The Secret Tongue of the Dwarves

The tinkle of small fragments of glass seeking the flagged hallway echoed in the silence before Elladan expressed himself forcefully in guttural and rolling Khuzdul.

‘Naneth will not be pleased,’ Elrohir observed.  ‘She was quite fond of those glasses – I believe Daernaneth’s Adar gave them to her.’

‘Make me feel better about it, why not?’ Elladan exclaimed bitterly.

‘We had best clear away the shards before your son comes and steps on them.’ Legolas turned away from Elladan with a slightly puzzled expression on his face.  ‘I am sure you will be able to make it up to Lady Celebrían – but if Ellanthir gets glass embedded in his foot, Miriwen will make you very sorry.’

The fragments, the three elves discovered, had managed to spread themselves liberally across the hall – and, no matter how many they picked up, there still seemed to be more.  Elladan muttered another of his favourite phrases as a tiny sliver of glass sliced his finger and added a sprinkling of blood to his favourite blue tunic.

‘It is no good,’ his brother decided.  ‘I will get Mothwen to send someone to clear the rest – you two go into the library, so you do not have to listen to her reproaches.  I will join you shortly.’

‘I have never quite understood how females manage to tidy up mess so effectively,’ Legolas admitted as he sprawled on the sofa.  ‘I try, if Elerrina leaves me in charge – but it never looks the same.’

‘They like doing it really,’ Elladan said absently.  ‘It makes them feel needed.’

‘Miriwen would make you pay for that comment, too.’

They looked up as Elrohir pushed the door open with his shoulder and entered.  ‘We have been relegated to the elflings’ glasses,’ he grinned.  ‘But fortunately, we are still permitted the wine.’

Legolas sipped appreciatively, before placing his glass carefully in the middle of one of the small tables that were scattered round the room.  ‘I have been meaning to ask you, Elladan,’ he remarked.  ‘Why do you lapse into odd bursts of Khuzdul when you are under stress?  It seems an odd thing to do.’

His friend raised his eyebrows.  ‘It is such a good language for conveying fury and frustration,’ he said, before rolling one of his favourite phrases over his tongue.  ‘Does it not just say it all?’

After a brief hesitation, Legolas agreed.  ‘It does, indeed, my friend,’ he said, managing to keep his voice steady.

Elrohir frowned at him.

‘I like this one, too.’  Elladan closed his eyes and gave voice to another expression full of throat-clearing consonants.   ‘It sounds delightfully vindictive.’

Legolas’s shoulders shook slightly.

Elrohir looked from his friend to his brother. 

‘Where did you learn to say that?’ Legolas asked.  ‘The dwarves are not generally very inclined to teach outsiders any of their language.’

Elladan frowned.  ‘It was some while ago,’ he said.  ‘We encountered dwarves on the Great West Road when we were journeying for Adar – to Mithlond, I believe.  We travelled together for a while.’  He grinned.  ‘I think they found our presence rather an irritation, actually.’

‘I suspect they did,’ Legolas agreed.

‘We taught them a few phrases of Sindarin,’ Elrohir recalled.  ‘I wondered for a while whether they were surprised by the reaction they got when they tried to use them.’  He shrugged. ‘It seemed funny at the time,’ he added.  ‘We were very young and foolish.’

‘Among dwarves who travel,’ Legolas observed carefully, ‘there are usually one or two with a reasonable grasp of Sindarin.  They tend not to speak it – they prefer it if the elves they meet think them ignorant.  They find they learn a lot that way.’

A faint flush of colour stained Elrohir’s face.  ‘You mean . . . ?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes,’ Legolas nodded.  ‘I think I can assure you that they knew what you were doing.’  He grinned wickedly.  ‘Although you, it seems, did not see through their – er – willingness to teach you some words of the secret tongue.’

Elladan closed his eyes.  ‘But Gimli taught you?’ he said in a rather hollow voice.

‘He taught me to recognise various insults,’ Legolas corrected him.  ‘He did not want me nodding agreeably to smiling dwarves who were making abusive comments about me and my race.’ He paused to control himself. ‘And I have spent enough time among dwarves to learn more than they expected.’  He hesitated.  ‘You really do not want your offspring even thinking about using some of those phrases, Elladan,’ he said. 

 ‘What do they mean?’ Elrohir asked hollowly.

Leaning forward and dropping his voice to a murmur, Legolas illuminated them.  The twins paled.

‘If you ever, and I mean ever, tell anyone, Legolas, that I have spent the last two thousand years informing everyone that I want to be a dwarf-maiden’s lapdog I will never forgive you!’ Elladan spoke from the heart.

Legolas grinned.  ‘I will consider your request, my friend,’ he said.  ‘Although, rest assured that it is an image that will live in my mind for ever!’

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Betrayal

Elladan brooded over the rim of his glass.

‘What is the problem, my brother?’ Elrohir asked.  ‘You have refrained from comment in the last hour.  It is most unlike you.’

His brother opened his mouth, then closed it again, moving his eyes sideways to stare at Legolas before moving them back to rest on his twin.

‘I cannot read your mind,’ Legolas said pleasantly.  ‘You will have to speak.’

Elladan reached out for the decanter and topped up his glass carefully.  ‘Who knew?’

‘Who knew what?’

‘Do not act as if you are dense, my brother,’ Elladan snapped.  ‘Who knew that we were making fools of ourselves each time we let loose with a mouthful of Khuzdul?’

Elrohir exchanged a wary glance with Legolas.  ‘Why should anyone have known?’ he asked carefully.  ‘We did not exactly lapse into the secret tongue in company.  The words we used – that we thought we were using were not ones to be shared.’

‘That does not mean we were not overheard,’ Elladan said scornfully.  ‘It is about as easy to keep a secret among elves as for a leaf to keep its movements quiet from the rest of the forest.’

‘The secret language was called a secret language for a reason,’ Legolas offered.  ‘It was – well – secret.  Why would any have known the true meaning of anything you said?  You never exactly went round shouting insults at any dwarves you met, did you?’  He took a mouthful of wine.  ‘So I doubt that any of Aulë’s people knew of the trick that had been played on you – at least, not once the dwarves who fooled you passed beyond the world.’

‘May their beards have been plucked out by vultures,’ Elladan said spitefully.

‘Hair by hair,’ Elrohir agreed, raising his glass to toast the sentiment.

Legolas contemplated the twins.  ‘I was under the impression,’ he said carefully, ‘that you had sent those dwarves into the world ready to suggest to any elves they met that their beards could be used for scrubbing pots.  Amongst other things.’

A ghost of a grin twitched the corners of Elladan’s mouth.  ‘True,’ he acknowledged.

‘We deserved to have the tables turned on us, my brother,’ Elrohir conceded.

‘But,’ Elladan returned doggedly to his original point, ‘I cannot believe that we have been expressing our frustrations in those – offensive phrases over all this time without somebody realising.’

‘Perhaps we should have given in to Adar’s suggestion that we learn Khuzdul,’ Elrohir said thoughtfully.  ‘We would have been harder to deceive.’

‘Adar speaks Khuzdul,’ Elladan remarked.  ‘He must have known that we were looking like idiots.’ 

‘He knows the formal phrases,’ Elrohir said mildly.  ‘Greetings and compliments – I do not know if he can hold extended conversations in it.’  He stretched.  ‘Glorfindel speaks a little, I think.  But, if I had to think of the elf who was best able to converse with dwarves in their own tongue, it would be Naneth.’

‘Naneth,’ Elladan mused.  The shadows danced as the wood fire crackled and cast its warm light over the shelves of books.  ‘No,’ he decided.  ‘She would not play games with us.’

Legolas sipped his wine.  This, he reflected, was definitely an instance when keeping his opinion to himself could only be a sign of wisdom.  In fact, he was rather beginning to regret that he had ever mentioned the matter in the first place.  After all, what did it matter if the twins declared to the world that they wished to lick the dwarf king’s armpits!  It was not as if more than a handful of those present in the Blessed Realm could understand their words.  And most of them were members of the twins’ family and unlikely to use that knowledge to embarrass them.

‘This,’ said Elrohir, ‘is something best forgotten.  As completely as possible, as soon as possible.  We will wipe the words from our memories, my twin.  I do not care if anyone has heard us use them – just as long as no-one ever hears them again.’

‘Agreed,’ Elladan nodded.  The three friends lapsed into silence again.  ‘It is a pity, though,’ he added regretfully.  ‘It is such a good language for expressing your frustration – even if the words do not mean what you think.’

‘You could just acquire some different expressions,’ Legolas suggested.  ‘I know a dwarf drinking song or two that are more satisfying than a morning on the training fields when it comes to relieving stress.’

‘You do not think for a minute that we are about to trust anyone to teach us to use words we do not understand,’ Elrohir objected.  ‘We have been fooled once!’

‘But this is me,’ Legolas said, wounded.  ‘I am your friend.  And Gimli was as my brother.  He would never have taught me to sing anything that would be insulting to me as an elf, now would he?’

‘Possibly not,’ Elladan conceded.

‘And someone will notice,’ Elrohir decided, ‘if we change our habits completely.  Perhaps we should trust the Wood Elf.  Let him teach us something we can say without blushing.  On the clear understanding that any deception will bring about his demise – in the most painful and humiliating way we can imagine.’

Legolas grinned.  ‘That sound reasonable enough,’ he said.

