Chapter One - A Bad Day

Elrohir was lazing by the river, reading and keeping half an eye on Arwen as she paddled, when Glorfindel hailed him.  “Elladan, there you are!  I have been looking for you.  Elrohir said you may be down here.” 

“He did?”  Elrohir asked cautiously, not wanting to commit himself.  He was surprised at the slip – Glorfindel was one of the few people who rarely confused the two of them.   It was also rare for Elladan to deliberately mislead him – what was his brother up to?  “You were looking for me?”  he added.  “Why?”

Glorfindel sighed.  “To remind you – and it is clearly necessary – that the duty rosters are to be on my desk tomorrow morning without fail.  Do not forget again!”

Elrohir sighed, stifling a flare of exasperation with his twin.  Elladan hated the monotony of routine tasks like compiling duty rosters and writing patrol reports.  Wherever possible, he delegated the work to someone else – not always reliably.   On occasion, the work had not been done.  Elrohir hesitated, wondering how to respond.  If he promised Glorfindel, he would be honour-bound to do the work himself – and he had his own duties and responsibilities to contend with.  If he admitted the truth, Elladan would end up with even more of the administration work he so hated.  Furious with his brother for placing him this difficult situation, he nodded at Glorfindel.  “It will be done,”  he hedged.  “You have my word.”  He shot a warning glance at Arwen to say nothing.

“See that it is!”  Glorfindel snapped as he left.  “I do not wish to hear that you persuaded Elrohir – or anyone else – to do it for you!”

“Do not worry – Elrohir will not be doing it, you can be certain of that!”  Elrohir responded a little sourly.

Glorfindel turned and gave him a long look, evidently hearing something in Elrohir’s tone of voice.  Arwen, bright eyed, splashed out of the stream.  “I’ll make sure that Elladan does the rosters properly, Glorfindel!” she promised cheerfully.   “Won’t I, El?”  she added to her brother.

Glorfindel surveyed them both suspiciously.  “See that you do,” he said at last.  He turned, and stalked off towards the training fields.

Elrohir lay back with a muffled curse, closing his eyes in despair.  Why did Elladan do this to him?

“Well, Elladan,”  came Arwen’s bright, malicious voice.  “Are you going to do the rosters?”

“Go away, Ar!”  Elrohir sighed.  “Just leave me.  Why not go and pester someone else instead?”   he begged, wishing to put someone – anyone, especially his brother – through this same torment.  There were times when he desperately envied Legolas.  His status as an only child was most attractive at moments like this.

“You’re Elrohir!”  Arwen told him.  “Don’t pretend you’re not – you know I can always tell you apart!”

He sighed.  It was true.  Although they had frequently tried, especially when Arwen was younger, he and Elladan had never managed to fool her.  She always knew who they were.  “Of course you know.  You knew when we came down here,” he responded.

“I don’t understand why everyone else finds it so difficult,” she continued.  “It’s not fair.  You should do something about it – wear different colours, do your hair differently, something – to make it easier for everyone!  Poor Glorfindel was quite confused!”

“You are right,”  Elrohir growled.  “I  wish we did not look alike – I wish we were different!  Be thankful, Arwen, that you are not a twin!”  They made their way back to the house.  As soon as possible, Elrohir abandoned his sister on the lawn in front of the house, and stormed off to find his unrepentant brother.

He cornered Elladan in his bedroom.  “I have just had Glorfindel demanding to know why I have not done the duty rosters yet!”  Elrohir fumed.  “He wants them tomorrow, without fail.  What are you playing at, Elladan?”

Elladan raised his hands defensively.  “I am sorry, El!  It was not my fault.  Well, not entirely,” he conceded.  “Glorfindel came to me and asked where I was.  I said I – you – were down by the river.”  He paused, reviewing this odd sentence, then shook his head.  “Anyway, I did not deliberately set out to mislead him.  He thought I was you.  It happens, El, you know it does!”

Elrohir glared at his brother.  Such mistakes and misunderstandings did indeed happen, but he wished they did not.  “Well, see that those forms are on his desk tomorrow – I will not make excuses for you again!”  he threatened.

Matters were not helped over supper, when Lindella, a young musician whose attention Elrohir had been trying to attract, sat next to Elladan.   She listened to him attentively, smiling and laughing as he quoted scraps and snippets of poetry to her.  “But that is one of my favourite ballads!”  she exclaimed.  “Do you know the whole of it?”   Elladan floundered helplessly, gazing at his brother in mute appeal.  Elrohir pretended not to notice, and turned his back on his twin.  “Will you sing it to me?”  Lindella murmured softly.  “Please, Elrohir?”

