"So, what do you make of him?" Elrohir asked.

Elladan did not look up from his arrow. He nearly had the last one fletched, and as soon as he was finished, he intended to head to Dírhael’s home to cadge breakfast from Ivorwen. Her eggs surpassed any in the Dúnedain settlements. "Make of who?"

"Arathorn’s new son."

"Make of him? Is he constructed of clay, that I must sculpt him into some sort of statue?"

"No, you ass. That is not what I meant and well you know it."

Elladan slid the last feather in place and held it up, giving it a critical once over. He slid it into his quiver with the other arrows, arrows he hoped soon would send three dozen more orcs to their rightful end. He finally looked at Elrohir. "Aragorn is a baby. He eats, and it comes out in noisome form via the other end. And occasionally, it comes back up in even worse form through the same end into which it went. My only thought toward him, other than keeping my distance from all those foul discharges, is the hope that, unlike so many babies of Men, he is sturdy enough to survive to adulthood and take his place as Chieftain. Other than that...." He shrugged.

"I think he is sweet."

Elladan stared at his brother for a beat. "‘Sweet’."

"Aye. Sweet. If you would but hold him, you would know what I am talking about."

"I held Arador when he was a babe. He spit foulness all over me. I have no desire to hold another."

"Babies do not always spit up."

"They seem to when I hold them."

"No doubt in response to your charming personality."

"I have more than enough arrows for orcs. I can spare one to shoot through you."

Elrohir grinned. "Mark my words, Elladan. You will one day hold that little one in your arms and you will find your heart is lost."

Elladan grunted. "Let us go find sustenance, my brother. It would appear that you need to break your fast, for hunger has made you soft in the head."

~~~

"I can see already that he has his father’s eyes, and his grandfather’s."

Elladan shot his brother a sidelong look. He shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth. "You are not going to let up with this, are you?" he mumbled.

"I simply think you should at least look at the boy. You count Arathorn as a friend and yet you do not honor him by admiring his son? That is shameful, my brother."

"I admired his son! I simply did so from a distance while you held him and were rewarded for so doing by his anointing your tunic with a very large, wet stain."

"It washed out. For one who sees nothing wrong with regular dousings of orc blood, you seem remarkably squeamish when it comes to babies."

"I am not squeamish. I am lazy. I see no need to sully a clean tunic by letting a baby wallow all over me."

Ivorwen sat down across from Elladan. She smiled at him. He hated it when she smiled like that. He knew it meant she was about to impart wisdom that he would not be able to refute. "I will gladly wash your tunic for you, should it come to that."

Elladan pushed his eggs around his plate. "I..." He did not know what to say. He could hardly argue with the Chieftain’s mother-in-law, not when he was seated at her table, eating her food. But he did not want to hold the baby. And he did not want to explain the real reasons for his reluctance. Men die. Babies of men die. I see enough death as it is; I have no wish to become overly attached to a baby who will most likely die before his first year has passed. But he bowed his head to her. "I will stop by before I leave," he said.

~~~

It ended up that he did not hold the baby. Not at that time, nor at any time since, and now, two years later, he fired a wild shot at the charging orcs and babies were far from his thoughts. "Elrohir!" he shouted. "Behind you!"

He saw his brother duck and Elladan sped an arrow toward the orc that had just tried to skewer Elrohir with its brutish sword. Elrohir spared Elladan a quick nod of thanks then spun to meet the next challenge, and an orc rushed upon Elladan and his hands were too full to see how the rest in their patrol fared. He was dimly aware that Arathorn fought some yards away. He heard the shouts and grunts of the other Dúnedain and he prayed they would all survive this ambush even as he cursed his own inattention. I saw the rook fly upward from the bushes ... I should have known what lurked there!

He dropped his bow; it was too close quarters for arrows. He hauled his sword up and slashed through the stringy neck of one orc and swiftly removed the sword arm of another, all in the same swing. Another orc swung at him with a cudgel. He ducked and relieved that orc of his arm and right leg.