Discretion

The delicate spring sunshine bathed Galadriel’s hair and brightened it to living gold.  She tilted her head slightly and rested her hands in her lap, relishing the enthusiasm of the forest round her for this beautiful day.

Her daughter looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

‘You have taken that from Elrond,’ her naneth remarked.  ‘Try to break yourself of it, Celebrían.  It is less attractive in you.’

‘It is a very effective way of demanding information with minimal effort,’ the silver-haired elleth objected as she abandoned her own sewing and raised her face to the growing warmth of the sun.  ‘And when you tilt your head like that, you are considering the wisdom of speaking of something – and probably deciding to keep your observations to yourself.’

The voice of one of her sons rang out in a laughing protest as the two young elves continued their scrimmage out of sight down by a pool now icy with melted snow from the distant hills.   A splash rang out and the complaint cut off abruptly.

Celebrían sighed.  ‘It is not yet warm enough to swim,’ she said.

‘They are elves,’ Galadriel shrugged.  ‘Mostly, at any rate.  It will do them no harm.  Which of them has ended up in the water, do you think?’

‘Both,’ her daughter said confidently.  ‘Even if not yet.’

Her naneth smiled.  ‘What they do, they do together,’ she agreed.  ‘It is hard to believe that they are now adult.’   A guttural growl of grievance reached them.  ‘Although I am not yet certain that they are,’ Galadriel commented.  ‘In anything but years, anyway.  Where did they learn language like that?  Not at their naneth’s knee, I hope!’

‘Of course not!’ Celebrían grinned mischievously.  ‘Note that I am virtuously not reminding you of various expressions I learnt from my naneth.’

‘I was provoked,’ Galadriel said calmly.  ‘And they were desperate times.’  She ran a loving hand over the blades of fresh green that carpeted the peaceful glade where they sat to enjoy this time together.

Mocking laughter became loud objections as they heard a wave of water strike the rocks from which the second brother was clearly observing the first.  A loud splash followed, and the battle continued in the pool.

‘I hope they have enough sense to get themselves dry before they freeze,’ Celebrían sighed.  ‘Although they must have endured worse on patrol.’  She paused for a while.  ‘It is hard, at times, to see my joyful elflings taking up their duties as their adar’s sons.  I would like to have kept them innocent of the world’s troubles for longer.’

‘It cannot be done.’   Her naneth’s voice was tinged with sadness.  ‘Time passes whether you will or no – even among elves.’

The battle grew noisier, culminating in an explosion of vicious sounding insults, before the brothers heaved themselves from the water and squelched away.

‘I have not asked where they met dwarves, though.’  Celebrían spoke gleefully.  ‘And they are very careful not to repeat their words where they think I might hear them.’

‘Are you intending to speak to them?’ Galadriel asked.

Her daughter’s eyes widened innocently.

‘You are intending to let them continue to expose themselves to the derision of a race of whom your adar is less than fond?’

‘How often are they likely to encounter dwarves?’ Celebrían asked reasonably. ‘Or feel the need to abuse them if they do?  And how many elves speak Khuzdul?’

‘True,’ her naneth acknowledged.  ‘But nevertheless . . .’

‘They clearly think that they are using the most vulgar of insults,’ Celebrían pointed out, ‘for they employ them only when they are alone and believe themselves to be out of the hearing of any others.  To tell them the meaning of the phrases would be to make them feel that we spy on them.’

Galadriel’s clear star-filled gazed rested mildly on her daughter.  ‘You are rationalising your decision, my child.’

‘And it is truly, truly entertaining,’ Celebrían conceded.

‘I wonder if they will think so when they realise what their beloved naneth has been permitting them to say over who knows how many years,’ the Lady said.  ‘It is possible that they will feel rather more betrayed by that than by learning now that they have been duped by some of Aulë’s children.’

‘How should they know?’ her daughter asked.  ‘They would not dream of using such language if they thought I could hear them – their adar and Glorfindel have taught them much better than that.  Only you and I know – and only you and I understand.  And we,’ she smiled, ‘are both capable of keeping our own counsel.’

Galadriel inspected her daughter carefully.  ‘You are too like your adar,’ she observed.  ‘You have a wicked streak, Celebrían Celeborniel.  I will keep your secret.  But remember that a secret like this will only refrain from being hurtful if it is kept.  Your amusement must be for yourself alone.’

‘Not alone,’ Celebrían said with satisfaction.  ‘We will share it.  Just the two of us.’  They sat quietly as the disturbance caused by the twins settled down.  ‘But I hope I am there,’ she concluded wistfully, ‘to see their reactions if ever they discover just what they are saying.’

Poetic Justice

Elrond watched the loose hair and dust float in the gentle breeze as he brushed the debris of the warm day from his horse’s coat.  He did not get away from the tedium of paperwork enough, he thought.  Too many beautiful days were wasted seated with his back to the sun, while others got on with the practicalities of life.  He drew the brush slowly over the gleaming coat.  But what else could he do?  Except, he sighed, seize such moments as these when they offered.

‘Regretting not bringing a groom with you?’ Glorfindel asked teasingly.

Elrond looked pained.  ‘Have I become such a dull person?’ he enquired.  ‘So full of pretension that I cannot be expected to do anything for myself?’

‘Yes,’ his friend said instantly.  ‘I have been spending too much time in the company of the very young – and it is clear to me that you have become staid.  Why do you think I dragged you out to ride with us?’  He grinned.  ‘Although I lie a lot, too.’

‘Where are the very young?’ their adar asked.  ‘Have you risked sending them off unaccompanied?’

‘They are fully skilled and formidable warriors,’ Glorfindel pointed out.  ‘They keep reminding me that I saw to their training, so it must be so.’

‘I cannot remember ever being quite so young and cocksure,’ Elrond observed.

Glorfindel laughed.  ‘I am not sure that everyone who survived the First Age would agree with that.  I have heard some stories of the sons of Eärendil . . .’ His eyes gleamed as he glanced at his friend.  ‘I had thought of passing them on to your sons,’ he added innocently.

‘I have always regretted not being acquainted with those who knew you in your youth,’ Elrond winced.  ‘Mutual blackmail would, I feel, be only fair.’

An airy wave of Glorfindel’s hand dismissed his protest.  ‘I was perfect as an elfling,’ he protested.  ‘It stood me in good stead for developing even greater perfection as an adult.  I am,’ he said with fake modesty, flicking imaginary dust from his tunic with gleaming fingernails, ‘much admired for it.’

‘And here was I,’ Elrond murmured dryly, ‘thinking that it was quite different attributes that attracted admiration.’  He patted his horse on the shoulder and suggested that he should find the fresh grass by the water.  ‘I have been waiting for a private opportunity to ask you in rather more detail about the last mission on which you took my sons?’

Glorfindel smiled.  ‘Why might that be?  It was a fairly sedate expedition, as I recall.  I believe no swords were drawn in anger throughout.’

‘Dwarves, Glorfindel?’

‘Ahh.’

Elrond waited, but his friend offered no further comment.  ‘Perhaps, more specifically, Glorfindel, I should ask about what my sons and the dwarves spent their time discussing.’

The tall golden-haired elf looked slightly uncomfortable, but strove to maintain his air of puzzlement.  ‘I doubt they were talking over anything of importance,’ he said.  ‘They spent their time with the youngest among the dwarves, while the leaders looked on at least as suspiciously as we did.’  He smiled charmingly.  ‘Gondolin was, of course, free of the presence of Mahal’s people.’

‘That is as maybe,’ Elrond frowned, ‘but you cannot tell me that you are as ignorant of the dwarves’ tongue as you would pretend.’  He inspected his friend.  ‘You are as wily as a fox.’

‘Wilier,’ Glorfindel contradicted him.  ‘By far.’

‘And you cannot tell me that you were unaware of the game the dwarves were playing.’

Glorfindel grinned.  ‘But I was also aware of the game being played by your sons, my friend,’ he said.  ‘Tit for tat.  They deserved everything the dwarves threw at them.  And as their elders, we just decided to let them get on with it.’

A slow smile began to spread across Elrond’s face.  ‘Have you heard the expressions the twins are using?’ he asked.  ‘Do you understand them fully?’

‘I believe so.’  Glorfindel looked at him blandly.

‘I have clearly failed in my attempts to educate them properly,’ Elrond mused.  ‘Khuzdul was among the languages they were supposed to learn.’

‘It was hard enough to get them to study Quenya,’ Glorfindel remarked.  ‘They were convinced that fluent Westron was more than enough for the modern elf.’  He paused.  ‘Do you think Celebrían will let them in on the true meaning of what they are saying?’

Elrond shook his head.  ‘I doubt it.  Elladan and Elrohir will not use language of that sort in front of their naneth.’  At Glorfindel’s expression, he amended his words. ‘Language of the kind they think they are using.  What they are actually saying,’ he added ruefully, ‘they would not repeat in front of anyone.’

Sharp elven hearing drew their attention to the approach of two horses – and an exchange of amiable insults that made both Elrond and Glorfindel grin.

‘I wonder how long it will take them to find out,’ Glorfindel mused.

Elrond raised his eyebrows.  ‘A very long time, I suspect,’ he said. ‘A very long time indeed.’