Elladan coughed, nearly choking on his wine.  “Lindella, I – I am not – that is, I am Elladan.  Not Elrohir.  I thought you knew …”  he said weakly.

Lindella stood, anger flashing in her eyes.  “Elladan?”  she raged.  She glared at him, then at Elrohir, who was watching in horror.  “You did this deliberately!  Both of you!  I suppose you think it is funny!”

“Lindella, no,”  Elrohir began helplessly, but she was beyond listening.

“How far were you going to take this?  You were making a fool of me!  Humiliating me!  How could you!”  She swept from the room and disappeared.  The soft hum of music and conversation, which had stopped, resumed more loudly than before.

Elrohir felt an overpowering urge to crawl beneath the table and hide. He resisted the temptation and stood, inclining his head towards his parents.  “Goodnight, Mother, Father.  I will see you in the morning.”  He turned to Elladan who had not moved.  “Elladan, I will talk to you later,”  he warned.

“El, please, that was not my fault!”  Elladan protested.  “How was I to know …”

“I said, I will talk to you later!”  Elrohir snapped.  “Goodnight!”

The hallway outside was deserted, for which he was thankful.  Making his way swiftly to his room, he collapsed onto the bed, and stared into the dim darkness.  How could his life possibly get any worse?

To Be Continued

Chapter Two – Getting Worse

Elrohir realised he was too restless and uneasy to sleep, so he slipped from his room and through the house into the gardens.  Walking in the soft solitude of night he felt his spirit eased by the distant murmur of the streams and waterfalls; and the stars glimpsed through the trees.  The sweet scents of jasmines and honeysuckles hung in the air, and he drew a deep, calming breath as the chaotic scenes of the evening replayed themselves.  He had been angry, he realised; was still angry – with Elladan, for placing him in this situation; with Lindella – surely if she was at all interested in him she would have realised;  and with himself, for caring so much.  It was, after all, a situation he should be used to by now:  few in Imladris could tell him and Elladan apart.  He was disappointed in Glorfindel, though – the warrior had known them all their lives, and surely should know better.

Initially he was not alone as he wandered – others also sought the peace and tranquillity of the darkness.  Soon, though, he reached a quieter area, and sat by a small stream.  Even here he was not alone, though – above the trickle of the water he became aware of someone crying softly.

His first instinct was to slip away quietly – he had no wish to intrude on anyone who so clearly wished for privacy; and tears made him feel awkward and unsure of what to say or do.  It seemed wrong, though, to ignore such distress, when he might be able to offer a little comfort or a friendly word.  “Hello?”  he called quietly.  “Are you all right?”

There was a slight gasp and a sniff, and a girl stepped from the shadows.  “You!”  she exclaimed in utter disgust.  “Can you not leave me alone?”

“Lindella!”

“Which one are you this time?” she demanded.  “Although it does not really matter – I have no wish to speak to either of you!”  She brushed a hand across her face, and sniffed again.  “Did you come after me to laugh at me again?  Just go away, Elladan – Elrohir – whoever you are!  Leave me!”

“Elrohir.  I am Elrohir.”

Lindella glared at him.  “Does it matter?  I suppose your brother is hovering somewhere nearby in any case.  He usually is."  Her eyes narrowed.  "And he was the one pretending to be you!  Just leave me alone, Elrohir – both of you!”  She pushed past him and hurried along the path.

Elrohir stared after her in dismay.  Things seemed to be going from bad to worse.  If he had had his wits about him, he would have attempted to explain his lack of involvement in whatever foolish game Elladan had been playing – but he had never even got the chance, and Lindella was now even more incensed than before.

The night had somehow lost its gentle appeal, and he returned to the house morosely.  Passing the dining hall he snatched a half-empty decanter of wine and a dirty glass from a side table, and returned to his room.  There were several bottles – and clean glasses – in the shared study which linked Elladan’s room with his; but he had no wish to encounter his brother just yet.  Pouring a glass of the wine, he took a slow sip, then leaned back on his bed in a gloomy silence.

A glass of wine later, there was a knock at the door.  He ignored it, knowing who it was, but after a moment the door opened and Elladan came in.

