Chapter One – In The Beginning

Elrond stood on a path high above Imladris, looking down the valley through the trees.  Far below he could see glimpses of the river, clear, smooth, sliding water, or in places white with foam as the water surged over rocks and rapids.  Even here he could hear the roar of the waterfalls that tumbled the length of the valley.

He was deep in thought, thinking of Celebrían, his wife.  He loved her, he knew that.  He had never loved anyone more, not his parents, whom he had lost while still a young child, not even Elros, his twin brother, who had died a mortal death,  so many years ago.  She was his life.   Since their marriage twenty years before he had never felt so happy.  But just lately he had felt something was missing, had felt the need for something more.  But what?  With Celebrían he was complete.  So what was it he lacked?

Elrond sighed.  The beauty and tranquillity of Imladris could not provide an answer, any more than the silent stars could, nor the long, sleepless hours of night.  Finally he stirred, feeling stiff, realising he had not moved for several hours.  The sun had long since set, and beneath the trees all was darkness.  Despite the darkness of his path, he moved unhesitatingly, with the familiarity of years.  He was soon back in the torchlit courtyard, and from there entered his library from the wide windows.

A bright fire burned in the grate, and Celebrían was already there, in a deep sofa facing the flames, engrossed in a book, a tale of Lúthien, his great-grandmother, her  great-aunt.  He sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.  He kissed her lightly, and she nestled closer in contentment.  He had noticed a certain restlessness lately, and it eased his heart to see her so relaxed.

“My love?  I have been thinking,” she murmured, destroying his ease.

“And what would that be?” he asked her.

“I love you.   You know that.  But –” she twisted in his arms, to look up into his face.  “I long for a child.  A daughter.  Or a son.  But a child of our own, of our love.”

“A child.”  Suddenly, all his own vague longings were crystal clear.  That was what he had missed, had felt the lack of.  A child.  “Yes.  Oh, yes, of course!  You are right, my love.  But when?  Tonight?  Now?”

She giggled suddenly, sounding no older than an elfling.  “Not so fast!  I think –”  she hesitated, counting.  “I think next week would be perfect.”

“Next week?  So long?”  Elrond sounded dismayed.

Celebrían clung to him suddenly, no longer an elfling, but a loving, experienced wife.  “It gives us several days in which to practise,” she whispered sultrily.

Elrond retained just enough presence of mind to shut the door to the library and draw the curtains before Celebrían pulled him down onto the rug placed before the hearth, and he lost himself in overwhelming sensations. 

Now, several days later, Elrond drew his wife to him again, kissing her lightly.  The memory of that ecstatic night still made his senses reel.  There had been many other such nights since their marriage, but that one, in particular, was very special.

“My love?  You are blushing”  Celebrían’s soft voice drew him out of his erotic memories.

“I am?”  He paused, feeling the heat in his face.  “Yes, I am,” he admitted.  “I was remembering that night.  Those nights.  I have never loved you so much.”

“And which night,”  she murmured.  “In particular,” her breath was warm against his neck. “Did you mean?”  her lips brushed against his.

“You know very well what I mean,” he growled, pulling her closer.  His hand dropped, resting flat against her abdomen.  He extended his healing senses, feeling a faint stir of life there.  “I mean that,” he breathed, incredulously, awed at sensing the living confirmation of their love.

“You do?  Then tell me what you feel.”

“I feel … ”  he listened carefully, hearing the slightest murmur of song.  “I feel … a son?”  Elrond raised his eyes to hers, smiling broadly.  “A son,” he repeated in delight.

Celebrían  shook her head.  “Well  - not exactly,” she admitted, with an enigmatic smile.

Puzzled, Elrond placed both hands against his wife, concentrating.  Alongside the faint song of life, there was something else – something different.  Something he had never felt before.  Something wrong?  Please, Elbereth, let there not be anything wrong with this precious child!  Anguished, he listened again.  Gradually, he was able to discern what he sensed.  No, not something wrong – but something different.  There was an echo; not one song, but two!

He swallowed, not daring to believe what he had just heard.   “Twins?”  He had never, in all his dreams, hoped for this.

She smiled, an unbelievably sweet, joyous smile.  “Aye.  Twins.  Two sons.  Our sons.  My love, I think our lives will never be the same again!”

“Twins.”  His voice shook with mingled joy and pain, as memories of what should have been a long-forgotten sorrow suddenly resurfaced with a vengeance.  A desolate sadness more than three millennia old swept over him.  “Twins.”  Ai, Elros, I wish you could share this with me!  I remember your own joy at the birth of your first son.  I remember how I envied you.  I still miss you so much.

“Elrond?”  His wife’s soft, gentle voice drew him out of memory.  She knew, as always, what he was feeling.  “Do not be sad.  He would be so happy.  He would rejoice with you.”

“I know he would.”  He focused again on what she had said.  “Cel?  Twins?  Really?  I never imagined that!  Such wonderful news!  I cannot wait to tell Glorfindel and Erestor!”  

“No, wait!”  Celebrían stopped him by placing a finger to his lips.  “Let this be our secret.  Tell them we will have a child, we cannot keep that hidden, but this other – it can be a surprise.”

“And what of names?”  Elrond was still excited. 

Celebrían considered.  “Names?  We will keep to family tradition.  Elrond, Elros – I am sure we can think of two suitable names.”

“Yes, of course.  El – Eldacar.  Elladan. Eldarrn.  Elemmkil.  Elenion.  Elrohir.  Elerríne.”  He would have continued, had Celebrían not stopped him.

“Hush!  We will decide together.  Let us wait until these sons of ours are born.”  Almost inaudibly, she continued, “Elladan.  Elrohir.”

To be continued …

Author’s Notes:

The idea of Elrond and Celebrían ‘practising’ comes from Nilmandra’s ‘History Lessons’ – I pinched it!

Jay

Author’s Notes:  Warning, much angst towards the end of this chapter.

Chapter Two – And Then There Were Three

The year turned, and Spring returned to Imladris.  Amazingly, although both Erestor and Glorfindel looked forward to the approaching birth,  vying with one another over what comfort and support they could provide Celebrían; and which of them would be the most devoted ‘uncle’ to the future heir of Imladris, neither suspected for a moment that there was to be more than one child.  Elrond spoke secretly with his senior healers, so that they were prepared for a double birth, and organised a nurse to help in caring for his sons once they were born.  Perversely, he said not one word to those who were his closest, most trusted friends and advisors – but it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember to say ‘he’ and not ‘they’ when talking of the birth.

One day in early spring, Elrond came across his wife sitting in one of the secluded glades along the banks of the Bruinen.  She looked up with a glad smile as he approached, but to his eyes she looked weary.   Much of her spirit and strength was poured into the growing twins, and however much he lent his own fea to support her, they drained her energy.  He sat down beside her on the bench, and she leaned against him contentedly.  A pale, watery sun shone down through the trees, glinting off the butter-yellow petals of the earliest primroses.  “You look tired, my love,” he told her.

“I am,” she admitted, nestling a little closer.  “They are exhausting.  Just think what it will be like once they are born!  But however weary I feel, I think I have never felt so happy.”