A Light at a Dark Time

He could not sleep.  He had always enjoyed the night, wandering beneath the stars while others chose to waste their mystery to favour the harsh brightness of the day, but that had been for his pleasure.  Now, night provided its own pain as the bright constellations simply reminded him of his daughter’s absence.  Tears stung his eyes, bending and dispersing the light, making the stars dance in apparent mockery.

A whisper of silk brushing silk told him she had come and her strong arms enfolded him as she rested her cheek on his back.  ‘She will be there to welcome you when you choose to sail,’ she murmured.  ‘Healed and full of joy, as you would have her be.’

His breath shuddered, but he said nothing.

‘In time it will hurt less,’ Galadriel sighed.  Too many trials had left their scars for them to ignore the truth of that – too much endured, too much still left to do.  ‘And she is safe now.’

‘I cannot see that,’ he said.  ‘Her sons will not see that.  They seek death.’

‘Death, but not their own,’ his wife countered.

‘But they may well find their own in their obsession.’  He turned to wrap his arms around her.  ‘I have seen them fight and heard their battle cries.’

Galadriel stiffened slightly.

Even as his fingers combed through her hair, seeking the comfort of its strength, Celeborn noted her response.  It seemed, he thought, as if, in the middle of all this bitter desolation and the shattering of her family, she had found a desire to laugh.  He suffered as an adar, as a daeradar, but he had led his people in peace and war for more years than he could remember and, when he found an anomaly, he sought its cause.  His eyes narrowed.

‘Their wrath will ease,’ his wife said, her voice slightly husky. 

He leaned back, drawing the fingers of one hand delicately down her cheek to rest under her chin, raising it so that their eyes met.  The hand resting on her back felt her draw a deep breath.

‘You cannot find their rage amusing,’ he mused, ‘nor yet the situation that caused it – so the only thing that can be lightening your mood is the thought of their battle cries.  Now, why would that offer entertainment?’

Galadriel squirmed – so slightly that only one whose understanding of her was as deep as his would have sensed her discomfort.

‘I have fought beside them,’ he continued.  ‘And heard them call upon the power of the Valar to sustain them in battle – heard them demand vengeance – but I have never heard them say anything that would make me laugh.’

His wife’s stillness spoke of her control.

‘Yet,’ he reflected, watching her sharply, ‘there have been times – when they think I am out of earshot – when I have heard them using what sounds to me suspiciously like the dwarven tongue.’

Her shoulders quivered with the effort of keeping her face straight.

‘And, now I come to think of it, our daughter would have found it highly entertaining to teach her sons some highly inappropriate expressions in that wretched language.’

‘Dwarves come in as many guises as do elves,’ Galadriel insisted.  Celeborn’s sweeping generalisations about Aulë’s people were, she had always found, both unlike him and highly irritating. ‘And your daughter would not dream of teaching her offspring to use bad language.’

‘Unlike her naneth,’ her husband commented.

Galadriel blushed.  ‘Difficult times,’ she said.  ‘And Celebrían always had sharp ears.’

‘But your daughter would have found it very amusing to know that her sons were indulging in dwarven curses,’ Celeborn contemplated, ‘particularly,’ he added, meeting her eyes, ‘if she knew that their words did not mean what they thought.’

His wife surrendered to the laugh that bubbled up inside her.  ‘Our daughter, my lord, is a wicked tease – just like her adar – and has enjoyed this secret from the time of the twins’ first patrols.  You are not to spoil it for her.’

Celeborn stared at her coolly before a slow smile spread across his face.  ‘I do not know which of you is worse,’ he conceded.  ‘I feel sorry for all we poor fools who have to deal with you.  One condition,’ he demanded.

‘My lord?’ Galadriel enquired innocently.

‘I wish to know exactly what they are saying,’ Celeborn touched the tip of one long finger to her nose.  ‘I do not intend to be the only one – other than the twins, that is – who is unaware of the meaning of these highly entertaining expressions.’

‘Of course, my love,’ Galadriel agreed easily.  ‘Although you will only have my word for it, will you not?  You have always been reluctant to show any interest in dwarven culture – and I believe that there is no other in Lothlórien who is familiar with Khuzdul.  I could,’ she leaned forward to place a delicate kiss on his mouth, ‘tell you anything.’

‘I accept the warning,’ Celeborn told her.  ‘But believe me when I say that I know you too well to be taken in.  Attempt to deceive me, my love, and I will see that you pay for it.’

‘Promises,’ Galadriel said, taking his hand and leading him inside. ‘Promises.’

Brothers Beneath the Skin

The clear music of elven laughter rang from the trees like the chuckling of a small stream bubbling up among rocks.  Only the flick of Gimli’s dark eyes revealed that he was checking on the whereabouts of his elf.

‘You grew up with them as brothers?’ he grumbled.  ‘It is a wonder that you are as sane as you are.’

‘Indeed,’ Faramir remarked carefully, ‘they seem much more precipitate than their lady sister.’

Elessar, King of the United Realm, smiled enigmatically.  ‘Do not underestimate them,’ he advised. 

‘Light-minded elves,’ Gimli snorted.

A deserted bird’s nest disintegrated into its component twigs and moss, scattering the debris over the three on the ground.  ‘Light-minded elves with excellent hearing,’ called one of Elrond’s sons from his perch in the tree.

‘And a good aim,’ added the other.

‘They are not as foolish as they would have you think,’ Aragorn said, loud enough for there to be no doubt that his foster brothers heard him.  ‘You have seen them in battle, Gimli – they are competent warriors.’

‘I will grant them that,’ he answered grudgingly, remembering the deadly visions of dancing death that had blazed before the Black Gate.

‘And Lady Galadriel’s grandsons,’ Faramir mused with apparent irrelevance, idly tossing pebbles into the water.

‘That, too,’ the dwarf nodded, looking as the man beneath his bushy brows.

Aragorn glanced at his Steward with a fractional lift of his eyebrow.  ‘Let us seek some fish for supper, Elladan,’ he commanded.  ‘I would rather not waste this rare opportunity to escape all the tedious formality that goes with kingship.’

‘I hope you are ready to get wet, Estel,’ Elladan teased, leaping from his branch to land lightly beside the former ranger.  ‘I have never known you to return from a fishing expedition in dry clothes.’

‘That is because you have always known me to go fishing with you,’ his foster brother said dryly.  ‘Most people find that I am pretty capable.’

‘I think you will find that only Arwen claims that,’ Elrohir said solemnly.

‘Or does she insist that he is pretty and capable?’ Elladan asked.

‘It is pretty frightening to think of what she finds him capable.’

‘They are mad,’ Gimli murmured with conviction as they led Aragorn away.

‘They only want you to think they are,’ Legolas shrugged, as he rejoined them.  ‘They hide behind a mask of mirth.’  He glanced upstream where Aragorn and the twins continued to tease each other.   ‘They are losing much of what they hold most dear, one way and another.  We cannot begrudge them their laughter.’

Gimli grunted.  One of the things he found hardest to understand about these flighty elves was the deep core of sadness that seemed to fester in them.  He would have thought that living for ever would have taught them to let go of sorrow – but they seemed to treasure it as the price they had to pay.  He lifted his head as one of the two identical voices demanded that his brother took the fish he had apparently just caught, rising then in pitch as the creature slithered free, only to end his speech in a growlingly expressed phrase – in Khuzdul?

He frowned.  Where had the youthful-looking elf learned that?  And, he thought, as the words registered rather than the language, what in Arda did he think he had said?  Behind his extensive beard, a smile started to spread across Gimli’s face.  The picture of those two offering themselves naked to be footstools for the comfort of aged matriarchs was one that would remain with him as long as he lived. 

Only, his jaw tightened as the thought occurred, he was not having his elf made a mockery by dwarves with more pride than sense.  If he was going to take Legolas up on his agreement to visit the Lonely Mountain – and he fully intended to do so – he was going to have to see that no-one could take him for a fool.  He was not prepared to reveal the secrets of his race – not even to one declared a dwarf-friend – but he would have to see that Legolas knew enough not to fall for the trick that had been played on the sons of Elrond.

Aragorn returned a laughing insult to his brothers.  He wished to lick the dirt from a master smith’s boot, did he?  Gimli shook his head.  He would have to have a word with the ranger.  He could not allow the King of Gondor and Arnor to go round using that kind of language.  He would just have to swear him to secrecy first.  He really would not want to be the dwarf to reveal this matter to the Peredhel.  They were, after all, remarkably quick with their blades – and it was too good a joke to spoil.

Faramir stirred up the fire.  ‘It is a shame we cannot stay longer,’ he said regretfully.  ‘It has been a pleasure to get away from the city.’

‘It has that, lad,’ Gimli agreed.

‘But we do not have to leave yet,’ Legolas told them, as he moved reluctantly away from the tree that had been absorbing his attention.  ‘We have time to eat – and sing.  We can ride back under the stars.’

Gimli grinned.  ‘I have a song or two I could teach you, elf,’ he said.  ‘I would not want to get you drunk at that feast I have been promising you without your knowing the right words.  That would never do.’

Man Management

‘No, Estel.’ 

The Queen of the United Realm lowered her embroidery to her lap and raised eyes of liquid starlight to gaze firmly at her husband.

‘But, my love . . .’ he protested.  ‘You cannot mean to let them continue saying . . .’

‘They have been saying those things for as long as I can remember,’ she told him.  ‘It will do them no harm to continue.’

Gimli stood like a rock, his arms folded across his chest under his luxuriant beard.  He grunted his agreement.  ‘I would never have told you had I thought you would take it this way,’ he complained.