He scrambled across the rocky ground and found himself at the edge of the fighting. He pulled out his bow once more even as an orc arrow whistled past his ear. He threw himself to his left, rolling onto his back as he notched an arrow. He let it fly toward the tree where an orc lurked on a large branch that loomed over the clearing that had become a battlefield. Elladan’s arrow pierced it but not before it released one of his one. Elladan’s eyes traced the orc arrow’s flight and then he screamed. "Arathorn!"

~~~

Elrohir found him as he sat in the darkness outside the house of Arathorn...

He winced. The house of Gilraen it would now be called. His eyes burned and he bowed his head to his drawn up knees, refusing to let the tears fall. He did not want to speak to anyone, not even Elrohir.

"My brother," Elrohir whispered, and Elladan felt more than heard him kneel beside him.

"Please leave me."

"No." A hand rested on the back of his head, then gently stroked Elladan’s hair.

"Elrohir, please ... I cannot...."

"Shhh. There is no need to speak." A pause. "You have not wept."

"And I will not," he said, and he heard the bitterness in his voice. "For in weeping I might find comfort and I deserve no comfort." He swiped Elrohir’s hand away.

Elrohir sighed. "It is not your fault."

"Then pray tell me who else saw the signs yet failed to realize their portent? And who else saw the orc in the tree and failed to shoot in time? I failed. Twice, and for my failure, the Dúnedain have paid a price far too dear."

Elrohir was silent for a long time, then he sighed. "I have spoken with Dírhael, and we agree that Gilraen and Aragorn must be protected. We will take her to Rivendell, to stay with our father."

"Do you think it wise to take her down the same road where Arathorn found his death?"

"It is not an easy choice, but we think it safer, in the end. Aragorn must be protected; there is no other heir. We dare not risk letting him grow up in the wilds."

"No, we dare not," Elladan said tonelessly. "For if we could not protect his father, he dare not depend on our protection for himself."

"Elladan–"

"When do we leave?"

"On the morn, first light. But Elladan, you take too much fault to yourself."

"I take what fault there is because it is due me!" Elladan said harshly. He softened his voice. "Now leave me. Please."

Elrohir looked at him sadly, but nodded. He slipped into the house, and as the door shut, Elladan again dropped his head to his knees and again refused himself the luxury of weeping.

~~~

Elrond rushed out from the Last Homely House and immediately pulled Gilraen into an embrace. Elladan watched her small shoulders shake with sobs and saw the tears on Elrond’s own face and then he had to look away. He dismounted and took his horse and Gilraen’s and walked without a word toward the stables. Gilraen’s fading cries flogged his heart with each step. It was a relief to finally reach the stables and disappear inside.

He stripped both horses of their gear and brushed them down well. He was dumping grain in their mangers when Elrohir’s voice cut through the dusty air.

"What will you do now?"

"Do? Must I do anything?"

Elrohir leaned over the stall door, studying Elladan. "Yes."

Elladan dropped the wooden scoop back into the barrel of grain. "If you must know, then I will tell you: I will finish caring for the horses. Then I will go into the Last Homely House, to my room. I will draw a bath. I might even eat, although food tastes as dust to me. Then I will sleep, or endure what passes for sleep. And then come morning, I will ride out and resume my duties hunting down orcs."

"What of Aragorn?"

"What of him? He is safe now. He has no need of me." He brushed his hands on his tunic. "Nor I of him."

"It is not like you, this coldness."

"It is not like me to cost a man his life."

Impatience flashed across his brother’s face. "How much longer will this self indulgence last?"

Elladan froze. "Self indulgence?"

"Aye. You may as well wear rags and begrime your face and parade yourself throughout Imladris for all to see. ‘Look, there goes Elladan the Failure! Elladan the Ass! Elladan the Unworthy!’ It is a fine act, that."

Elladan balled his fist. "If you were not my brother, you would be lying in the dirt for those words."