“El?  Are you still speaking to me?”  he asked warily.

“No,”  Elrohir responded shortly.

Elladan crossed to the bed, and sat at the foot with his feet drawn up.  “Good.  That means you cannot tell me to go away,” he reasoned, and sighed.  “El, I swear to you that that was not my fault.  Really.  She came and sat with me – I had no idea she thought I was you!  We were just talking – I suppose she seemed more friendly than usual, but thought nothing of it.  She never mentioned my name, or yours – she just said ‘you’, or ‘your brother’.  It was only at the end, when she said ‘Elrohir’, that I realised!  I am sorry, El – I never meant for anything like that to happen – I had no idea!” 

Elrohir did not reply, and Elladan tried again.  “I know that you like Lindella – you know I would never try to come between you, El.  You know that!”

Elrohir sighed, and slowly sat up.  He did know.  He trusted Elladan – they had their arguments and disagreements, rather bitter at times; but when it came to it, Elladan would never do anything to deliberately hurt him.  “I know,”  he admitted.  “I suppose I should have realised.  But you know my chances with her are totally ruined now?  I saw her again just now, by the stream.  She was crying.   She thinks we did do it deliberately – to play a trick; to tease her – who knows what she thinks we were doing?  I just wish …”  he broke off.

“You just wish what?”  Elladan asked.  He waited, and when Elrohir did not respond, added tangentially, “Arwen said you told her you sometimes wished you were not a twin.”

Elrohir turned swiftly to face his brother.  “You know I did not mean it like that!”  he exclaimed.  “I just meant …”  he paused, trying to put his feelings into words that would not cause unintentional hurt to Elladan.  “I sometimes wish we did not look so alike,”  he explained.  “I wish that people who should know better – like Glorfindel – did not still confuse us.  I wish that people would look at us when they speak to us, and see the differences, not the similarities.”

“Even mother called me ‘Elrohir’ the other day,”  Elladan admitted gloomily. “And if she cannot tell us apart – what hope is there for anyone else?”  They regarded one another despondently for a moment, and then, unbidden, began to grin.

“She called you Elrohir?”  Elrohir echoed.  “You are right – what hope is there for anyone else?”  He gave a short laugh, and shook his head wryly.  “Ah, well.  Perhaps one day.   But first …” he hesitated, and looked at Elladan again.  “First I want to find Lindella again, and explain.”

“Explain?”  Elladan repeated incredulously.  “Elrohir, she is already furious with you – and upset.  Now you want to explain as well?”

Elrohir was surprised.  “Yes, of course – why not?  You did not see her, El – she thought we did it deliberately.”

Elladan shook his head sadly.  “You can be very dense sometimes, little brother.  You are going to tell her that she was the one in the wrong?  Elrohir, she is an elleth.  She is not going to like hearing she made a mistake.  I think you will just make matters worse!”

Elrohir pondered his brother’s words.   He wanted to talk to Lindella, but he could see the sense of what Elladan had said as well.  “Well …perhaps I should see her later.  When she has calmed down again.  Tomorrow, perhaps.”  He gave Elladan a hard stare.  “And that reminds me – have you done the duty rosters yet?  Because I am not going to do them for you, or make excuses for you again!  If Glorfindel comes to me demanding to know why they are not on his desk, I shall take the greatest pleasure in explaining their absence to him!”

“Yes, they are done.  All of them.”  Elladan began to count the various duties off on his fingers.  “Patrols for the north and south; the eastern hills and the border to the west.  And the guards by the ford.  All done, all the duties for the next month!”  he finished with satisfaction.

“And have you given them to Glorfindel yet?”

Elladan yawned.  “Not yet – in the morning.  El, do you have any idea how late it is?  I want to go to bed!”

Elrohir suddenly realised how very tired he was.  It had been a most difficult evening, and was now very late.  But first … “Do you want me to check the duties for you?”  he offered suddenly.  He felt a little guilty at the way he had suspected Elladan.  “Just to make sure?”

Elladan nodded.  “Yes, if you like.  Fresh eyes may see some foolish error.”  He collected the sheets, and handed them to his brother. 

Reading swiftly, Elrohir scanned the lists.  Although Elladan hated such work, when he eventually settled to it he did it well.  His true skill, though, was in training the younger novices in the use of various weapons – where he was proving to be an inspirational leader.  “Yes, they look fine,”  Elrohir agreed as he read the final sheet.  “Although …”  he paused, and flipped back to an earlier sheet.  “Did you know you have Ilmarin in the north and the south patrols at the same time?  I know he is good, but he is not that good!”