‘But . . .’ Aragorn tried again.

‘But nothing.’  Gimli’s beard jumped as he set his jaw.  ‘You promised me before we started that you would keep this in confidence – unless it threatened Gondor’s safety.  How does the language used by Elrond’s sons damage your realm, tell me that?’

Arwen smiled; a wicked little grin that made her husband’s heart sink.  ‘You did say that, Estel,’ she agreed.  ‘Perhaps you should be more careful what you promise.’

His heart sank.  If his Evenstar was determined to perpetuate this – this atrocity, then what could he do to save his brothers?   Elladan and Elrohir had, after all, been her brothers first – and for many centuries.  Perhaps they had, over those years, done a multitude of things to merit her decision to let them continue with this farce.

‘It is very noble of Gimli to let you in on the secret,’ Arwen said, moving close to rest a coaxing hand on the king’s arm.  ‘He did not have to, you know.  He could have let you, too, continue to swear in the secret tongue – and with more dwarves coming into the city, who is to know who might have overheard you?  Your wish to be served up on a platter with an apple between your lips might have become the talk of dwarvenkind.’

Elessar paled.

‘I would not have that happen, lad,’ Gimli said gruffly.  ‘Not to mention that I would have to challenge any dwarf who insulted you.’

‘We cannot have that.’  Arwen shook her head, allowing her rippling black hair to fall over her shoulders.  ‘It would not be like you, Estel, to put Gimli’s very life at risk to defend you from the mockery of his kin.’

‘And I am grateful to you, Gimli.’  Aragorn’s voice rang with sincerity.  ‘I owe you the highest honour that Gondor can offer.  I would just like to extend the favour of this knowledge to Elladan and Elrohir.’

‘I do not want your honours, Aragorn,’ the dwarf shrugged.  ‘My words were offered on the strength of our friendship.  We have travelled a long way together.’

‘And I understand,’ Arwen smiled, ‘if Estel chooses not to, that you do not owe such loyalty to my brothers.’

‘What of Legolas?’ Aragorn decided to try another tack.

‘I will see to the elf,’ Gimli assured him.  ‘He is dwarf-friend – and will be treated as such.  I will make sure he knows enough not to be deceived.’

‘Elladan and Elrohir would be far more distressed,’ their sister said, ‘to be told of this matter now.  After all, my love, how many dwarves are likely to hear them employing their knowledge of Khuzdul?’  She ran her long fingers through her husband’s untidy hair, sending a shiver down his spine.  ‘They believe themselves to be using the sort of expressions that are not generally used in diplomacy.   It will be much better to leave them in ignorance.’

As Estel, he could feel himself weakening.  The thought of maintaining this joke on the brothers who had teased him mercilessly over the years had its merits.  And, as king, he had to ask himself, what harm could it do?  He really would not want to revive the suspicion that so often affected elves in the presence of dwarves by revealing the scheme of those long dead.    Aragorn would rather be honest – the twins were adults; they could take the truth – but . . .  He melted as Arwen’s clever fingers released the tension in his neck and shoulder.

The Queen lifted an eyebrow at Gimli over her husband’s shoulder.

Gimli smiled.  He might, he thought, had he seen the Evenstar before he met her grandmother, have found himself offering his undying devotion to this vision of timeless beauty.  He could understand how it was that Aragorn had committed much of his life to winning her hand – even to the point of taking on the Dark Lord himself.  But, the dwarf decided, the lad wanted to be careful.  It seemed that, once the lady made up her mind, she would stop at nothing to ensure that she got her own way – and Aragorn stood little chance of defeating her.

‘So, will you keep your tongue still, Aragorn?’ he asked bluntly.  ‘I will teach you a phrase or two better suited to the mouth of a king,’ he offered.

‘I think,’ Elessar pronounced warily, ‘it would be – less than tactful for the king to use the language of an allied race in order to utter abuse of any kind.  Let the secret tongue remain in the safekeeping of the dwarves.’

‘Very wise, my love,’ Arwen approved.   

‘And I will not interfere in any way between you and my brothers over this matter.’

‘If that is your decision,’ Gimli smiled broadly.  Now all he had to do was get those flighty elves, without realising his intent, to reveal all their choicest expressions – and that would make a pleasant project for him over the many peaceful years to come.

Awareness

They had come.  Beyond all hope, their loss long since mourned, the hollowness of their absence endured: they had come. 

Elrond leaned on the frame of the long window and gazed into the deep blue night.  He still found it hard to believe.  He smiled more now, he noticed.  Stopped at unexpected glimpses of his sons to marvel at their presence.  Looked forward to a future that had seemed – somewhat grey.  They had come.

Sliding the brush through her waterfall of silver hair, Celebrían inspected her husband and sighed with pleasure.  He had found it difficult to forgive himself for arriving without their children – he had tormented himself with the fear that she would be unable to accept Arwen’s choice or the twins’ delay – and his grief had shadowed their reunion.    But with the arrival of their sons, the brighter, more fun-loving side of her duty-driven husband had started to emerge from the confinement in which he had kept it.  She grinned mischievously.  And it was up to her to encourage him to let go of the last of the burden that had almost overborne him.

A burst of distant laughter floated across the still lawns and Elrond rested his head against the warm wood as he savoured the sound.  Elladan and Elrohir had been so drained when first they stepped off the worn ship, but each day revived in them some part of the boisterous elflings who had kept Imladris on tenterhooks as all anticipated the ellyn’s next enterprise.

‘Let us join them,’ Celebrían said suddenly.  ‘We could take a wineskin and some bread and cheese and wander the night.’

He turned and smiled.  ‘But would they want us?’ he asked.  ‘They seem to be enjoying themselves – would they want two old staid elves to spoil their fun?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ his wife sniffed, using one hand to loosen the laces on his tunic while the other pushed his formal robe from his shoulders to tumble to the floor.  ‘It would take more than added years to make me staid.’

‘I wonder what you saw in one who is as dull as I am,’ Elrond commented, shaking his head sadly.

‘So my adar said,’ Celebrían told him smugly.  ‘You and he are more alike than you know.  My naneth, on the other hand, said that you should not be underestimated – you had hidden depths of which even you were unaware.’  She slid one cool hand under his tunic to press it against his warm back.  ‘She was right, Elrond Eärendilion.’

‘Events would have to be very brave not to prove your naneth right, my love,’ her husband said ruefully.

Celebrían smacked him lightly on the chest.  ‘There is no need to be impudent,’ she told him indignantly. 

Elrond’s hand captured hers.  ‘Do you really wish to join our sons?’  He glanced out into the moonlit garden.  ‘I think we might be too late – they seem to be returning to the house.’

‘It is good to hear them laugh,’ their naneth sighed, pressing herself against Elrond’s lean body.

‘Better even than that.’ Her husband’s clasp on her tightened.  The first light had ignited in their sons’ jaded eyes at the sight of their naneth, restored to health and joy.  ‘They missed you.’

Outside, the twins were clearly attempting to subdue laughter that had nothing to do with drink or mischief, but that surged from a freshly revived delight in living.  Elladan placed an admonitory hand over his brother’s mouth only to have his fingers nipped.  He grumbled a curse as he snatched it back to cup it protectively.

In the window of their room, the moonlight caught Celebrían’s eyes and made them sparkle with a brilliance that echoed the stars.

‘Well, it was your fault,’ Elrohir protested, muttering a growling phrase of his own as his brother cuffed him across the back of the head.

His adar’s shoulders shook.

Celebrían turned to gaze at her husband suspiciously.

Elladan avoided his twin’s attempt to trip him with practised adroitness, dodging past him to lead the chase into their parents’ peaceful house.  Elrohir murmured disgustedly before pursuing his brother.

A delighted giggle escaped their naneth.  ‘You know!’ she said accusingly.

‘Underestimated,’ Elrond reminded her complacently.  ‘Listen to your naneth.’

Celebrían jabbed him with a sharp finger.  ‘How long have you been aware of your sons’ – deluded belief in their language skills?’

‘Am I not a lore-master?’ her husband asked with mock offence.  ‘You expect me to remain in ignorance?  I am, on the other hand,’ he said, putting a hand to his heart, ‘shocked beyond belief that my lady should have such words in her vocabulary – and that my sons should have exposed her to whatever they think they have been saying.’

‘Oh, tosh,’ Celebrían dismissed his teasing.  ‘I am not made of snowflakes, my love, to melt away at the suggestion of something warm.’  She twined her arms round him and tangled her fingers in his ebony hair.  ‘Should we tell them, do you think?’

‘After all this time?  No,’ Elrond decided.  ‘They will find out soon enough.’

‘After all this time?’ Celebrían smiled. ‘May that discovery never come.’

Revelation

‘They know,’ Celebrían murmured.

‘How do you know they know?’ Glorfindel objected.  ‘They may just have developed sufficient maturity – now they are proud adars – to keep such indiscretions discreet.  They would doubtless prefer their own offspring not to thicken the air around them with dwarvish curses.’

‘They know,’ she repeated with certainty.  ‘But they do not know that we know.’

Elrond raised an eyebrow.  ‘How can they not be suspicious?’

‘Oh, they are suspicious,’ she conceded, ‘but they have chosen to believe in our innocence.’

‘How refreshingly naïve,’ Glorfindel mused.  A smile brightened his fair face.  ‘Should we disabuse them of the notion that they can successfully deceive us, do you think?’