Elrohir laughed, but it held little humor. "‘If I were not your brother’, you say, as if I were. Am I? Am I still your brother?" he cried. "I do not know, for I do not know any longer who you are. This cold-hearted wretch standing before me surely is no brother of mine."

"How dare you judge what is in my heart?" Elladan hissed as he grabbed a fistful of Elrohir’s coat. He slammed his brother up against the wooden partition between stalls. "You think I am cold? That I do not feel? Let me tell you how I feel. I feel pain that runs as hot fire through my chest every time I look at Aragorn, knowing that it is because of me that he will grow up fatherless. I feel guilt carving a hollow cavern in my gut when I see Gilraen, widowed, grieving for her fallen lover. Oh, I feel, my brother," he spat. "I feel, and it is killing me and I will not stay here and endure any longer the sight of them, for if I do, I will surely die myself. And that would be too easy an escape for a wretch like me." He shoved Elrohir one last time and stormed out of the stables.

~~~

A soft knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Elladan called, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"Your father."

With a sigh, Elladan rose from his bed and opened the door. Elrond stood in the hallway, his forehead creased with concern. "May I come in?"

Elladan bowed his head, then stepped back to let his father pass.

"Your brother is worried. As am I."

"I suppose he told you what happened in the stables."

"Only when I asked him how he tore the back of his coat."

Elladan winced. "I will apologize to him for that."

"He is not upset about torn cloth. He is upset because he fears he has lost his brother." Elrond stepped close to Elladan and put both hands on his shoulders. "Tell me, my child. Have I lost my son?"

Elladan shook his head, then shrugged. He had no answer. He looked within his heart and saw only pain. "I do not know," he finally whispered. "It is though even I cannot find myself."

"Elrohir tells me you refuse to weep, that you feel that to mourn Arathorn’s passing is to somehow coddle yourself."

"I do not deserve the comfort of tears."

"That is what Elrohir told me you said, yes." Elrond paused, studying Elladan. "Do you think, then, that my tears over your mother were self indulgent?"

Elladan’s eyes widened. "No, Father! Never!"

"But I too felt guilt. I could not save her, could not heal her hurts. Recriminations burned a swath across my heart."

"But it was not your doing! You did not do those evil things to her."

"But I failed to stop them happening."

Elladan fell silent. He turned from his father and walked to the window. "As I failed to stop it happening to Arathorn."

"We live in a world that is marred, my son. Evil things befall us, befall our friends, our loved ones, no matter how hard we work to prevent them. Such is the nature of life. Do not turn one tragedy into two by shutting yourself off from those that would love you. From those who need you."

"My brother?"

"And Aragorn."

Elladan shook his head. "He does not need me. Better for him to grow up not knowing the one who let his father die."

"It is a dangerous thing, trying to judge that which is best for someone not to know. Truth can be hidden for a time, as it will be from Aragorn, for his own safety. But eventually he will learn of the tragedy of the beginning of his life. Would you add to that tragedy by denying him your love as a brother?"

"I cannot give him love."

"Then give him what measure of affection you are able. But give to him. He will have a long road ahead of him, and a dangerous and hard one. It will be smoother with two strong brothers at his side than with only one."

Elladan smiled faintly. "Elrohir was besotted with him from the day of his birth."

"And you were unaffected?"

"I admit that I thought he was ... a handsome baby."

"He is a winsome toddler now. I would like for you to finally allow yourself to know him."

Elladan’s shoulders sagged. "As you wish, Father. I will ... try."

~~~

Elladan entered the Hall of Fire gingerly. He chided himself. It was not as though the room were filled with orcs. Far from it. There was only his brother, and a small child.

He swallowed hard. Actually, this was far more frightening than any roomful of orcs could ever be.

Elrohir turned toward him. Aragorn ... now called Estel, his father had told him ... was sitting in his lap. "Elladan!" Elrohir cried, his eyes filled with joy that smote Elladan’s already battered conscience.