“I have?”  Elladan examined the sheets.  “No matter – I can take him off the north patrol easily enough.  Thank you, El.”  He grinned.  “No elf can be in two places at once – apart from us!”

Elrohir nodded.  “Or so people believe.  We are going to have to do something, though – I am tired of being mistaken for you.  I am sure you are as well.”

“I agree.  Tomorrow we are going to have to think of something.  Fooling people by looking alike and dressing alike was fun when we were younger – but no more.  It causes more problems than ever.”  Elladan yawned again.  “Tomorrow, El – I am too tired to think now!

Elladan bade his brother good night, and retreated to his own room.  Elrohir opened the windows to the night, blew out the candles, and undressed before climbing into bed.   The reconciliation with Elladan had eased his mind, and despite his remaining concerns over Lindella, he quickly fell into a dreaming reverie.

o-o-o

He was not aware of the door to his room silently opening, nor of the slight figure that slid through the gap.  Ghost-like, the intruder crossed to the bed and looked down at him for a moment.  She seemed to hesitate fractionally, then with a nod of sudden resolve, stepped closer, raising her hand.  Reflected moonlight glinted off the blade she held, poised to strike.

To Be Continued

Chapter Three – The Dark Before The Dawn

Arwen opened the door to Elrohir’s room silently, and slid through the gap.  Ghost-like, she crossed to the bed and looked down at him for a moment.  She hesitated fractionally, then with a nod of sudden resolve,  stepped closer, raising her hand.  Reflected moonlight glinted off the scissors she held.

Elrohir lay face down, sprawled untidily across his bed.  His hair, loose now, spilled over the pillow and his shoulders.   Very carefully, her hand shaking a little, Arwen lifted a small section and cut.

The solution seemed so obvious, she could not understand why she had not thought of it before.  She had fallen asleep pondering the problem others seemed to have in telling her brothers apart – even their parents occasionally got it wrong – and had awoken in the middle of the night with a blinding revelation.   Deciding to act immediately – she could not bear the thought of another day of mistaken identities, and further arguments between her beloved brothers – she found a small pair of scissors in her sewing box, and slipped from her room.

Cautiously, fearful of waking her brother, she continued her task.  The scissors were old, and not particularly sharp, and she had to admit that the result was a little – uneven.  She had nearly finished when her hand brushed against Elrohir’s bare shoulder.  He twitched and moved slightly, muttering something in his sleep.  Arwen froze, holding her breath.  To her immense relief, he stilled again without rousing.

When she was certain that he was not awakening, she resumed work, rushing now to finish before Elrohir stirred again.  Finally it was done.  Satisfied, she stepped back and examined the result critically.   Yes, it would do.  For now – at least until his hair grew again – there would be no possibility of him being confused with Elladan.  She hoped he would not be too cross with her – but surely, when she explained why she had done it, he would understand.  After all, he was the one bemoaning the fact that he and Elladan looked so alike.

She still held a handful of cut-off hair.  Throwing it into the dying embers of the fire, it flared briefly and was gone.  As silently as she had come, she slipped from the room and returned to bed.

o-o-o

As dawn broke, the rising sun and growing birdsong roused Elrohir.  He blinked, and as his eyes cleared, gazed in puzzlement at what seemed to be several fine strands of black thread scattered across the pillow and sheets.  He blinked again to clear his vision, but the strands were still there.  Sitting up, he ran a hand across the strands, fingering them thoughtfully, then frowned.  Something felt wrong.

He turned his head again, a sudden realisation dawning on him.  The sensation of hair brushing against his bare skin – so familiar it was noticeable only in its absence – was missing.   In utter disbelief, he ran a hand over his head.  “Ai!” 

There was a thud, and the crash of a door being thrust open.   Then the door from the study was flung back on its hinges, and Elladan stood there, looking dishevelled and worried.  “El!  I heard you cry out – what ha …”  He broke off in mid sentence, gaping at his brother in amazement, then burst into laughter.