Elrond held her close, and she relaxed against him with a sigh of pure contentment.  He dropped one hand and placed it over her swollen abdomen, his fingers spread wide, and extended his healing senses to strengthen and support her, as he always did now.  He listened instinctively to the now-familiar songs, hearing two distinct, intertwined melodies harmonising together.  “Good morning, my sons,” he greeted them quietly.  There was a sudden movement beneath his hand, and he laughed.  “They are restless today,” he commented softly.

“They are always restless,” Celebrían murmured.  “You know that.  They kept me awake for most of last night, tossing and turning!”

“I know.  But it will not be for much longer now.  Soon they will be too big to move so freely, and you will have a little peace, I hope.  I wonder if they kick each other as much as they kick you?”

Celebrían smiled drowsily.  “Probably,” she agreed sleepily.  “In another month we will be able to see them, and can watch what they do to one another!  And then we can all have sleepless nights, and Glorfindel and Erestor can suffer as we do!”

Elrond laughed, tightening his arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.  “I wonder what they will look like?” she murmured.  “Will they be dark like you –”  she touched his dark hair – “or take after me?  Do you think they will be alike?”

“Who knows?  Just because they are twins, it does not mean they will look the same.  Perhaps one will be like you; one like me.  Or perhaps they will resemble our parents.  Or perhaps –”   He stopped as she twisted around to look at him, her finger touching his lips. 

“Hush.  It does not matter, I know they will be beautiful.”  She winced at another hefty kick, then smiled.  “Lively, as well, I suspect.”

He sent a tendril of thought towards the twins.  “Rest, little ones,” he told them silently.  “Rest now, and give your mother some peace.  You exhaust her with your antics!  Sleep now, my sons.  Sleep.”

He began to sing softly, a gentle lullaby he, together with Elros, had heard at their mother’s breast.  Fleetingly, he gave thanks that his own sons would never have to face the bitter choice he had had to make, and prayed that they would never be sundered from one another.   Despite the joy that first Celebrían, and now his sons, brought him, there was a part of him that was always missing, and could never be replaced.

Gradually the movements beneath his hand slowed and stilled.  The murmur of song quietened,  and he knew that they slept.  He turned his head towards Celebrían.  “Is that better?” he began to ask, but then stopped.  She, too, was asleep,  leaning against him, her eyes empty in slumber. 

He kissed her gently; love for his wife, and the two elflings she carried within her; overwhelming him, and wished that this moment – as he held protectively; possessively, those he loved most in all of Arda – would last for ever.

~~**~~

Only a month later, Elrond was to remember the peaceful tranquillity of that moment as he and Celebrían paced endlessly along the grassed terrace and walkways that surrounded their quarters.  Celebrían’s pains had started that morning at dawn, and it was now almost midday. They walked together, stopping at times while she drew a deep breath and leaned against him.  At last she looked at him, a mixture of joy and fear in her eyes.  “It is time,” she murmured.

They sat together on the great bed they shared, as Elrond supported his wife in every way he could.  She leaned against him, her back resting against his chest as they breathed together, hands clasping tightly.  His fea strengthened her, and she was able to relax a little as the moment came.  A mighty push; a few soft, whispered endearments, then another push; and their firstborn lay in the healer’s hands, squalling lustily.

Two tiny bracelets of mithril lay ready by the bed, already engraved, and Elrond took one, clasping it around the baby’s wrist.  “Elladan,” he breathed, brushing a finger across the child’s face very tenderly.  “Welcome, my son.”

The baby continued to cry as Celebrían rocked him gently.  “Hush, little one,” she told him.  “Your brother will be here soon.  Be patient.”  She looked expectantly at the healer at the foot of the bed.  “How long?”

“Not long, my lady.  Not long.”  But he looked uncertainly at his companion. 

Elrond already felt a prickle of unease.  He was not the healer here, his role this time was that of loving husband and father, but he knew there was something wrong.  The song he still heard from the unborn was faltering, fading.  Then it ceased altogether.

In Celebrían’s arms, Elladan continued to cry, refusing to be pacified by suckling.  She cradled him absently, while looking at Elrond.  “Do something!” she cried desperately.

The healer now held a tiny body, limp and unmoving.  The cord was wrapped tightly about the baby’s neck.  Swiftly he clamped and cut it with a small silver knife, but there was still no response.

Numbly, Elrond took his son from the healer, scarcely hearing Celebrían’s feverish denials.  “No,” she moaned.  “No!”  He placed his hand on the baby’s chest, but there was no intake of breath, no flicker of a heartbeat.  Panic stricken, he tried to call upon his own healing skills, but could not focus himself, could not find the well of stillness within that was necessary for his work.

The room fell silent apart from Celebrían’s desperate sobs, and Elladan’s continuing wails.  His son.  His only son.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  When Elros chose mortality, there is no suggestion that his children had a similar choice.   His descendants were the mortal kings of Númenor, and their fate was sealed.  I think it’s reasonable to assume that Elrond  felt that his choice was also irrevocable, and that his sons would automatically be Elvish.  I have no idea why this was not the case, or when Elrond realised it.

Chapter Three – Four For Joy

Elrond gazed at the still, lifeless body of his son in his arms, his tears flowing unheeded.  How could a day that should have been full of joy and hope suddenly turn to such desperate heartbreak?  How could any of them withstand this tragedy?

He looked blindly at Celebrían.  She rocked Elladan gently, and had one hand held out toward him imploringly for the child he held.  He felt a sense of bitter helplessness, and a deep anger at himself, at the Valar, for not doing something, for allowing this to happen.

Someone, it appeared,  was trying to do something.  Nindamos, the healer he had specially chosen to assist in the birth, was attempting to remove the baby from his desperate grasp.  “My lord Elrond, let me help.  Let me at least try!”

Elrond refused to relinquish the body, but relaxed his hold a little as Nindamos placed a finger tip on the baby’s chest, pressing up and down very gently.  Then he covered the tiny mouth and nose and exhaled carefully, once, twice, before resuming his careful massage.  He repeated the pattern several times before finally lifting his head in despair.  “There is nothing,” he said numbly.  He could not bring himself to meet Elrond’s eyes.  “Nothing.  It is too late; there is nothing I can do.  He – he is dead.  I am so sorry, my lord.”  He sank to the floor, weeping.

By the Valar, was there nothing anyone could do?  *Blessed Elbereth, help me!* Elrond prayed, finally tearing his gaze from his son’s face.  He looked up, realising it was growing dark.  The first star of the evening shone brightly above the tree-lined horizon.  In that moment – whether his prayers were answered, or whether he came to his senses, he would never know – his blind panic disappeared, and was replaced by an icy calm.  He was not helpless, he could do something.  He had heard others describe him as the greatest healer in Middle Earth.  It was time to see if they were right, if he could save his son.

He placed his hand, the fingers outspread, on the tiny chest, covering it completely.  It was easy, now, to find the inner silence that held the core of his healing power.  Eyes closed, he called upon that energy, channelling it, all of it, into the tiny body he held.  Unleashed, it poured forth, flowing between them in a flood.  He willed life back to his son, concentrating on breathing, heartbeat and blood flow.  Oblivious to all else, he did not hear Celebrían’s gasp as she saw the nimbus of light that surrounded her husband and son.