Elladan felt his cheeks burn. He had much to say to his brother, many apologies to make. And apparently, as he looked at the ragged tear across the back of Elrohir’s coat, a new coat to fashion for him. But he said nothing as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of a chair opposite his brother.

Elrohir smiled at him, but turned his attention to the little boy in his lap. He grasped Estel’s big toe with his thumb and index finger. "This little horsey went to Lórien," he sang, then moved to the next toe. "This little horsey stayed home. This little horsey ate waybread..."

Elladan watched the wonder grow in the child’s enormous grey eyes as Elrohir played the silly tickling game, then could not help smiling at Estel’s shrieks of laughter as Elrohir reached the last toe and galloped his fingers up to Estel’s belly and tickled him. He is a fetching child, I have to admit.

Elrohir laughed and then started the game again, and three times Elladan watched as Estel shrieked and squirmed and giggled. Something tight and cold slowly unclenched and warmed within him with each bout of childish laughter.

"You try," Elrohir suddenly said, all but thrusting Estel into his lap.

For a moment, child and Peredhel stared at each other, and Elladan was afraid Estel would burst into frightened tears. But instead, Estel suddenly grinned and stuck his foot out. "Again!" he cried.

Elladan laughed, then took Estel’s toe and went through the ritual. If his version was quieter and more subdued than Elrohir’s, Estel seemed not to notice. Elladan reached the last little horsey and sent his own fingers galloping up Estel’s legs and was astounded at the feeling of joy that came over him when Estel let out a very loud shriek in anticipation of the tickling to come. He laughed himself as Estel writhed in transports of glee, then immediately stuck his foot back out. "Again again again!" he yelled.

Elladan reached for the child’s foot, then glanced at his brother and stilled. Tears tracked down Elrohir’s face. "I am sorry," Elladan whispered.

Elrohir shook his head. He reached out and squeezed Elladan’s shoulder, saying nothing. His tears said all that was needed.

Estel suddenly quieted, looking from one twin to the other. He put his thumb in his mouth and leaned back against Elladan’s chest. Elladan looked down at the dark curls and softly kissed the top of Estel’s head. "I am sorry, little one," he whispered. He put his arms around the boy and held him close and started rocking back and forth. "I am so very s-sorry." He felt the tears come, and this time he did not stop them.

~~~

Quieting his horse, Elladan looked up at the mountains surrounding the White City and then at the beautiful towers soaring upward as though longing to touch the sky that was finally clear and clean and shining with a new dawn. But then all his attention became riveted on one Man as he walked slowly toward the gate. The sun glinted on the silver edgings of his black mail, and shone so brilliantly on his white mantle that Elladan felt he was looking at the first fall of snow.

Elladan’s breath caught at the majesty of that familiar yet suddenly strange and glorious Man that he called his brother, the one that he knew as Estel but now would forever be known as King Elessar.

The Lord Faramir started speaking, but his words washed unheard over Elladan as he struggled to control his breathing. He felt like shouting, like weeping, like laughing and crying and jumping and...

He took a deep breath. Elrohir’s horse shook his head, and he knew without looking that Elrohir was fighting the same wild storm of emotions.

Then the Steward’s voice rang out in joy and Elladan trembled at the words. "Shall he be king and enter the City and dwell there?"¹

Elladan raised his voice and his arm and would have flown into the very air had Ilúvatar given that ability to Elves and Men. "Yea!" he cried, as loud a shout as his lungs would allow. His voice was lost in all the others but he knew that Estel heard him, felt his joy and his pride.

And his love.

Estel knew, and tears rolled unabashed down Elladan’s cheeks. The Steward spoke on, but Elladan’s thoughts strayed back through time and memory to a room by a fire, with his brother and a small boy...

"Did I not tell you that one day you would hold this little one in your arms and find your heart is lost?"

"My heart is not lost, Elrohir." He kissed again the mop of dark curls. "Nay, at last, my heart is found."

~~~

¹Taken from The Return of the King, "The Steward and the King", J.R.R. Tolkien.