“Arwen happened!”  Elrohir growled.  “Look at me – look at my hair!  She must have crept in here during the night, and cut it!”   He snatched up a mirror from a side table, and stared into it with a deep groan.  It looked even worse than he had feared.   His hair had been hacked at roughly, and hung – ragged and uneven – just touching his shoulder on one side, level with his ear on the other.  “Balrog’s balls!  What has she done?”  He sent a glare of pure hatred towards his twin. “I am glad you find it so amusing, Elladan!” he added venomously.

“I am sorry, El,”  Elladan managed to gasp, joining Elrohir.  “Now, how can you be so sure it was Arwen?  It could be anyone – Lindella, even – you said how angry she was!  Why Arwen?”

Elrohir wondered how his brother could be so dense.  “How could anyone else get into this part of the house without being seen, and challenged?”  he pointed out.  “And only one of the family could get that close to me when I was asleep without me knowing.”  His own words penetrated his fury, and he stared at Elladan thoughtfully.  “One of the family …” he repeated softly.

“El, I swear to you that I did not do this!”  Elladan exclaimed, backing away hastily.  “But Arwen?  Would she dare?”

Elrohir dropped to his knees, and began searching the floor.  He pounced on something eagerly.  “A clue!”  he declared with a triumphant cry.  “Look – one of her hair ribbons!”

“Elrohir, wait!”  Elladan exclaimed.  “What are you going to do?”

“First,”  Elrohir snarled, “I am going to kill Arwen – you can watch if you like.  Then I am going to lock myself into my room for a month, until my hair has regrown to a sensible length.  And Arwen can wait on me, hand and foot, in atonement.”

“Can she do that if you kill her?”  Elladan asked reasonably.

“Of course!”  Elrohir snapped. “Glorfindel will be able to show her.”  He made for the door, and wrenched it open.

Elladan followed him, then dodged in front, standing in the doorway and blocking his path.  “El, please wait,” he begged.  “Calm down.  At least put some clothes on first!”

Elrohir glared at his twin, but Elladan met his gaze unflinchingly.  At last, Elrohir looked away with a sigh.  “Very well,”  he muttered.  “I suppose I should not kill her.  Mother and Father might object.”  He looked back at Elladan.  “ But she will pay for this!”

“Of course she will,”  Elladan promised soothingly. 

Elrohir scowled at him, then sat on the bed dejectedly.  He picked up the mirror again and gazed into it morosely.  “Just look at it,”  he sighed in despair.  “It looks ridiculous – I will be a laughing stock.  I will not be able to show my face for weeks!”

“We will think of something,”  Elladan reassured him.  “Here, put this on!”  He threw trousers, a tunic and an undershirt at Elrohir.  “Then we will go and see Arwen.”

o-o-o

Elrohir opened the door to Arwen’s room without bothering to knock – she no longer deserved such courtesies.  Her room was empty, but he could hear her bright chatter from their parent’s room next door.  He knocked and went in, Elladan close behind him. 

Celebrían looked up with a smile which rapidly turned to shock.  “Elrohir!  Oh, my dear – whatever happened to you?”  she exclaimed.

Elrohir said nothing, but stared at Arwen expectantly.  The expression of guilt on her face would have been incriminating enough, even without the strands of black that still clung to the front of her nightgown.  She looked at him in horror, and turned very red.  “Oh no – I didn’t think it would look that bad,”  she whispered.  “I’m sorry, El.”  She turned to Celebrían.  “Mother – I cut Elrohir’s hair last night,”  she admitted in a very low voice.  “When he was asleep.   It was because everyone keeps getting them mixed up.”  She turned back to Elrohir.  “But El, you said yourself that you wished you and El looked different.  Now you do!”  she pointed out.

“Different?”  he exploded.  “We certainly do!  Look at what you did to me!  My hair – it has been hacked at – chopped – slashed – mutilated!”

“Sheared,”  Elladan supplied helpfully.

Celebrían turned away quickly, her shoulders shaking slightly.  Elrohir stared at her in disbelief.  Was she laughing?    Her back still turned, she slowly gathered up a comb, brush and scissors.  Finally she turned.  “Arwen, go to your room,”  she instructed.  “Now.  I will talk to you later.  What you did was wrong – and you know it.  Now go.”

With a nod and a final stare at Elrohir, Arwen scurried out.   Then Celebrían turned to her sons.  “Elrohir, you cannot go around the house looking like that,”  she pointed out.  “Let me trim it, and tidy it a little.”

Elrohir shook his head.  “No-one is coming near me with scissors again,”  he protested defensively.  “And I am not planning to go around like this – I will stay in my room!”