He sensed the life returning long before he could feel any movement beneath his hand.  Then there was a choking gasp and a shrill cry, and his fingers detected a faint heartbeat, just the merest flutter, but it was enough.  A faint thread of melody and thought wove into his consciousness again.  Opening his eyes, he saw the pale skin, the blue lips, suddenly flush with colour as the icy pallor was replaced with the healthy pink of life.

Now there were two matching cries filling the room as his sons – both of them! – wailed piteously.  Celebrían, tears still streaming down her face, positioned Elladan more carefully at her side, and extended her arms for their other son.  “Give him to me!” she demanded incredulously.  She all but snatched the child from him, pulling the blanket aside to examine him carefully, counting fingers and toes, before looking up at last.  “He is alive,” she whispered in awe.  “He is alive.”

Silently, full of wonder, Elrond gave her the other mithril bracelet, and she placed it on one tiny wrist, before placing a very tender kiss on his cheek.  “I name you Elrohir,” she whispered softly.  “Come, meet your twin.  This is Elladan.”  Shifting her position slightly, she arranged herself so she held both twins side by side.  Abrupt silence fell as the piercing newborn wails stopped instantly.

Slightly puzzled, she looked at Elrond.  “They are together again,” he explained quietly, remembering.  Stumbling a little, he sank down wearily on the bed beside her, closing his eyes in exhaustion.  The healing had drained him as never before.  “Too much,” he mumbled.  “Too much.”   Opening one eye, he elucidated:  “I have never done that before.  I have prolonged life, and aided healing, and even eased death, but never have I reversed death and returned life where there was none.  I did not know that I could do that, that anyone could!  But I fear it may have been too much for him, too overwhelming.  So much power …”

“What do you mean?  It could have – harmed him?”

“Nay.  The worst that could happen is that it could waken any latent healing abilities of his own.  He may become a healer like his ada, in time.”  Elrond could feel himself drifting into sleep, and with an immense effort of will, forced himself awake.   Together with Nindamos, who still hovered anxiously, he performed all the usual checks on newborn elflings, paying particular attention to Elrohir.  But apart from a slightly reddened mark across his neck which was rapidly fading, both twins appeared whole and healthy.

Finally, Elrond turned to Nindamos and his assistant.  “Thank you, you can leave us now.  And would you pass a message to Glorfindel and Erestor?  Tell them – tell them that all is well, and I will see them shortly.”  He dismissed the healers, and the family was left alone.  Dusk had fallen, and lamps had been lit, casting a dim illumination around the room.  A gentle evening breeze stirred the filmy curtains, and Elrond crossed to the windows to look across the valley.  Eärendil glinted just above the trees, and he smiled.  “Thank you, father,” he murmured. 

Returning to the bed, he watched with awe as Celebrían nursed the twins.  All three were newcomers to this task, but there seemed to be an instinctive knowledge.  “You know what to do?” he asked with a smile.

“Aye.  So do they,” she said in wonder.  “Look at them!”  They suckled peacefully, their eyes half closed in contentment. 

Elrond settled beside them on the bed, watching in delight as first one, then the other slowly stopped feeding and fell asleep.  “You were right, they are beautiful,” he murmured.  He traced the delicately tapered ears with a gentle fingertip.  Both had the same dark, downy hair and the same cloudy grey eyes, closed now in sated sleep.  “They are exactly alike.  Identical.  Do you think we will be able to tell them apart?”

“In time.  I am sure there will be things that are different about them.  But it is a blessing we had the bracelets made for them!”  Celebrían nestled into the curve of his arm, and did not protest as he reached over and gently took the nearest elfling – Elladan – from her, leaving her with Elrohir.  Both twins stirred a little as they were moved apart, but they were too deep in slumber to make any complaint.  A little anxiously, she examined Elrohir again, smiling at the tight grip that grasped her finger.  “Elrond?  He will be all right?  It was a very long time before he drew breath. You are sure he took no lasting harm?”

“He is well,” he reassured her.  “Nindamos and I took particular care to be sure.  He is well, have no fear.”

“Thank you,” she sighed drowsily.  “Thank you for our beautiful sons, especially this little one.  I had no idea that miracles still happened.”  She drifted into sleep, but did not relax the arm that cradled the elfling still gripping her finger.

Awash with pure contentment, Elrond held the three, feeling a love so strong it almost hurt.  A sense of profound awe filled him as he contemplated what he had done.  It was something he had never believed possible – but he had done it.  It was truly a miracle.

He was skimming sleep himself when there was a gentle tap at the door, and a voice called his name.  Glorfindel.  And no doubt Erestor as well.  “Come in,” he called softly, not wishing to disturb the three sleepers.

The door opened, and Erestor peered in, a smile lighting his face as he saw the bundle which Elrond held.  “We bring greetings to the new parents,” he said, indicating Glorfindel who stood behind him.  Elrond watched as they drew near, waiting for the moment of realisation to dawn.

Glorfindel’s smile broadened, and he gave a laugh of delight.  “Two!” he exclaimed.  “So this is what you were not telling us!  Twins?”

“Aye.  Identical, it seems.  This is Elladan,” Elrond indicated with a nod of his head the child he held.  “And that is Elrohir.”  He freed a finger and pointed to the baby Celebrían cradled.   An indulgent smile spread across his face.  “My sons,” he added proudly.

“Twins!”  Erestor repeated.  “Congratulations, my friend.  That is wonderful news.  What of Celebrían?”  He caressed Elladan’s head, and placed a gentle kiss on his brow.  The elfling did not stir.

On the other side of the bed, Glorfindel stroked Elrohir’s soft hair, and bent to kiss him.  “Greetings, little one.  One day I shall tell you and your brother such tales of adventure and heroes!”  He turned to Celebrían, kissing her as well, a gentle brush of the lips.  “Well done, my dear.  You have two beautiful sons.  They are well?”  he asked Elrond.

“They are well.  We all are, now.  I will talk to you later, my friends.  And tomorrow we will go to the Hall of Fire, and present Elladan and Elrohir, the twin heirs of Imladris.  Goodnight.”

Even as they left and the door closed behind them, Elrond was sinking into dreams again, holding his wife and sons safe within his arms, dreaming of elfling mischief when he and Elros had been young.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  A very swift update – I couldn’t bear to leave poor Elrohir like that for long!  There are a hundred and one other things I should have been doing – important, but not necessarily more important, as Gandalf would say.

The chapter title is taken from the old magpie rhyme, 'One for sorrow'.

Chapter Four –  How The Mighty Are Fallen

Elrond stood at the window, gazing out across the valley, marvelling at the beauty of the day.  Silvery droplets of water shone like pearls on the leaves and grasses, dripping gently to the ground. The sun had risen, but was hidden behind thick layers of heavy, mithril-hued cloud, and a thin, gauzy drizzle misted the air, gusting in sheets above the trees which bent in the wind, the leaves twisting and dancing.  Eastward, low clouds obscured the mountains, dark with more rain.  The grey light of early morning filtered slowly through the trees, parts of the valley still shadowed by the mountains.  The morning was fresh and clean, and Elrond felt he had never seen such a wonderful dawn.  He drew a deep breath of the cool misty air, and murmured an automatic prayer of thanks to Vána– but then turned, looking into the room behind him.  The beauty of the morning paled into insignificance against the events of the previous night.  Awe and wonder still gripped him as he recalled what had happened, and he looked down at his sons yet again, deep in cosy, sated sleep.  Crouching down beside them, he gently traced the outline of an ear, a nose; smiling at the reflexive curling of tiny hands as he brushed a finger across their palms.  They did not wake, and he settled onto the bed, content once more to simply watch the twins as they slept.

