged on the elven noble's soft emerald tunic. "Can you tell me a story?"

Glorfindel turned from the shards, returning his attention to the small child. "What kind of story?"

Aragorn needn't think. "A bad Elladan and Elrohir story!"

Glorfindel laughed. Taking the child's hand in his own large palm, he led Aragorn to a bright balcony. "Aye, I will tell you a story then." Children, he mused, as he set the boy on his lap. He would never truly understand their intuition, or their behavior. Illuvitar knows he had helped raise enough of them – both elven and human - yet they never ceased to amaze and confound him. Maybe one day, when the Grey Havens called, the mystery of the child's mind would be made clear.

End