Celebrían pointed to a chair.  “Sit!”  she commanded.

Elrohir sat.  His mother moved around him, trimming and snipping, and he winced as his hair was cut even shorter.  At last she stepped back, and gave him a mirror.  “There,”  she announced.  “That is the best I can do.  Does it look better?”

He peered at the reflection glumly.  His hair did look marginally better, but that was not saying much, he felt.  Slightly more even now, it was very short at the sides, tapering to a longer point at the back.   But it was short – no elf had such short hair.   It would take weeks before it grew to its normal length.  “I suppose so,” he muttered ungraciously.  “Thank you, mother.”

“Elrohir, do not think to threaten or punish Arwen over this.  Your father and I will deal with her.  Do you understand?  Leave her alone,”  Celebrían explained sternly.  “And you, Elladan.  Do not seek retribution for your brother.  We will deal with this.”

Elrohir glanced at Elladan, then gazed at his mother, judging her mood.  “Very well,” he agreed curtly.

“Good.  Then we will see you both at breakfast,”  Celebrían smiled.  “Until later.”

“Breakfast?  No!  I am not going into the dining hall.  I will not be seen like this!  I told you – I will be staying in my room,”  Elrohir reminded his mother.

Celebrían stared at him.  “You have a choice – you can hide in your room, or you can walk into the hall with your head held high.  Which is it to be?”

Elrohir was silent as Elladan led the way back to their rooms.  At the door, his brother paused.  “Well?  What are you going to do?”  he asked.

Elrohir drew a deep breath.  “I will see you at breakfast – downstairs,” he announced.

o-o-o

After washing, and selecting his clothes more carefully, Elrohir made his way down to the main dining hall.  He tried hard to ignore the stares and muttered comments of those he passed, but it was not easy.  As he opened the door, he hesitated, and would have retreated – but Elladan appeared at his side, a hand pressed firmly to the middle of his back.  “Keep going, little brother,”  Elladan urged in a whisper.  “You can do this.”

Together they walked into the hall.  Elrohir was painfully aware of the stares being cast his way as they sat at one of the long tables.  As they pulled dishes of bread, honey and butter closer, Elladan looked across the room and swore softly.  “Oh no – Glorfindel!  The duty rosters!  Wait here, El – I will be back.”  He slid from the bench, and left Elrohir alone.

A group of chattering ellyth came in and passed him.  “Oh!”  exclaimed one.  She sat at his side, and waved her friends on.  “Good morning, erm …” she hesitated.

Elrohir’s heart sank.  Why, of all people, did Lindella have to be the first he encountered?  He felt himself growing hot.   “Elladan,”  he said quickly.  “I am Elladan.”

To his surprise, she looked disappointed.  “Oh.  Oh, I see,” she began awkwardly.  “Well, good morning, Elladan.”  She began to edge away.

“No, wait!”  he exclaimed.  “I mean …”  he sighed.  “I am Elrohir.  Not Elladan.  I am sorry, Lindella.”

Her eyes flashed.  “More games?”  she asked dangerously.

“No!  Forgive me.  I just – I do not want to admit to this.”  He gestured at his head.

She smiled unexpectedly – not mockingly, but gently.  “Are you sure?  That you are Elrohir?  Because I wanted to apologise for last night.  I thought about what happened – and I realised that your brother actually never said he was you.  I just assumed.  In fact, he seemed a little startled when I sat with him.  But later – why did you come after me again?”

Elrohir shook his head.  “I didn’t.  I just wanted to get away from everyone – but then I heard crying, and wondered what was wrong.  That was all.”

“Oh.”  She gazed at him with her dark eyes.  “Well, I am sorry that I accused you of playing silly games.  I should have realised.”  Tilting her head to one side, she smiled again.  “No one is going to confuse you and Elladan at the moment, though, are they?  What happened?”

“Arwen,”  Elrohir explained simply.

She nodded.  “I see.”  She brushed her hand across the back of his neck.  “I like it.  It looks different, but I like it – it suits you.  And here,” –  she touched the shortest part, by his ears – “it curls slightly, did you know that?”

They were still staring at each other when Elladan returned.  “Well, Glorfindel is finally satisfied,” he announced.  “And I think …”  he trailed off as he realised Elrohir was not listening.

“Go away, El,”  Elrohir suggested.

Elladan went.

The End