He was roused from his silent contemplation of wonder as the outer door opened, and Glorfindel entered.  As he crossed to the bed, Elrond raised one finger to his lips, signalling his companion to silence – though there was no need, he doubted if even the winding of Oromë’s legendary great horn Valaróma would rouse them.  Glorfindel reached the bed and paused, looking all around.  “Where are they?” he whispered.

In response, Elrond merely pointed downwards.  Glorfindel leaned across the bed, and peered over the side as indicated, breaking into a broad smile.  “A drawer!”  he chuckled.  “The twin heirs of Imladris sleep in a drawer?  And on the floor, at that!  Surely your craft workers can provide something better?”

“Oh, they did,” Elrond explained.  He waved a hand towards two beautiful, intricately carved cribs in one corner of the room, and sighed.  “My sons cry most piteously, heartrendingly and above all, deafeningly when we attempt to put them in separate cradles.  Once together again, they fall silent and agree to sleep.  The drawer was the only thing we could think to use for now.  My best artisan has already been instructed to make something more fitting.”

Glorfindel chuckled again.  “A drawer,” he repeated.  “What will their grandmother think of this?”

“My mother would understand perfectly,” Elrond explained with dignity, deliberately misunderstanding.  “She knew, as well as any, the unequalled trials and delights of twins.  I believe my brother and I spent our first few days in a feed trough,”  he added reminiscently.

Glorfindel ignored this attempt to divert him, and continued: “And the Lady Galadriel?  What will she have to say about her grandsons sleeping in a drawer?”

Celebrían emerged from the bathing room, wearing a loose robe tied at the waist, and drying her hair.  “I sincerely hope that my mother will not find out until after she has arrived.  Once she has seen them, all complaints about the unsuitability of their sleeping accommodation will be irrelevant.”  She cast a long, loving look at the sleeping babies, then turned to Glorfindel with a smile.  “Good morning.  Will everything be ready downstairs?”

He bowed very formally, hand on heart.  “Of course, my Lady.  Your wish is my command.  The entire population of Imladris will be assembled in the Hall of Fire, as you requested.”  Abandoning his formality, he leaned forward and kissed her.  “Congratulations on two such beautiful elflings.  Celebrían, you look wonderful.  Radiant. ”

“I do?  I cannot think why.  I feel sore, exhausted, and utterly terrified.  I ache all over.  And yet I have never felt so happy.”  With her final words, a brilliant smile broke over her face, and she seemed to glow with joy.

Elrond stirred from his position on the bed and crossed to his wife, reflecting that ‘exhausted, terrified and never so happy’ described his turbulent emotions perfectly.  Taking her hands, he pulled her towards him, and kissed her gently.  “Glorfindel is right.  You look more beautiful than ever.  And I have a message from Turtaur.  He is working on a new crib for two with all speed,  and promises me that it will be ready in days.”

She smiled with relief, returning his kiss lovingly.  “Good.  Why did you never warn me that twins could be so – demanding?  They have not even spent one day on Arda!  Yet they have already turned our lives upside down. How have they managed to insist on a double cot without a word being spoken?  Already they show every sign of having extremely forceful personalities!”

“They take after their parents, then,” Glorfindel commented slyly.  He had dropped to the floor, and sat cross-legged next to the drawer with a cat-like grace.  One hand trailed idly over the twins’ heads, a slender forefinger caressing the dark, downy hair, and he looked down at them with an indulgent smile.  Then he turned, with an expression bordering on panic.  “Elrond!  One of them is awake!” he hissed.  He looked back, squinting at the name engraved on the bracelet around the tiny wrist, and began murmuring softly.  “Hello, Elrohir.  Good morning.  I am Glorfindel, and I am very pleased to meet you at last.  I hear you have already scared your parents into a few more grey hairs.”  He leaned over the drawer, and trailed the end of one blond braid across the elfling’s face, tickling him lovingly.

Elrond watched the besotted elf self-consciously, knowing he was every bit as bewitched.  He leaned closer to Celebrían.  “They have claimed another victim,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear.  “Look at them.  So small, so helpless, so totally dependant on us – yet they wield such power.  Glorfindel is one of the greatest warriors on Arda, and he has been bested by two mere elflings.”  He chuckled.  “How the mighty are fallen.”

“I predict many more willing slaves soon.  Glorfindel and Erestor have everything prepared downstairs, so we should make haste to prepare ourselves – and the twins.  It is time to present our sons.”  With a final kiss, she broke away from him, and began to brush her hair, weaving it into ornate plaits.  She shed the loose robe, and crossed the room again to select a gown of midnight blue, edged and embroidered with silver.  As her head emerged, she looked at him quizzically.  “Are you coming?”

Elrond dressed with equal care in a matching robe of silver and blue, then turned to their sons.  Both were awake now, placidly kicking each other; blue-grey eyes calmly regarding Glorfindel as he bent over them, crooning gently.  “When you have finished entertaining my sons, can we go?”  he asked dryly.  Deftly he scooped up one twin, wrapped him in a soft blanket in the same blue and silver hues; handed him to Celebrían and repeated the action with the other twin, nestling him in his own arms.  Before either Elladan or Elrohir had time to draw breath to protest the separation, they were side by side again, safe in their parents’ arms.

Glorfindel rose languidly to his feet and gestured to the door.  “Shall we go?” he asked.

Elrond stopped him.  “In a moment,” he said.  “I want to show them their first dawn – it is such a beautiful day!”  One arm around Celebrían, he turned them to the open window, which led out to one of the terraces which surrounded the house.

“Beautiful day?” Glorfindel echoed in disbelief.  “It is pouring with rain!  The wind howls!  My friend, have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Aye,” Elrond replied absently.  Together, they stepped out onto the terrace, standing beneath the shelter of the eaves of the roof, revelling in the cool, clean bite of the air.  Elrond shifted the twin he held – Elladan – a little more upright, wrapping him more snugly in the warm blanket.  “’Tis a beautiful day, to have such wonders in it.”  He placed a loving kiss on the elfling’s head, and turned slightly to show him the valley.  “Look, my sons.  This is Imladris.  This is your home.”

~~**~~

Later that day, Elrond and Celebrían walked along one of the many pathways that bordered the valley, casting frequent glances up towards their rooms.  “They will be all right?”  Celebrían asked for the third time since leaving the twins with their nurse.

“They will be fine,”  Elrond reassured her.  “They have been fed, and are sleeping soundly.  They are warm and content.  They are together.  At this stage, what more do they need?  And if they should wake, Tasarian will care for them, change or bathe them if necessary.  They will be fine.”

Celebrían sighed.  “I know.  I know.  And they need to get used to  Tasarian – and she to them.”  She shook her head.  “I am being foolish, I know.  What could possibly happen?”