Galadriel watched her grandsons’ faces in the golden evening light.  ‘Why?’ she asked.  ‘What they do not know cannot hurt them.’

‘In other words,’ Celeborn raised his glass, ‘they may expect the worst of us, but you would prefer them not to believe that their naneth and daernaneth have been party to the jest from the beginning.’

‘And I will have to have a word with young Thranduilion,’ the Lady said serenely.  ‘It seems to me that, for no good reason, he has foolishly stirred up a great deal of mud that would have been better left undisturbed.’

Amid the groups of chattering elves that moved backwards and forwards across the broad lawns in constantly changing patterns of colour, Elladan and Elrohir watched their elders with practised discrimination.

‘They are all in on it,’ Elladan said incredulously. 

‘Be fair,’ his brother advised.  ‘Remember that they were not the – the spawn of Morgoth’s corruption who taught us those revolting expressions.’

‘But they did not stop us.’  Elladan altered his position with apparent carelessness while continuing to watch the parley among his closest family.  ‘A word from Glorfindel at the time – and we would never have been in a position where we humiliated ourselves in front of more people than I care to remember.’

‘Glorfindel, yes,’ Elrohir frowned.  ‘I think his actions call for revenge.’  He brooded briefly.  ‘But Naneth . . . Daernaneth . . . they could have . . .’

‘We would have been mortified had they said anything,’ Elladan declared. 

Elrohir opened his mouth to suggest that the task of speaking to them could have been passed on to others whose participation would have been less embarrassing, but then closed it again.  The last thing he wanted to do was to sway Elladan into thinking that they should be angry with their naneth.  ‘It is our own fault, really,’ he said instead.  ‘We should have smelled a rat.’  He sighed.  ‘A whole sewer full of them.’

‘We were too pleased with ourselves – and sure we were getting away with something,’ Elladan told him ruefully. 

‘Do you think,’ Elrohir asked suddenly, ‘that there could be a problem if any of those with whom we have shared the finer points of our vocabulary were to be revealed –  casually employing some of the – er –  more graphic turns of phrase?’

Elladan turned to look at him.  ‘Others?’ he enquired, turning his brother’s words over in his mind.  ‘Do you know,’ he said slowly, ‘it could cause complications, could it not?  Especially once they discovered how we had been cruelly deceived by those who should have known better.’

‘How many would there be, do you think?’

Elladan’s smile widened.  ‘At least a dozen or two,’ he considered.  ‘Among elves, that is.  I know not how many among men might have acquired the expressions.’

‘I think it might be rather more,’ Elrohir mused.  ‘And several score more who would have picked up the phrases from them.’

‘Do you think that group of conspirators is aware that the use of our preferred Khuzdul curses has cascaded down over the years to a plethora of young elves?’

The brothers’ eyes met.

‘Should we tell them, do you think, of the consequences of their attempt at humour?’

‘I believe it to be our duty,’ Elladan replied maliciously.  ‘Now we know the truth, we cannot let our elders go in ignorance of the unfortunate results of our lack of knowledge.’

‘Just as long as they do not then detail us to go and reveal the meaning of that which is much better forgotten,’ his brother warned.

‘They would not do that.’  Elladan’s initial confidence faded.  ‘Would they?’

‘They might,’ Elrohir said.  ‘But would that matter, seeing that the situation is not, in fact, quite what it seems?’

‘Perhaps not,’ his twin agreed.  He smiled at his brother.  ‘Shall we tell them?’

The sons of Elrond, shoulder to shoulder, approached the group of suddenly quiet elves, their features in shadow as they looked intently at the blank faces before them.  ‘Adar,’ Elladan stated sombrely, ‘we have a problem.’

Royal Displeasure

Legolas felt his ears burn as the Lady’s cool starlit gaze inspected him.  It had been many years – centuries – since anyone had been able to make him square his shoulders and stiffen his spine, ready to endure the kind of scarification at which his adar had specialised during his reckless adolescence, and he was amazed that the elegantly ethereal Galadriel could achieve it with no more than a look.

Experience told him that silence would be the wisest response – requiring the Lady to state her displeasure in simple terms – but, somehow, the whirling constellations that sparkled in her eyes rendered him unable to act wisely.

‘You cannot have wanted me to allow my offspring – and theirs – to pick up that kind of language!’ he protested, knowing, even as he spoke, that his argument would not melt the frost on her face.

‘It never occurred to you,’ she enquired coolly, ‘to mention to my daughter or her husband that you intended to reveal something that had remained unspoken over more than twice your lifetime?’  She allowed Legolas to shift uncomfortably, reverting unconsciously to the status of a naughty elfling.  ‘Despite your presence in Imladris, when I daresay you heard both Elrond and Glorfindel speak to Gimli and his father in their own tongue?  Despite Gimli’s keeping of the confidence?  Or had you, perhaps, not thought your friend intelligent enough to play a game with my grandsons?’

A flash of temper ignited in the usually amiable prince, smouldering in his veins like a fire in peat.  His eyes narrowed.  ‘A cruel game, my lady,’ he declared, refusing to wilt under her stare, ‘to make your grandsons look foolish for your entertainment.’

‘In whose eyes were they foolish?’ she retorted, a hint of colour tinting her cheekbones.  ‘None knew save those whose care for them is beyond dispute!’

Legolas lifted a haughty eyebrow.  ‘If Gimli knew of their – errors – then I am certain he cannot have been the only one.  Their avoidable ignorance exposed your grandsons to the mockery of many whose derision would, I thought, have been unwelcome.’

‘Gimli Elvellon was the only dwarf in their lifetime to associate freely enough with elves to hear their words,’ she retaliated, ‘and he had enough sense to keep his discovery to himself!’  The sparks in her eyes sharpened to daggers before she sheathed them with obvious deliberation.  ‘It has long been a family jest,’ she snubbed him, ‘that has now been spoiled.’

‘A jest, my lady,’ Legolas said courteously, ‘requires all parties to share in the amusement.  I do not consider this to have been a jest.’

Galadriel caught herself opening her mouth to explain that the game had, in the end, had more to do with their grief for the twins’ naneth than with her grandsons themselves, but clenched her teeth.  Her intention was to bring this ellon to a sense of his own folly – not to apologise to him for something that was none of his business.   She shrugged.  ‘You have created a situation that will take much unravelling,’ she said accusingly.

‘I, my lady, have created nothing,’ Legolas replied.  ‘The situation is – and probably always has been – far more complex than you would allow.  It has long since passed any definition of a family joke.’  He met her eyes resolutely.  ‘I am sure that my children are not the only elflings to have absorbed elements of your grandsons’ vocabulary,’ he said.  ‘And I do not intend – either for their own dignity or for that of Aulë’s children – that they should make a habit of using words that are, to my mind, insulting to both races.’  His lips stretched in a tight, dangerous smile.  ‘I think you might find, my lady,’ he added, ‘that Elladan and Elrohir’s vocabulary is in rather more extensive use than you might think.  Gimli’s additions – and I think I knew him well enough to tell which they are – tend to be amusing rather than offensive, but I have heard warriors and younger ellyn talking when they would not expect to be overheard by their lords and commanders – or their naneths and sisters – and I can assure you that this is not an isolated problem.’  His smile widened.  ‘You could, I suggest, start by asking Lord Celeborn to speak to Haldir.  The conversation might prove illuminating.’

He bowed with finality and withdrew, leaving Galadriel unexpectedly disconcerted.

‘That,’ Celeborn grinned from behind her, ‘did not go as you had expected.’

Galadriel turned swiftly, assuming her usual mask of serene control.  ‘I do not know what you mean,’ she asserted.

Her husband laughed.  ‘It is a very long time,’ he said appreciatively, ‘since I have seen anybody speak to you in that way.  And even then, it took someone of Elu’s authority to stun you to silence.  I am surprised that Thranduil’s son had it in him to face you down.’

‘So am I,’ she admitted.  ‘Astounded.  He is little more than an elfling himself.’

‘Ah.’  Celeborn took her hand, using his thumb to massage her palm.  ‘But he had the advantage of being right, my love.  We should never have kept this from the twins for so long.  And,’ he added ruefully, ‘it would seem that Elladan was right in saying that their words have had a wider influence than I had ever suspected.’

Galadriel sighed.  ‘We cannot,’ she remarked, ‘re-educate every elf of Arda who has picked up our grandsons’ less savoury vocabulary.  Not without making public how they were deceived in the first place.’

‘It may not be as bad as all that,’ her husband reflected. ‘Legolas is not, after all, fluent in the dwarves’ language.  Khuzdul is not an easy tongue to pronounce – and the twins have generally used it when under stress.  If Haldir’s example is anything to go by, then not all those who have adopted the terms are saying anything that would be recognised by the average dwarf.’  He combed his fingers through her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder.  ‘Or even,’ he added, ‘by the most exceptional dwarf.  I am not saying that what he repeated was any better, mind you, just that much of it bore little relationship to a recognisable language. If we are very lucky, my love, our grandsons might yet find the outcome of this situation entertaining enough to forgive us our oversight.’ 

Sharp Practice

‘I cannot believe,’ Elrohir said incredulously, ‘that you walked away from Daernaneth in one piece.’

Legolas looked down his nose disdainfully.  ‘Why should I not?’ he asked, choosing not to mention his early nerves.  ‘The trick played on you was unfair.’

