It was Midwinter's Eve in Imladris, and the seven-year-old sons of Elrond were far too excited to sleep. Celebrian had been in with beakers of hot milk and cuddles half an hour beforehand, but now, walking down the corridor to his own chambers, Elrond could hear the whispers and giggles of a pair of very wide awake elflings.

"Boys?" Elrond pushed the door open a crack and listened for the telltale scampering of feet back across the floor as one twin or the other hurried back to their own bed.

"Ada?" One of them asked through the dark, sounding far sleepier than was possible for a child that had been squealing with mirth but a few minutes earlier.

"Are you not yet sleepy?" Putting aside all thoughts of some uninterrupted time with his wife, Elrond lit the lamp on the sideboard and turned to his sons.

"No."

"Not yet."

Both looked pale and rather dazed in the sudden brightness, and although their blankets and pillows were strewn haphazardly across both their mattresses - a fair indication as to what had been occupying their time, Elrond could not bring himself to be cross with them.

"You will be tired tomorrow if you do not sleep." He sat down on Elladan's bed and patted the mattress next to him, indicating that Elrohir should join them. "Would you like a story to help make you sleepy?"

Elladan and Elrohir looked inquiringly at each other, then both nodded at the same time.

"Yes please, Ada."

"Very well," Elrond smiled at his sons, "I shall tell you a tale of the first Midwinter that we spent in the company of Ereinion Gil-galad. We had lived on Balar for a number of weeks by then, and I had begun to trust those that cared for me."

"Was Gil-galad good at caring for you, Ada?" Elladan snuggled up to his father's right side and tugged half of a blanket over him. It was a frosty night and the room was cold for those dressed only in nightgowns.

"Did he ever play soldiers with you?" Elrohir asked seriously as he hurried to cuddle against his father's left arm. "Was he good at telling bedtime stories?"

Elrond chuckled and leant forwards to ruffle Elrohir's dark hair. "He was. Although it was his Naneth that did most of the caring at that time."

"Gil-galad had a mother?" Elladan queried disbelievingly. "A proper Naneth?"

"Of course," Elrond chuckled, "You did not think that anyone would leave two young elflings to the care of only that grumpy shipwright and a High King not yet within reach of his majority?"

Elladan and Elrohir looked at him as if he had introduced a new and wholly unfamiliar idea.

"She had come to Balar soon after the death of the High-King Fingon. She stayed at Cirdan's leisure for many years, until Gil-galad was well into his kingship." Elrond explained patiently, wondering who exactly the twins had imagined mopping up grazed knees, sewing eyes back onto stuffed animals and doing all the other things that any elfling needed to keep happy and healthy. "Gil-galad was barely out of childhood himself and had quite enough on his hands. . ."

"Running a kingdom!" Elladan broke in proudly.

"And spearing orcs!" Elrohir beamed up at his father.

"Aye." Elrond nodded at both his sons, then smiled. "Although this Midwinter he was more worried about remembering his speeches and getting to his councils on time. He had counsellors to help him though."

"Like Erestor?" Elrohir asked, rubbing his cheek up against his father's sleeve.

"Just like Erestor." Elrond confirmed. "Only these counsellors were strict and boring and were always complaining that Gil-galad was not tidy enough or serious enough or kingly enough."

"Just like Erestor." Elladan said with an understanding nod.

~*~

Elrond woke with a start and sat up in bed so suddenly that Neldor, the roughly carved rabbit that he had once been given, slid off the sheets and landed on the wooden floor with a clatter. He had been dreaming of his Naneth and Adar and although he had wanted to hold onto the dreams they had been so frightening that they had disturbed him from sleep.

It was Midwinter's morning, he knew that much, but he was not sure what time it was. It was dark outside, and he could hear his brother Elros' steady breathing from the bed next to his, but it could not be very early for the candle on the chest had nearly burnt down during the night and he did not feel tired. Unsure of whether to rise or whether to sleep for a little longer, Elrond rescued Neldor and snuggled down amidst the pillows and blankets to think.

This was the first Midwinter in many years that he had woken up in a warm and comfortable bed. He and his brother had spent much of the last three years in the care of Maglor and Maedhros - the elves that had taken them captive when their home had been attacked - and the winters in their camps had always been bitterly cold. Last year they had huddled around the fire and sang and listened to Maglor tell tales of how Midwinters had once been. There had not been much food, but Maglor had spoken of whole roast pigs and spiced honey cakes and wine and then they had not felt as hungry. He had told of people dancing and minstrels singing and making music, and then he had sung some of the old songs to them. They were meant to be joyful and merry, but to Elrond's ears, he had never heard his keeper sound so sad.

As for the Midwinters before their captivity, neither he nor his brother could remember much. His father had sailed away many years before, and his mother had been lost during the attack on the Havens so there was nobody to remind them. Sometimes he thought he could remember his Naneth dancing, or his Ada letting him taste some wine, but he was never sure if they were real or just dreams.

There was a faint creak of a door opening in the distance, and Elrond pricked up his ears and listened. He had been staying on the Isle of Balar for almost two months now, ever since Gil-galad's soldiers had found them by the waterfall, and he was becoming used to the usual morning sounds of his new home.

Whoever it was was trying to be quiet, because their footfalls were slow and muffled. They had hit their elbow on the doorframe and it sounded as if they had tripped over the bit of driftwood that Elros had left on the floor the previous evening. It was not Cirdan though, for there was no cursing, and holding his breath to aid listening, Elrond leant forwards and waited eagerly for confirmation that it was exactly who he thought it was.