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  ‘Turtaur’ should mean ‘wood master’. 

Author’s Note:  Someone asked why Celebrían had a nurse to look after the twins, and if she was too grand to do it herself.  She isn’t, but the twins will be a handful, and she will need help.  She’s also the Lady of Imladris, and will have other responsibilities besides her sons.  Tasarian is going to help, and the girl Firienë is her apprentice.

Chapter Five – Bathtime

Tasarian watched approvingly from the window as Elrond and Celebrían passed by on the path below her, and smiled as first one, then the other glanced upwards.  “They are doing very well,” she commented to Firienë.  “The first leaving is always the hardest.  They know their little ones are not going anywhere, and will be well cared for, but it is still a wrench to abandon them – for that is how they see it. It will get easier.”

Moving away from the window, she looked at Firienë.  The girl was hovering nervously over the drawer the twins slept in.  “Do relax, child!  They will not sleep any better for having you watch them.  Sit down.”

Firienë obeyed, but sat perched on the edge of her seat, still watching the elflings.  “They are so small,” she explained.  “And Lord Elrond’s sons.  Twins, too – the Lady did not mention that!  I am afraid – what if something were to happen to them while I am looking after them?  What if they stop breathing?  What if …”

“Hush!  Of course they are small, just because they are twins.  They are bound to be smaller than other babes.  And they will not suddenly stop breathing, any more than you or I will.  And remember, it will be a long time before you will have sole charge of them.  You are here to learn and to help.”  Tasarian’s tone softened, and she added, “You will soon learn confidence.  You love elflings, and that is the most important thing.  But if you are nervous, they will sense it, and that will unsettle them.”

Firienë sighed.  “You know so much, you are so calm and sure with them.  How?  You have no elflings of your own.”

“No.  No elflings.  I learned, just as you will.”  Tasarian smiled sadly.  She and her husband, who had been one of Celebrimbor’s artisans, had lived in Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion.  He had been killed when Eregion was attacked and overwhelmed.  Devastated by the loss, she had been equally distraught at the knowledge that she would never now have children of her own.  When Elrond led the survivors north and founded the refuge of Imladris, she had rebuilt her life there, dedicating it to caring for the children of others.  In the peace and tranquillity of the valley, her life had been more full than she could ever have imagined in those dark days following the sack of Eregion.

“That was a long time ago now,” she concluded, as she finished telling Firienë her tale.  “And a great many elflings ago, too.  Now Elrond has asked me to look after his own sons – I was one of the few who knew that they were to be twins.”  She started at the sound of a faint wail that rose very quickly in volume and intensity.  “Someone is awake, I think.”

Firienë bent down and picked up the screaming, red-faced elfling.  “Ai!  No wonder he cries!”

“Give him to me,” Tasarian instructed placidly.  “A bath, I think,” she decided, wrinkling her nose.  “Go and fill the basin for me, child, then undress him.  Not too hot, mind!”

“I know!” Firienë responded, smiling.  By now the other twin was also awake and crying, and she picked him up, cooing.  “You as well, little one?  Perhaps we should bathe you both, yes?”  She passed the second child to Tasarian, and went into the bathing room to draw warm water to fill the basin.

Meanwhile Tasarian set them both on a rug by the hearth, still crying.  She bent over them, talking in the sing-song voice common to all who care for younglings everywhere.  “You are smelly little elflings, yes you are!  Shall we give you a bath?  Yes?  Then wait here while I get some fresh clothes and swaddling from the cupboard.”

Firienë returned and collected a baby, stripping off the soiled clothes.  Tasarian watched carefully as she checked the temperature of the water, then tested it herself to be sure.  “Just right,” she praised.  “Well done.”  She slid the elfling into the warm water, while Firienë undressed the second twin and added him to the basin.  The crying stopped immediately. 

“They like it,” Firienë commented.  “Lady Celebrían told me they did.”  The two nursemaids set to work, washing them clean and splashing them gently, laughing as both twins kicked and waved their hands contentedly.  Once clean, Tasarian let them splash for a moment,  then picked up a clean towel, removed her elfling from the bath and wrapped him swiftly and warmly.  She carried him through to the bedroom and placed him back on a blanket on the hearthrug as Firienë appeared with her charge.

“You go back and put everything away,” Tasarian instructed her apprentice,  “while I dress them.”  She had just dried and dressed one baby when there was another wail – but this time, not from either of the twins. 

It was Firienë, and she sounded utterly dismayed. “Oh no!  Oh no, oh no, oh no!  Oh, what have I done!”

Puzzled, Tasarian turned to look, wondering what disaster had befallen the girl.  “Well?  What have you done?”

Firienë appeared in the doorway, her face tragic.  Numbly, she held out her hand towards Tasarian.  She held two small silvery bracelets.  “I took them off when I undressed them,” she whispered.  “I took them off.”

Tasarian looked from the bracelets to the twins, content and clean-smelling, laying  side by side on the blanket, and she dropped her head into her hands.  “You took their bracelets off?” she repeated, wanting to be absolutely sure of the magnitude of this calamity.

Firienë nodded miserably.  “Yes. And now – Tasarian, which is which?”

To Be Continued

 .

Chapter Six – What’s In A Name?

“It is no use,”  Celebrían moaned in despair.  “I cannot wait any longer.  I want to see them again!”   She turned to Elrond.  “Am I being foolish?”

“No,” he admitted.  “I miss them too.  Come, we have been away too long.  It is time to return.”

They walked – not too swiftly – back along the paths that led to the house, acknowledging good-natured congratulations and kind wishes from those they passed.  Celebrían felt the familiar bubbling joy welling up inside as she thought of her sons, such tiny miracles, so very alike.  Would it ever be possible to tell them apart?  “There is something I wish to do when we get back,” she mused.  “I want to see if I can tell one from the other.  Give me one of the twins, and I will see if I know whether it is Elladan or Elrohir.”  She smiled impishly.  “Do you think it possible?”

“At this stage?  I do not know.  My parents could usually tell me from Elros, but that was when we were a little older.”

She looked at him quizzically.  “Usually?” she questioned.

“Unless we were trying to trick them or they had an absent-minded moment,” Elrond explained.

“You tried to trick your parents?”  Celebrían tried to sound shocked, but with little success.  She smiled.  “Do you think our sons will do that?”

Elrond laughed at her expression.  “Of course!  Where is the benefit of being a twin if you cannot fool people?”

“What else did you do?  I think I need to be forewarned.”  As they returned to their rooms, Elrond regaled her with a long list of what he termed ‘twincidents’, ranging from dressing identically; pretending to be each other; both pretending to be the same twin; and generally creating havoc and mayhem.

“Kindly do not tell these tales to them!  I am sure they will need no encouragement.”  Celebrían sensed a subtle change in his mood, and her laughter faded.  “I wish I could have met Elros.  You miss him, do you not?”

“Always,” Elrond relied simply.  “I always will.  But you, and now the twins, have brought me such happiness; something I never thought I would feel again.”