‘So you will help us!’ Elladan pushed.  ‘It is only fair that those who relished our embarrassment should be embarrassed in their turn.  All we need is enough people to convince Adar that the use of those terms is widespread.’

Legolas looked at him.  ‘Tell me,’ he said gently, ‘when have you generally felt impelled to lapse into the secret tongue?’

Something in his tone fixed Elrohir’s attention on him.  ‘What do you mean?’ He paused.  ‘Battle,’ he listed on his fingers, ‘after – er – overindulging in wine, when horsing around, when under stress . . .  Why do you ask?’

‘And you indulge in these activities when you are alone?’

‘You are not saying that we are right to suggest that our private expressions have descended into public use, are you?’ Elladan grinned.  ‘That would be disconcerting.’

A reluctant laugh escaped their friend.  ‘In a way, Elladan.  I would not say that your original tormentors would recognise what various warriors of Imladris and Lothlórien are saying, though I have heard enough to suspect now where they picked up the words.’ He paused.  ‘But it was hearing the versions used by Elrin and his friends made me decide you had to know.’

‘How are people getting it wrong?’ Elrohir asked with interest.

‘It is all in the intonation, fool elf,’ Legolas said, his gruff tone clearly quoting his long-dead dwarven friend.  ‘Get it wrong and you will have a fight on your hands.’  He blinked a few times.  ‘You say what you were taught as you were taught it – but those who have repeated your mutterings have the cadences all wrong – they have made Khuzdul flow like Sindarin.  They are not saying the same thing at all.’

‘What do they say?’ Elladan asked. ‘And how is what my son says different?’

‘Short of asking Lord Aulë – and I doubt that would be wise – I doubt we will ever know,’ his friend shrugged, ignoring the second part of his question.

The twins exchanged grins.  ‘We could,’ they said.  ‘I am sure Lord Aulë would be glad to speak to one who is a dwarf-friend – and he would clearly be the best source of information.’

Legolas drew a sharp breath.  ‘And he is unlikely to take too kindly to the thought of elves taking the secret tongue and twisting it to their own liking.  I have no desire to set off a dispute amongst the Valar, whatever you descendants of Finwë might do!’

‘I think we are being insulted,’ Elrohir observed dispassionately.

‘But at least I am not suggesting that you should sup your ale from my boot,’ Legolas grinned.

‘So,’ Elladan returned to his original point with his usual obstinacy, ‘who shall we subvert to help us with our scheme?’

‘It has to be people to whom our connection is indirect.’ Elrohir stretched, glancing around him as the sound of water muffled their words.  ‘Too obvious and Glorfindel will know right away.  Friends of friends.  The sons of those who trained with us – or rode with us on patrol.’

‘I can think of one or two rather closer to home,’ Legolas said dispassionately, ‘whose garbled command of your words would have a rather stronger impact than most.’

Elrohir frowned.  ‘I am not,’ he said firmly, ‘dragging my daughters into this.  My wife would kill me – and I would be unable to blame her.’

‘They would not require dragging anywhere, my friend.’

In the silence that followed, the splashing of the water sounded like mocking laughter.

 ‘It is what impelled me to speak,’ Legolas admitted.

‘Then you, too, have known for some time that we were making fools of ourselves?’ Elladan frowned.

Legolas hesitated.  ‘Not in Ithilien,’ he said.  ‘I never heard you use the terms there – but recently.  When you broke your leg – but we were too anxious to get you to help for it to register then.  More recently, I have been listening for it – as the source of the bad language favoured by the young.’

‘That is it!’ Elrohir snapped.  ‘We will sound out some among our friends and have them use the worst expressions we can think of in company that will understand each word – and then permit our children to expose their vocabulary to their illustrious grandparents and great grandparents – and make it plain that it is up to them to deal with it.  They have made asses of us long enough.’

‘But we do not want to look foolish,’ Elladan warned.  ‘If we try to set up a plot and fail to implement it our elders will never be convinced to take us seriously.’

His brother snorted.  ‘They have been hoarding this joke against us since before we reached our first century, my twin.  I doubt that we have much to worry about – they are never going to look on us as rational adults.’

Legolas laughed.  ‘I would not bother trying to come up with a plot, my friends,’ he said.  ‘You have enough problems ahead of you on this matter without creating more.’

Excuses

Arien’s rays tangled in the long silver tresses which sparkled like Mithrandir’s fireworks in ribbons of light.  Her face was in shadow as she looked down at her sons where they sat shoulder to shoulder on the grassy bank.

‘May I join you?’ she asked.

‘You will get grass stains on your gown.’  Elrohir opened out his robe to spread it wide between him and his brother.

‘It still seems bizarre to have you concerned about such matters as grass stains,’ his naneth observed as she squeezed between them, taking a hand of each and holding them in her lap.

Elladan smiled wryly.  ‘Are we not old enough yet to take some thought for such matters?’

Her hands were small in theirs, she thought, and they held her gently – as she had once held them: each of them a treasure to be cherished.  ‘Old enough,’ she agreed, ‘wise enough, courageous enough – you are more than sufficient for any challenge that faces you, my sons.  And I am sorry that I have been the cause of so many hurts for you both.’

Elladan slid his free arm around her waist and held her closely.  ‘You have been our inspiration,’ he said fiercely.

‘I would not have chosen to inspire your wrath.’  She stroked his palm gently.  ‘I would have you still as my joy-filled ellyn – to whom each day was a new adventure.’

‘We would not have been that whatever happened,’ Elrohir touched her cheek.  ‘Time passes, Naneth, even among elves, and experience shadows us all.’

‘And would you have it touch your children?’ she asked.

‘I would keep them safe if I could,’ he admitted, ‘but I know better than to think I can.’  He smiled.  ‘You showed us, Naneth, you and Adar: you guide them and you love them and you set them free.’

She sighed.  ‘And sometimes,’ she said ruefully, ‘you hurt them quite unintentionally.’   Her sons stilled.  ‘It was such a little thing,’ she added, ‘but it grew out of all recognition.’  Her clasp on their hands tightened.  ‘You were so young – so full of mischief.  It seemed hardly any time since Imladris had been on constant alert to try to thwart your waywardness.’

‘Our first real mission for Adar,’ Elladan agreed reminiscently.  ‘We thought we were so grown up.  Glorfindel showed remarkable courage in agreeing to be our escort.  Elrin is far less trouble than we were – but I would still think twice about accompanying him and his friends on a trip to Tirion.  They would not intend to get into trouble, but disaster follows adolescents as sure as night follows day.’

‘You always tried your best,’ his naneth said indignantly. ‘You both worked hard to make your Adar proud of you – you never intended to get into trouble.’

The twins’ eyes met.  It had been, at times, harder to live up to their naneth’s pride in them than to their adar’s expectations.  Glorfindel’s calm discipline had sometimes been a relief to two young Peredhel growing up as the heirs of their indomitable lines.

‘Well,’ Elrohir hedged, ‘we were not malicious.’

‘I doubt that anyone intended to allow the jest to extend this far,’ Celebrían sighed.  ‘It seemed funny – you had scarcely reached your majority and you felt you knew everything.’

‘We should have been suspicious,’ Elladan told her.  ‘Had we been a little older . . .’

‘Or younger,’ his brother interrupted.

Elladan nodded, ‘Or younger,’ he agreed, ‘we would have smelled a rat – but we were adult.  We were warriors.  Why would we suspect that these – representatives of an inferior race were fooling us?  With Glorfindel’s tacit consent,’ he scowled.

‘We thought we were being so clever,’ Elrohir shrugged. 

‘I thought it was adorable,’ Celebrían confided.  ‘Like elflings copying what they see and hear.  It made it seem as if you were still my fun-loving young sons instead of two warriors old enough for battle.’

Without thought, both twins leaned towards their naneth and pressed a gentle kiss on each cheek.

‘Your daernaneth was less certain of the wisdom of keeping the secret,’ she confessed.  ‘She felt that silence might make more of the matter.’  She looked at their linked hands.  ‘She was right.’

‘She makes a habit of it,’ Elrohir remarked.

‘None could have expected this foolishness to take on such a life of its own,’ Elladan declared.  ‘We do not blame you, Naneth.’  He lifted her hand and held it to his cheek. ‘If it afforded you pleasure, then I do not care what anyone else thought.’

‘There were times,’ she said in a low voice, ‘over the many years I waited on this side of the sea, when the afternoon spent with your daernaneth while you laughed in the water was one of the jewels on the thread of my life, taken out and savoured.’

‘Then I am glad,’ Elrohir told her, ‘that the secret endured so long.’

‘Just,’ Elladan added with a wicked grin, ‘do not tell Adar and Glorfindel.  We are not ready to let them off the hook so easily.’

Explanation

Their fingers touched as Galadriel handed Elladan a cup of mead.  He frowned slightly.  He was not yet sure whether he could accept his daernaneth’s silence as easily as he had his naneth’s.   He felt her sigh rather than heard it and raised his cloudy grey eyes to meet hers.

‘Not everything is a simple as we would like it to be,’ she murmured.

‘But I think,’ Elrohir spoke pleasantly over his shoulder, ‘that, wherever possible, explanations should be.’

