3. Friendships by Gwynnyd
Dawn faded and the sun was almost high enough to shine down into the valley of Rivendell. The five years at the Havens were well enough, but Edracar had missed the forests and was glad to be home. He listened with half an ear to his father's admonitions on hunting safely while wishing, for the ten-thousandth time in the last twenty years, that Imros would - once! - be early. Even the babies were already out and about. The four heads huddled together looked like they had not moved in the last five summers.
His father ruffled his hair. "Have you heard a word I said?"
Edracar grinned. "Only aim at game, and do not stay out past supper."
"Good enough. I must go." He glanced over to the children gathered near the porch. "Perhaps you and Imros can find another friend."
"They are all babies."
Edracar watched as his father talked with Elrond's sons. A few minutes later Imros pelted across the courtyard.
"About time," Edracar said as Imros stopped and shrugged his quiver over his shoulder.
"Sorry."
"May I come, too?" The voice belonged to one of the babies, but surely he had grown unnaturally fast.
Edracar looked over the boy; bow on his back, knife on his belt, eyes uncertain of his welcome.
"You still belong with the babies, Estel." Imros stepped between and pointed towards the three wide-eyed smaller children watching them. "I'll bet you can't even draw that bow."
Edracar saw, with a shock, that Estel was eye-to-eye with Imros, who had seen twenty summers.
"I shoot just as good as you do."
"Who told you that?" Imros thrust his chin at the boy's face.
Estel stood his ground. "Elladan."
There was no disputing that, with Elladan standing just across the courtyard. Edracar felt the weight of his twenty-four years. "We're going after game. Did Elladan say you should come?"
"No, but…" Estel's eyes shifted to the smaller children and back. "They are still babies. I'd like to hunt with you, if that's all right. I won't slow you down."
Imros shook his head and his eyes strongly signaled he was against it.
Estel looked the same age as Imros, though he had arrived barely out of swaddling bands less than eight years ago. Men were odd. Edracar chewed his lip. Estel's expression slid into disappointment and he started to turn away.
"You can come."
His father ruffled his hair. "Have you heard a word I said?"
Edracar grinned. "Only aim at game, and do not stay out past supper."
"Good enough. I must go." He glanced over to the children gathered near the porch. "Perhaps you and Imros can find another friend."
"They are all babies."
Edracar watched as his father talked with Elrond's sons. A few minutes later Imros pelted across the courtyard.
"About time," Edracar said as Imros stopped and shrugged his quiver over his shoulder.
"Sorry."
"May I come, too?" The voice belonged to one of the babies, but surely he had grown unnaturally fast.
Edracar looked over the boy; bow on his back, knife on his belt, eyes uncertain of his welcome.
"You still belong with the babies, Estel." Imros stepped between and pointed towards the three wide-eyed smaller children watching them. "I'll bet you can't even draw that bow."
Edracar saw, with a shock, that Estel was eye-to-eye with Imros, who had seen twenty summers.
"I shoot just as good as you do."
"Who told you that?" Imros thrust his chin at the boy's face.
Estel stood his ground. "Elladan."
There was no disputing that, with Elladan standing just across the courtyard. Edracar felt the weight of his twenty-four years. "We're going after game. Did Elladan say you should come?"
"No, but…" Estel's eyes shifted to the smaller children and back. "They are still babies. I'd like to hunt with you, if that's all right. I won't slow you down."
Imros shook his head and his eyes strongly signaled he was against it.
Estel looked the same age as Imros, though he had arrived barely out of swaddling bands less than eight years ago. Men were odd. Edracar chewed his lip. Estel's expression slid into disappointment and he started to turn away.
"You can come."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