They reached their suite of rooms and Elrond opened the door of their bedroom.  All was peaceful.  Celebrían had half expected to be greeted by heart-rending tears, screams and wails, and was rather shocked to find herself faintly disappointed.  Had the twins even noticed her absence?

Soft noises of contentment rose from the sleeping drawer, and Tasarian stood to greet them.  Celebrían noticed immediately that she looked worried, and hurried to look at her sons. 

“My Lady – my Lord Elrond – there is something I have to tell you,” Tasarian announced nervously.

“What is it – what has happened?” Celebrían demanded in panic.  She bent to look at the twins, but they appeared placid and happy, both gazing back at her with wide grey eyes.

Tasarian held her hand out to reveal the two name bracelets.  “We bathed them.  The – the bracelets were removed by mistake.  I am so sorry – but I do not know which is Elladan and which is Elrohir.”  She dropped into a curtsey.  “Please forgive me – I have never made such a dreadful mistake!”

The girl Firienë, who had been standing near the window, hurried to her side.  “It was not her fault, my Lady – it was mine.”  Her voice trembled slightly.  “I took them off.  It was my fault.”

Celebrían’s reaction surprised them all.  Her giggle had a slightly hysterical tone to it, but compared with the terrors they had already endured over Elrohir, and the horrors conjured up by Tasarian’s first words, this was trivial.  “You removed their bracelets?  You do not know which is which?”  She turned to Elrond.  “Well, my husband, I think it is time for us to test my theory.”

Elrond took the mithril bracelets from Tasarian, glared at Firienë, and turned to his sons.   The two nursemaids made to leave, but stopped at his words.  “Firienë?  Next time, please do not take the bracelets off.”  His voice was mild, but Firienë blanched. 

“No, my Lord Elrond,” she whispered, and fled.

Celebrían settled herself on the bed by the twin’s drawer and looked down at them.  “I suppose that it was inevitable that this could happen sooner or later, but I rather imagined that it would be later.”  She gazed at them both.  “What if we cannot tell them apart?  What will we do then?  Elrond, they could grow up bearing the wrong names!”

“Their names will be the ones we call them.  What is in a name, after all?” he reassured her.  “We will make our best guess – and it would be best if we never tell them about this!”  Kneeling, Elrond picked up one of his sons.  “Are you ready?”

Celebrían nodded, leaning back and holding out her arms.  “Yes.  Give him to me.”  Receiving the baby from Elrond, she cradled him closely, cooing softly.  She closed her eyes and concentrated.  There was something – not character or personality as such, it was too early for such traits – but there was an indefinable feel to this child.  “Elladan,” she said on a faint note of surprise.  “This is Elladan.  I am certain of it!”  Looking up in triumph, she returned Elladan to his father’s arms.  “Again.”

Again she closed her eyes – it was easier to focus her attention and will.  Holding the second twin, she groped again for the vague essence she had glimpsed before, for a slight difference that would identify Elrohir.  “Oh …”   She hesitated, perplexed.   “I can feel no difference.  I would have said that this was Elladan as well.”   Dismayed, she opened her eyes and looked up at her husband.  He was grinning smugly.

“Elrond, you wretch!  It is Elladan again!”

“I wondered if you would be able to tell,” he admitted.  “Try again.”

This time, it was easy.  More familiar now with what she was looking for, Celebrían quickly found the something she could still not describe.  “Elrohir,” she stated with certainty.   “He feels quite different.  Elrond, we can tell them apart!  It works!”  She smiled down at Elrohir.  He gazed solemnly back at her, one hand grabbing at her hair, and yawned.  “I can sense a little of you as well, an echo of your healing.  This is Elrohir.”  Smiling in relief, she picked up the bracelets, checked the names, and placed Elrohir’s on his wrist.  “You try it.”

“I already did.  I found the same things.  You were right, they are different.  But I hope we will not have to put the theory to the test too frequently!”

By now, the twins had decided they had been apart for long enough, and simultaneously began to wail.  Hastily, Elrond sat next to his wife, close enough to placate them again.  He looked at Celebrían, his eyebrow raised.  “This will be the biggest trial of all.  It would appear they do not like being parted.  I think the next few years will be … interesting.”

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  I’m finding it difficult to write the twins as tiny babies, I prefer them with their own distinct characters and personalities.  I’m ending ‘Two By Two’, but will continue with stories from the twins’ childhood in another series.  In the meantime, the epilogue deals with their reaction when they finally learn of the circumstances surrounding their birth and first days.

Epilogue – Revelations (Part One)

Third Age,  2159

Elrohir, sensing eyes on him yet again, turned slightly and surreptitiously scanned the hall.   At first it seemed that no one was paying him or Elladan any undue attention, but then one of the visitors from Mithlond, seated towards the centre of the hall, glanced up.  Catching his eye, she smiled slightly then dropped her head again.

He nudged his brother.  “El?  Who is that?  Fair hair, five seats down from Círdan.   Do we know her?  She keeps looking this way.”

Elladan looked as instructed, then shrugged.  “She does look very slightly familiar, but I cannot think of a name,” he admitted.

“Yes.  I think we know her, but how?”  As they spoke, she rose to her feet and approached, bringing a wine goblet and nearly full flagon as she came.   As she drew near, the twins stood to greet her.  “Welcome to Imladris, my lady,”  Elrohir said formally.

“I trust you are enjoying the hospitality of this house?”  Elladan added.

She nodded, and smiled again.  “I am, my lords Elladan and Elrohir.  Thank you.”  Her smile widened.  “I wonder if you remember me?”

Elladan frowned.  “Forgive me.  I feel I should know you, but cannot recall your name.”

“Firienë.”

Elrohir thought hard.  Firienë.  The name was also familiar, but how did he and Elladan know this woman?

She laughed.  “You both look so puzzled!  Forgive me, please.  It is not fair to tease you.  I would be most surprised if you did remember – you were merely a year old when I left.  I was a nursemaid here before I married.”

“Firienë! You were Tasarian’s assistant.  She often spoke of you,” Elladan recalled.

As far as Elrohir could remember, Tasarian had spoken of her assistant with at best, a fond exasperation.  Firienë had, by all accounts, been remarkably accident prone.  Elladan as always was being tactful. 

“I often wonder, did your parents ever tell you of the dreadful mistake I made the first time I looked after you?”  Firienë grimaced apologetically at the memory.

“Mistake?  What mistake?”  Elladan queried. 

Elrohir caught his eye and grinned.  Which mistake in particular would this be?  From what they had heard, there had been many.

Firienë took another sip of her wine.  “You were both so tiny – I think it was the day after you were born.  Tasarian and I had to bath you, and she told me to undress you both.”  She flushed a little, looking at the two handsome elves sitting at her side.

“Would you like to try that again now?” Elrohir murmured in a low voice.  He took her hand and smiled at her, his eyes gleaming.

Elladan slapped his hand away.  “Behave yourself, little brother!  She is married!”  To Firienë, he explained: “You will have to forgive him.  He is an incorrigible flirt.”

“It does not matter.”  She turned to face Elrohir.  “Even if I were not married, it would never work between us, Elrohir,” she said solemnly.  “I could never be interested in that way in you; not after I bathed you, and changed your soiled swaddling when you were an elfling.  Forgive me.”