Elladan caught a twinkle in Galadriel’s clear eyes.  She had always, he thought, appreciated his twin’s intelligence.  As elflings, he and his brother had often peeled apart in their grandparents’ presence, Elrohir to spend time questioning his daernaneth, while he went off to dive into adventure with Daeradar. 

‘So you do not accept that this was simply a joke at your expense?’ Galadriel asked.

‘Rather too obvious, do you not think?’

Elladan could hear the edge in his brother’s voice.  It was too obvious, he realised.  That was probably what made him feel so uncomfortable with the whole business.  None of those who had been part of the conspiracy were the sort of elves who would take pleasure in putting the pair of them in a position where they could humiliate themselves, still less in maintaining the deception over so long a period.  There had to be something behind it.

He caught the quickly-shielded flick of Galadriel’s eyes across the room to where the two silver-haired elves were deep in conversation.

‘Glorfindel will have relished the sheer ridiculousness of the situation,’ he observed.  ‘Adar might have found it entertaining at the time – we were at a rather aggravating stage.  He might have thought it would do us good to discover we were not as clever as we thought. But to let it go on . . .’

‘I simply did not think of it again,’ Galadriel shrugged.  ‘Not for centuries.  You returned to Imladris with Celebrían shortly afterwards – and then your sister was born. My lord and I spent many turns of the sun journeying – in Rhovanion, from Gondor and the borders of Mordor to Thranduil’s realm in the north.  In time we settled in Lothlórien – where we strove to hold back the forces of the dark.  I did not hear you attempting Khuzdul again and it did not cross my mind to wonder about it.  Not until after your naneth sailed.’  Her chin dropped and she seemed paler than usual.

Elrohir clasped her elbow.  ‘We gave little thought to your suffering at that time,’ he said gently.  ‘We were so immersed in our own grief that we could see little else.’

‘Your daeradar and I had each other.’ Galadriel shook her head as if to shed the memory.  ‘But we felt so helpless – there was nothing we could do to reach you and little enough that we could offer Elrond.  Even Arwen closed herself off for a time.’  She smiled wryly.  ‘I do not deal well with helplessness,’ she owned.

Elladan grinned.  ‘Is that so?’ he asked.  ‘I never would have suspected that!’

Galadriel raised her chin and looked down her nose at her grandson, who returned her stare affectionately.

‘The jest, when next it came to my attention, became something we shared with Celebrían,’ she said, losing herself into the past.  ‘Your daeradar spoke of your words in battle – and I was transported to a day in early spring, when my daughter was shining with joy; safe and secure in the love of her husband and sons.  And I laughed.’

Her grandsons moved slightly so that they were one with her rather than face to face. ‘We would have done anything to restore her in our hearts then,’ Elladan murmured.  ‘To see her happy and as she was.’

‘But our minds were haunted by . . .’ Elrohir stopped and swallowed, resolutely thrusting the images away.

‘I know.’ Galadriel’s voice held the bloodstained shadow of Alqualondë; the attrition of the Grinding Ice; the final echo of the screams in Menegroth.   

A cold shadow enveloped the three in the middle of the steady gleam of the lamps as they acknowledged the darkness and rejected it.

‘You were too angry, then,’ their daernaneth said bluntly, ‘to tell of something that seemed so unimportant – and you did not need to be told that your naneth had known of your deception.  And it gave us a treasured memory of our daughter – mischievous and happy, loving and whole, safe and with us as she could never be again east of the sea.’  She lifted her hands to touch a cheek of each of her grandsons.  ‘Legolas is right – it would have been an unkind trick to play on you, had it been intended as such,’ she murmured, ‘but it never was.’

Exchanging a quick look with his brother, Elladan leaned confidentially close to the Lady.  ‘I am sure, Daernaneth, that we can understand your motives – but if you should want to offer us some recompense for our long mortification. . .’  He paused, but receiving no discouragement, continued cautiously, ‘there is one on whom we would like to take a little – ahh – carefully considered revenge.’

Lady Galadriel tilted her head slightly as her eyes held his gaze. ‘And what would you consider to be suitable repayment, my grandson?’ she asked.

‘We would be very grateful, my lady,’ Elrohir confided, ‘if you would provide us with the names and whereabouts of those who could reveal the most embarrassing stories about the past of a certain most perfect example of elfhood . . .’  He grinned wickedly.

‘Who, here in the Blessed Realm, Daernaneth,’ Elladan chimed in, ‘can – and will – tell us all about Glorfindel’s most deeply hidden secrets, so that we can torment him as mercilessly as he does us?’

Revenge

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder and frowned, a disgruntled expression marring his undeniable beauty. 

‘What is it?’ Elrond asked.  ‘You have been out of sorts recently.’

‘Nothing,’ his friend replied.  He continued to observe his surroundings as sharply as if he was expecting an orc attack.  ‘Tell me,’ he added, ‘do your sons appear to you to have been looking – remarkably smug in recent weeks?’

Elrond raised an eyebrow.  ‘Not that I had noticed,’ he replied.  ‘In fact, they seem to have been keeping their heads down – I rather thought that their embarrassment was inclining them to remain out of sight still.  Especially,’ he mused, ‘since Sirithiel and Miriwen discovered just what their offspring had been learning from their adars.’

Glorfindel flicked a hand dismissively.  ‘Their wives are too soft on them,’ he said.  ‘I had hoped that they would give your sons a much harder time.’

‘I think,’ Elrond observed, ‘that my daughters share their husbands’ view that they are not entirely to blame for this fiasco.  And I cannot altogether blame them.’

‘Please!’  Glorfindel looked pained.  ‘Elrohir, at least, should have employed his common sense to investigate further before polluting the air around him – and Elladan would have followed his lead.’

‘It is not so much my own sons,’ the half-elf said mildly, ‘as the apparent plague of mangled Khuzdul now widespread among elves – even my granddaughters – for which I feel some guilt.’

‘Unnecessarily.’

‘Perhaps,’ Elrond acknowledged, ‘but, then again, perhaps not.’

The golden elf looked suspiciously around him.  ‘The twins have been smiling at me, Elrond.’

‘That is indeed ominous.’ The twins’ adar controlled the tremor in his voice.  ‘I hope they have not decided to challenge the most devious elf of their acquaintance – they do not need another lesson in low cunning.’

‘Not low, Eärendilion,’ Glorfindel objected.  ‘Nothing I do is low!’

‘Shall I coin the term ‘high cunning’, then?’ Elrond enquired.  ‘It seems unsuitable.’

‘They seem excessively pleased with themselves.’

‘Even more worrying.’

Glorfindel looked at him reproachfully.  ‘You are not taking this seriously, my friend.  How can I keep my authority over your sons if they are busily thinking that they can get the better of me?   They used to be so much more transparent in their guileless youth – I am beginning to think that the contest is becoming less unequal.’

‘Look on it as a challenge,’ his friend suggested encouragingly.  ‘It will stop you growing bored.’

The pair passed through the doorway into the airy room where the residents of Elrond’s house tended to gather in the evening in recollection of Imladris’s Hall of Fire.  He must, Elrond reflected, settle on a formal name for this space – it became increasingly difficult to come up with ways of describing it as time passed. 

‘Daeradar!’  Nimloth darted away from her friends towards him, stopping at the last moment with a glance in her naneth’s direction to greet him with a formal curtsey.  ‘We thought you were not coming.’

Glorfindel smiled at Elrohir’s daughter.  He had always had a soft spot for the females in Elrond’s life, and these little mischief-makers were no different, combining as they did Celebrían’s charm and Arwen’s generous heart with Idril’s intelligence and traces of Galadriel’s resilience.

‘And Adar says he has seen too little of you recently, Glorfindel,’ the elleth said chattily, tucking her hand in his.  ‘And he has a lot to talk about.’

The adults’ eyes met over her head.

‘He said that Aewlin and I should ask you to tell us more stories,’ she added.  ‘And then Elladan said you must have a vast store of them – and laughed and laughed until Adar told him he was going to spoil things.  When I asked what he meant, they refused to explain.’  She looked disapproving.  ‘They have not been very sensible since they came back from seeing Andaernaneth,’ she informed the two older elves.  ‘Naneth told Adar he would have been better off staying at home.’

‘Galadriel?’ Glorfindel mouthed above her head.

Elrond’s eyes narrowed.  ‘Be afraid, my friend,’ he advised quietly.  ‘If my illustrious naneth-in-law has taken a hand in whatever scheme my sons are hatching, you are outclassed.’

The tall golden elf smiled bravely.  ‘She has nothing on me,’ he said defiantly, as his mind searched urgently back over uncounted centuries.  ‘Let her do her worst.’

‘I am sure she will,’ Elrond said dryly, ‘if she wants to do so.’

On the other side of the room, two identical faces turned towards the new arrivals, their teeth gleaming in the candlelight as they beamed their welcome.

‘Are you certain it is now impossible to sail east across the sea?’ Glorfindel sighed.  ‘I think I might need a way to escape whatever retribution they have planned.’

. . . Is Sweet

‘He is looking this way again,’ Legolas observed.

‘Do you think it is time for another smile?’ Elladan asked.

‘How long do you plan to continue this?’ his friend enquired.  ‘Glorfindel seems to be a shadow of his usual self.’

‘Let me see,’ Elrohir remarked.  ‘How long did he leave us in ignorance of the meaning of that Khuzdul nonsense he consented to our learning?  Some three millennia, was it not?  An age of the sun?  Do you not think that calls for rather more than a week or two of torment?’