Elrohir felt the heat build in his face and glared at Elladan, who tried valiantly to keep a neutral expression.  Elladan soon lost the battle and laughed aloud as he was treated to the rare sight of his twin flushing in chagrin.

Undaunted, Firienë continued, “Unfortunately, I took Tasarian’s instructions a little too literally.  You both had small bracelets of mithril, engraved with your names.  It was the only way to tell you apart at the time.”

“I remember,”  Elladan told her.  “I still have mine.”  Elrohir, still mortified, silently nodded in agreement.

“Well, I took the bracelets off as well.  I was horrified when I realised what I had done.  There seemed no way to tell you apart!”

Despite himself, Elrohir laughed.  “You mean I could really be Elladan?  What happened then?”

“I have no idea how they did it, but your parents seemed quite confident that they sorted you out.  They forgave me, but I never forgave myself.”

“I remember father once telling us that things were rather confused when we were born, and that El may have been born first.  I always thought he was teasing us,”  Elladan mused.

Elrohir prodded his brother.  “Yes, because you were going through an ‘I-am-right-because-I-am-eldest’ phase.  It put you in your place.  Of course he was teasing!”

“He must have been,” Firienë agreed.  “Things were certainly frantic, but that was not the reason for all the confusion and panic, was it?”

The twins exchanged a puzzled glance.  “Confusion and panic?  What do you mean?  All what confusion?”  Elladan asked her.  “What happened when we were born?”

Firienë shook her head.  “Not you.  It was when Elrohir was born, of course.  I heard all about it later.”

Elrohir gazed at her, intrigued.  “Very well.  You seem to have successfully roused my curiosity.  What happened when I was born?”

Firienë caught herself.  “You do not know?  No one told you?”

“Told me what?”  Elrohir was beginning to sound exasperated.  He glanced at Elladan, still puzzled.  This was another tale they had never heard.

Firienë, however, seemed to realise she had said too much.  She looked at her glass, set it down, and rose to her feet.  “Never mind.  It was a long time ago now, anyway.  Now, if you will excuse me, I will perhaps see you tomorrow.”  Before the twins could stop her, she moved away and was lost in the throng.

Elrohir stared at his brother, and raised an eyebrow.  “Well?  Did that make any sense to you?”

“No.  None.  She was being very mysterious.  But do you think it could be true?  Could I be you?”

Elrohir gave the question the careful consideration of the very slightly inebriated.  “No.  I think I am.  I have been Elrohir for over two thousand years.  I like being Elrohir.  One day as Elladan is not going to change all that.  What do you think?”

“I think we should talk to mother or father,”  Elladan said firmly.  “I think we should find out exactly what Firienë was talking about.”

Together, they wove their way across the hall of fire and out into the corridor that led to Elrond’s study.   It was time for some answers.

To Be Continued

Epilogue – Revelations (Part Two)

Elrohir paused briefly outside the study and turned to Elladan.  “Do you think anything did happen?”  he asked.  He found he was oddly unsettled by the possibility.

Elladan shrugged.  “Who knows?”  He gave a wicked grin.  “Perhaps Father dropped you on your head as you were born!  It would certainly explain a lot.”

“What do you mean?” Elrohir demanded hotly.  “Explain what?”

“Why no one ever mentioned anything, of course,”  Elladan responded smoothly.  “He would be embarrassed.  What did you think I meant?”  His twin wore an expression of pure innocence.

Elrohir scowled, wondering why he still let Elladan rile him.  Ignoring his brother, he knocked at the study door and pushed it open, glancing around to be sure their father was not already busy with a visitor.  “Father?  Can we talk to you?”

Elrond looked up with a smile, seeming slightly surprised.  “Of course you can.  Come, sit with me.”  He stood, moving around his desk and crossing to the fire.  They sat, Elrond in a high backed chair, Elladan on a long couch, and Elrohir in his favoured spot on the rug by the fire.  “What is it?”

“It was about something that Firienë said,”  Elladan began.

“Firienë?”  Elrond looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded.  “Firienë.  I remember.”  He smiled.  “Is this something I should tell you to ask your mother about?”

Elrohir shook his head.  “We would have asked her, but she was rather busy with some of the guests.  Besides, you should know as well,” he pointed out.

“Know what?”

Elrohir began speaking, but then Elladan took up the thread, the conversation switching seamlessly between them.  It was a habit they still fell into, especially when preoccupied.  “Firienë told us a story – ”

“A rather interesting story –”

“About something that happened when we were elflings.”  Elrohir could have sworn that his father tensed at that comment.

“She said that the bracelets we wore – “”

“ – So you could tell us apart – ”

“She took them off.”

Elrohir, now watching his father closely, was certain that he relaxed.  A quick glance at Elladan revealed that his twin had also noticed, and they each knew what the other  was thinking.  What had their father been expecting them to ask?  “So is it true?” he finished.

With a slight smile, Elrond nodded.  “Yes.  It is true,” he agreed.  “She took the bracelets off to bath you, then realised that she had no idea which of you was which.”

“So what happened then?”  Elladan continued.

“We forgave her, of course,”  Elrond told them.  “She was absolutely horrified at the mistake, and thought no one would ever be able to solve the mystery.  There was a very tearful confession, but it was not really her fault.”  He sighed.  “Somehow, it never was.  She was just a young ellyth, a mere apprentice, and it was no more than a foolish lapse.”

“No, we meant how did you sort it out?  Sort us out?” Elladan elucidated.

Elrond spread his hands vaguely.  “We just knew.  There was an unmistakeable sense of identity about you both.  You felt different.”

“Good.”  Elrohir nodded, satisfied.  “El was wondering if he was me.  I told him I was.”

Elrond blinked, looking a little bemused, and interrupted before the conversation could become any more convoluted.  “There is absolutely no doubt.  Elladan was born first, and you, Elrohir, arrived a matter of minutes later.  I was there, you know.”

“Yes, and that was something else we wanted to ask you about.”  Elrohir seized on the query that had burned in his mind since Firienë’s negligent remark.  “Firienë mentioned that there had been a great deal of panic and confusion when we were born – or more precisely, when I was born.  What did she mean?  She was being most mysterious, and vanished when we questioned her.  Did anything unusual happen?” 

There was a long moment of silence, and Elrond went very still, his face curiously expressionless.  Elrohir sat up straighter, and glanced at Elladan, who had leaned forward in his seat.  The question had provoked an unexpected response.  Quite clearly, something untoward had happened, something rather more serious than Elladan’s teasing comment about being dropped.

“Yes,” Elrond said finally.  “Something did happen.”  He stopped, but made no move to continue.

“Well?”  Elrohir asked impatiently.  “What was it?  Father, you have to tell us!”

Elrond nodded.  “I will.  Forgive me, this is … rather difficult.  It is something I have not thought about for very many years now.”   He sighed, and left his chair to sit cross-legged on the fireside rug, facing his sons.  Slowly, he began to explain.  “Your mother and I had already decided that whichever of you was born first would be called Elladan.  When I first held you, I placed the bracelet on your wrist, and named you.”  He glanced at his son, smiling at the sweet memory, then hesitated again.

“But then – Elrohir, you nearly died when you were born.”  He stopped again.  “No, it was worse than that.  You deserve to know the truth, all of it.  The truth is that I still think of this at times.  I can never forget it.”  He spoke with difficulty, his voice tight.  “It became apparent that there was something wrong with the other baby.  We could feel you fading and leaving us.”  He stopped again, reaching out with one hand, his finger gently tracing a line around Elrohir’s neck.  “The birth cord had become tightly twisted around your neck, choking you.  You were stillborn, Elrohir.”  There were tears in his eyes as he recalled the horror of that moment, and his words fell like stones into utter silence.

Elrohir simply stared at his father, stunned into silence.  He suddenly felt stone cold sober, and was vaguely aware that Elladan had moved closer and was gripping his shoulder tightly.  His brother’s voice came as if from a great distance.  “He was stillborn?  What do you mean?  What happened?”

“You know what it means.  And I – I panicked.  Nindamos, the healer who assisted in your birth could do nothing.  We tried everything; but we despaired, all of us.  It seemed that there was no hope of the future we had dreamed of.  There was just you, Elladan.”

“But – ”  Elladan prompted. 

Elrohir finally found his voice.  “So what did you do?” he asked softly.  “You clearly did something – I am still here!  How did I survive?”

“I prayed,” Elrond said very simply.  “To Elbereth, to any who might be listening, to spare you.  And suddenly I knew what I had to do.”

Elladan and Elrohir watched, mesmerised,  as their father – lost in memory – closed his eyes.  He held up one hand, the fingers spread wide.  “I put my hand on your chest, and forced every scrap of healing energy I ever possessed into you.  And you began to breathe.  Your heart started beating.  And you cried; it was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard. You were alive.  And I still believe I was part of a miracle that night.”

Elrohir leaned back against Elladan’s chair, aware that his heart now was racing.  Suddenly he surged to his feet and began pacing the room, his mind a swirling turmoil of bewildered questions.  He turned to his father.  “You did not think to tell me this?” he snapped, then stopped. That was not what he had intended to say at all.  But before he could take back the words, Elrond stared at him pleadingly.

“Forgive me. The time never seemed right, somehow.  But I should have told you before,” he admitted.

Elrohir stopped pacing, his sudden anger – a  result, he knew, of his confusion – gone as quickly as it had come.  He knelt next to his father and hugged him tightly, feeling the familiar childhood sense of security as Elrond returned the embrace.  “Thank you, father,” he murmured, unconsciously echoing the words spoken so long ago.  “Thank you.  Goodnight.”  He turned to his brother.  “ ’Night, El.”   He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

~~**~~

Elladan gave a brief wave.  “Goodnight, brother.”   His gaze remained focused on the door for some time, but he made no move to go after his brother.  He knew Elrohir would want a little time alone to think about the night’s revelations.  They would talk later.  The news had come as a shock to him, and despite their closeness, it was difficult to imagine how Elrohir would feel. 

He cast his mind back over their life together; their fights and arguments, the bickering and teasing, the simple pleasures of always having someone there, to talk to, to share secrets and the discoveries of childhood with.  He had always known that Elrohir would understand, would not judge him, and would take his side, a staunch defender come what may.  Elrohir had given him a security; the confidence to tackle life head on, safe in the knowledge that no matter what, his twin would always be at his side, supporting him.  It was strange – no, impossible – to think how unimaginably different his life would have been without Elrohir.

He came out of his reverie to find his father watching him.  “I should have told you before,” Elrond confessed.   “But at first you were too young, then as you grew it became more and more difficult to broach the subject.  The opportunity was lost.  But you deserved to know, especially Elrohir.”

Elladan nodded.  Yes, his brother deserved to know of such a momentous event in his life – in their lives – but equally, he could understand why their parents had found it difficult to speak of.  They would have been distraught, and it was scarcely the sort of thing one mentioned in casual conversation.  He sighed.  “Do you have any more surprises?  Are there any more dramatic secrets we should know about?”

His father smiled.  “There have been one or two other occasions that have terrified me nearly as much, times when I feared for your lives.  But you are both well aware of all those incidents.  There are no more dark secrets.”

“Good.”  He stood, and bent to kiss his father.  “Goodnight, Adar.  I will go and talk to El, I think – he has had long enough to brood.”

Elrohir’s bedroom lay at the near end of the corridor that housed the twins’ rooms.  Elladan did not bother to knock, but pushed the door open slightly and peered in.  Elrohir lay on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, staring meditatively at the ceiling.  Crossing to the bed, Elladan stood gazing down at his brother.  “El?  Can I come in?”

Elrohir turned his head slightly, and smiled.  “You are in,” he pointed out.  He moved sideways a little, and patted the bed.  “Sit down.”

Elladan sat as instructed.  “I wanted to talk to you.  And if you tell me that I am already talking to you, I shall hit you!”  He smiled, then frowned.  “Are you all right?” he asked.

His brother nodded slowly.  “Yes, of course.  I was just thinking.  It is an odd sensation,” he mused.  “By rights I think I should be dead; should never have lived.  If Father was not the healer he is, I would be.  Then what would have happened?  What would have happened to you?”  He looked at Elladan.  “Do you think you would have known?  If I had died?  If no one said anything?”  Elrohir’s tone was very serious.

Elladan was about to make an automatic protest, that of course he would have known; when he paused, giving the matter the careful consideration Elrohir both expected and deserved; and wondering about it himself.  “Yes,” he said at last.  “I would have known that something was amiss.  I may not have understood why, perhaps, but would have known that something was wrong, some part of me forever missing.  Yes.”

“So there are no regrets?  No sneaking thoughts that you could have been rid of your irritating little brother?”

“Never!”  Elladan exclaimed.  “Never,” he repeated, his voice slightly husky.  “El, never say that again.  You know I would never change anything.”

“I know.”  Elrohir sat up unexpectedly, and ruffled Elladan’s hair.  “Come, I have had enough of these morbid thoughts.  I think there is a bottle of a rather good red in the sitting room – unless you have already found it!”  He led the way into the sitting room they shared, linking the two bedrooms.  It was comfortably furnished with tables and chairs, a place where they could entertain friends or simply relax together.  Elladan watched while Elrohir retrieved the bottle, unsurprised at his brother’s mercurial change of mood – it was typical of Elrohir, who never remained melancholy for long. 

Collecting two glasses, he followed Elrohir in unspoken consent out onto the long veranda that linked the three rooms, and sat on the stone balustrade.   Elrohir filled both glasses, then raised his in salute.

“To Adar,” he suggested.  “He proved he really is a very great healer.”

“To Naneth,”  Elladan countered.  “I think she had a great deal to put up with, with us.”  He sipped the wine slowly, savouring the richness on his tongue, and shivered a little in the cool night air.  Sounds of music and song drifted up from the hall, and he found himself thinking of the night’s astounding disclosures, albeit inadvertent.  He glanced at Elrohir.

“To Firienë,” they declared together, and raised their glasses again.  “May she never stop enriching life,”  Elladan added.

Elrohir smiled in reply, and moved closer, draping his arm across Elladan’s shoulders.  “To us,” he declared.   “We have had some good times together, El.   I am glad I did not miss them.” 

“To us.”  Silently, they drank.

The End