‘But he knows that you have something on him,’ Legolas pointed out.  ‘You spent three millennia in ignorance.’

‘Ignorance is not a state to be envied,’ Elrohir declared.  ‘At least Glorfindel is not going to be making a fool of himself without knowing it.’  He waited until the golden-haired elf glanced towards him suspiciously and beamed back at him a wide smile that displayed his even teeth.

‘I think he thinks you are planning on eating him,’ Legolas commented.

‘We would not want to do that,’ Elladan echoed his brother’s smile.  ‘If he did not taste good enough for a Balrog to finish, he will certainly not be tasty enough for us.’

‘Nimloth did a very good job in getting him worried.  Highly skilled.  Anyone would think she had been coached.’  Legolas lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

Elrohir turned away, his broad smile becoming a much more natural grin.  ‘She is a clever elleth,’ he said.  ‘But you need not be so suspicious – what she said was completely spontaneous.  Not a word from either of us.’  He paused.  ‘I would not dare,’ he admitted.  ‘Sirithiel would dismember me like a rabid bear if she thought I was using our daughters in this sport.’

‘Miriwen says we are not to go too far,’ Elladan added.  ‘If we do not keep it at the level of a game, she says she will bring in the High Command and put a stop to it before we find ourselves in a battle that lasts until the end of days.’

‘The High Command?’

‘Naneth,’ Elladan clarified.  ‘She is, for some strange reason, very fond of Glorfindel.  She would never consent to our tormenting him too much.’

‘I fail to see how smiling could be construed as torment,’ Elrohir objected.

‘It is, though.’  Legolas laughed.  ‘Very clever torment, too, because it is almost impossible to counter.’

‘But I think we will wait until he actually challenges us before we let slip any more,’ Elladan decided.

‘There is no rush,’ his brother said. ‘Let us savour each moment of his discomfort.’

‘I wish you would tell me what you have discovered,’ Legolas complained.  

‘If you know you will become part of the scheme,’ Elladan warned.  ‘Glorfindel will not hesitate to include you in his vengeance.’

‘He will think I know anyway,’ the fair-haired elf said ruefully.  ‘And I think he has been looking for a way to get his own back ever since I revealed this matter to you.’

The twins exchanged a lightning glance.  ‘Well,’ Elrohir confided, ‘you know that Glorfindel is unbelievably slippery – we have never been able to find out much on top of what little is common knowledge about him.’ He grinned.  ‘We twisted Daernaneth’s arm and got her to seek out someone she knew who had dwelt in the House of the Golden Flower and cared for the perfect elf throughout his early years.’

Elladan laughed.  ‘And throughout his adolescence,’ he added, ‘when the – er – shield of his own flawlessness occasionally became a little dented.’  He leaned closer to Legolas’s ear.  ‘She enjoyed talking to us about her favourite ellon,’ he said.  ‘Telling us how sweet he was – and how he had dreams of fire and bitter cold that made him wail until she sat him on her lap where he would suck his thumb until he fell asleep.’

‘And that he did not like sleeping in the dark – or without his favourite stuffed horse – Asfaloth, would you believe!’ Elrohir added.  ‘He is consistent at least!  But for our purposes, one of her best stories was of sweet little Glorfindel hanging round the warriors and picking up some very interesting language . . .’ He paused and grinned.  ‘Which he then addressed to Lady Idril. Where everyone could hear him. His naneth, I am told, was mortified – and insisted on a very full and very public apology.’

‘And that,’ Elladan pronounced, ‘was only one of many tales she told.  There was also the one where our favourite elf – when rather older – borrowed his adar’s stallion.’

‘Which then ran away with him,’ Elrohir said gleefully, ‘and ended up tipping him off into a pool of sloppy mud in the corner of a field occupied by a family of piglets – leaving him to walk home, covered from golden head to foot in – nature’s gifts.’

‘I believe,’ Elladan remarked, ‘he attracted quite an audience.’ He grinned.  ‘Not an entirely admiring one, either.   And now,’ he looked as pleased as a cat in the dairy, ‘all we have to do is smile – and drop hints.’

Legolas gazed at the grinning twins for a moment, then burst out laughing.  ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side,’ he said.  ‘You are far too ruthless!’

‘Us?’ Elrohir said innocently.  ‘We are rank amateurs, my friend.  But amateurs with connections in high places.  And those who would interfere with us would be wise to remember it.  We might take a while to catch on – but once we have. . .’  He grinned. ‘We refuse to let go until we have obtained satisfaction.  And this is very satisfying!’ 

The End?

‘Thank you,’ Glorfindel pronounced bitterly.  ‘Thank you very much!’

Galadriel looked at him calmly.  ‘It could have been so much worse,’ she suggested.  ‘I could have introduced them to much more dangerous people than Lestanen.’

Glorfindel considered her point and rejected it.  ‘Do you think I appreciate hearing words casually dropped about the stuffed toy I took into the bath with me?’

‘I think that is sweet.’  The Lady of Light met his eyes.  ‘The ellyth of your acquaintance will love the story – and their hearts will be softened still further.’

‘I do not need more admirers!’

Despite his words, Galadriel noted the flick of his gleaming golden hair somewhat cynically.  There were times, she thought, when Glorfindel’s delight in being an elf of mystery was a little overdone – and actually suggested that the nervous elfling still persisted under the disguise of a great elf-lord returned to defend his king’s House.

‘I could do the same to you,’ he retaliated.  ‘There are many here who would relish the chance to talk of you to your grandsons.’

‘You could,’ she acknowledged amiably.  ‘But can they really say anything worse of me than many of the stories that have been repeated over the yeni?’

‘You would rather be suspected of bewitching the Aftercomers’ young in order to devour them than be known to have wandered into Lord Finwë’s council in your night shift demanding that he take you to the privy,’ Glorfindel said with certainty.  ‘You have a reputation to maintain.’

Galadriel laughed and shook her head.  ‘Everybody is young once, my friend,’ she said.  ‘Since my return I have spent enough time with my parents to have become inured to embarrassing tales of a very distant past.  I think they must have told every single one as I waited to discover if my lord would join us here.’  Her eyes sparkled.  ‘I believe they looked on it as a way of reminding me that, no matter what role I may have played in the history of Arda, I was still their daughter.  Have you shared your store of scandalous stories with Celeborn?  I have no doubt but that he would relish them more than most – and have the nerve to use them against me.’

‘That is true,’ Elrond murmured in his ear.  ‘My illustrious adar-in-law takes great pleasure in tormenting the Lady.’  He grinned at his friend.  ‘My sons are only teasing, Glorfindel.  And they are being less vindictive than I might have expected.’

‘That is all very well to say,’ Glorfindel scowled, ‘but you are not on the receiving end.’  He glanced towards the window to the garden where the twins’ laughter rang out.  ‘There they go again.  I am left constantly suspecting that I am the butt of their amusement.’  He pouted elegantly.  ‘It is unfair.  I am not the only one who was involved in the perpetuation of this matter.’ 

‘I am amazed how successful their technique has proved,’ Galadriel remarked conversationally to Elrond.  ‘I would not have thought that this great warrior and Balrog-slayer would be so sensitive to the sound of elven laughter.’

Elrond smirked, his friend decided resentfully.  There was no other word for it.  However he tried to shield it, the half-elf was enjoying watching him squirm.  Perhaps, he thought, a word with Elwing was required.  She had not spent long with her sons, but enough, surely, to be able to provide him with some barbed arrows.

‘They will grow tired of the game soon,’ the half-elf said with an effort at sympathy.

‘Do you really believe that?’ Glorfindel demanded.

‘No,’ his friend admitted.  ‘They will continue to play as long as you continue to react.’  He hesitated.  ‘Why do you not just apologise?  My sons are soft-hearted – and they do not, in general, bear grudges.’  He watched Glorfindel fold his arms defensively.  ‘I fail to see what is so bad about having people remind you of the idiosyncrasies of your childhood.’

‘It is not so much the childhood memories,’ Galadriel remarked with detachment, ‘as what might follow them.’

‘Just because your life is an open book, Eärendilion,’ Glorfindel said in a low voice, ‘does not mean that we all wish our past laid bare.’

Elrond rested an affectionate hand on his friend’s shoulder.  ‘It would seem that we all want what we cannot have,’ he remarked.  ‘I would like the chance to hear tales of my youth from those who cared for me.’

‘Make your peace,’ Galadriel suggested.  ‘You can provide at least as many tales of my grandsons’ mischief-making to entertain the audience – and they are unlikely to probe more deeply once they feel honour is satisfied.’

‘I do not like to let them think they have won.’

‘Consider it their recompense for a joke grown old,’ she said, extending her hand so that he automatically offered his arm.  ‘You know – we know – that in appearing to concede you are gaining far more than you lose.’

‘And besides,’ Elrond commented as he took up a place on his other side, ‘your apparent concession will frighten them at least as much as their smiles worried you.  They are not used to the idea of defeating the mighty Glorfindel in a game of wits.’

‘That is true,’ Glorfindel mused, as Galadriel and Elrond exchanged glances behind his back.  ‘And a defeat that does not appear to be a defeat is a form of victory, is it not?  And a victory that seems to be a defeat is still a victory.’

‘If you say so, my friend,’ Elrond said with some bemusement.  ‘Just avoid trying to say that in Khuzdul – I think we have had enough of the secret tongue for now!’