A faint slithering noise as whoever it was skidded around the corner in their socks provided the young half-elf with the information that he needed and smiling widely, Elrond slipped out of bed and padded to the doorway.

~*~

"Gil-galad!"

Elrond's delighted voice seemed far too loud in the silent hallway, and the young High King turned around with a pained expression. Now that he was standing in the beam of light from the lantern on the wall, Elrond could see that the young king was dressed in only a pair of crumpled leggings and his nightshirt. His long black hair was hanging in wild tangles across his face and shoulders and he was carrying his boots in one hand.

"Hush!" Gil-galad pressed his finger to his lips and glanced around with an expression of extreme guilt and unease. "Do not wake the others!"

Elrond froze, afraid of making a sound, but ran forward gladly when Gil- galad beckoned him. "What are you doing?"

The child's whisper was so quiet that Gil-galad almost did not catch it. Smiling a little, Gil-galad placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder and knelt down to speak in a low voice.

"I am going for a walk. But I must not make a sound because. . ."

The High King pointed at the shipwright's door and followed this swiftly with a rather realistic and extremely violent throat-slit motion.

Elrond's eyes widened, but he relaxed when he saw his companion's smile. Cirdan the Shipwright had once been a friend of his father, but he thought that he was rather frightening. Once, when Gil-galad had sailed out in the bay instead of going to his tutor, Cirdan had shouted so loudly that Elrond had wanted to cry.

Elrond gave Gil-galad his best hopeful smile. "Can I come?"

~*~

"Are you going to councils?" Elrond skipped behind the High King, trailing his cape behind him and trying to put his boots on as he walked. "You are not wearing your crown."

"No," Gil-galad said simply as he slung his cloak around his shoulders and stepped out into the frosty air, "I am not."

Gil-galad never wore his crown in the mornings, even though it was very nice and shiny. Elros thought that that was stupid and had once declared that if he were a king he would even wear his crown in bed and in the bath. When he had told the High King this, Gil-galad had begun to say that crowns were foul things and that any king with sense would wear them swimming and sink the dratted thing, but then Cirdan had glared at him, and after that he would only say that crowns hurt if you forgot that you were wearing them and poked yourself in the eye with them by mistake.

"Are you late for your councils?" Elrond skipped through the door that Gil- galad held open for him and reached for a warm hand to hold onto. It was cold outside and elves always forgot the mittens and scarves that their Naneth had made them wear in winter. "Again?"

The child's voice sounded rather weary causing raised eyebrows on the King's behalf.

"I am not late that often." Gil-galad wrinkled his nose. "In fact, today I am early. It is just that I do not intend to go and be early until I am already late."

Elrond frowned as he deciphered these words then looked up severely at the High King. "You will make people cross. Cirdan said that you were irresponsible."

"My councillors are always cross." Gil-galad shrugged, took Elrond's hand and began running across the lawns to the path that lead to the cliffs. "And Cirdan has been telling me that I was irresponsible and childish since I was but ten years old."

"But," Elrond spluttered for breath as he tried to keep up with the elf's long legs, "Your Naneth said. . . that you took. . . after your Adar."

Gil-galad stopped abruptly. "She did?"

"At your age." Elrond gasped for breath then added peevishly. "You go too fast."

"Sorry." Gil-galad said absently, then with more curiosity asked, "Naneth said I was like my Adar was?"

"Yes." Elrond looked up at him in confusion. It was what he had just said. "But Cirdan just grunted and said that it did not bode well for your Kingship if you were."

"He did?" Gil-galad scowled furiously at the undeserving elfling and began striding across the grass at a great pace, dragging Elrond behind him. "My Adar was a good King!"

"I know." Elrond said consolingly, patting Gil-galad's hand as well as he could considering the speed at which they were going. "I think he meant. . . that he meant that. . . maybe he did not have to be King until he was older than you are?"

He did not really understand all the fragments on conversations that he had heard, but Gil-galad seemed to because he fell quiet and began to walk at a kinder pace. He did not really know how old the High King was anyway. He was as tall as any of the properly grown-up elves and had a crown that was bigger than anyone else's circlet, but he was all skinny and gangly and his hands and feet were too big. Everyone kept saying how young he was and worrying about it, but to Elrond he was as big and wise as any of the other elves in the palace.

"Gil-galad?" Elrond tugged on the older elf's hand.

"Yes."

"When I am all grown up like you, will I have to have counsellors too?" Elrond bit his lip in worry. "I do not think that I want to grow up."

"Not if Eru has mercy on your soul." Gil-galad groaned loudly and kicked a pinecone that had foolishly strayed onto his path into the bushes. "And had I known that I would have to have counsellors, I would not have wanted to either."

~*~

"Gil-galad!" Elrond called breathlessly, tears forming in his eyes as he tried to keep up with his companion. "Wait!"

They were climbing the steepest bit of the hill that towered above the port where they lived now, and were nearly at the beacon at the top of the hill. The steps here crudely hewn from the rock of the cliff and were covered in ice.

"Hurry up, Elrond!" Gil-galad called from the summit, barely sparing a glance to the child struggling behind him. "This is the best bit!"

The wind was howling across the top of the cliff and it was bitterly cold. Their hair was whipped back from their faces, and when Elrond tried to pull his hood up for warmth it kept being blown back. They could see the sea extending in almost a full circle around them, a pale grey-silver in the early light of dawn. It had begun to sleet - the closest thing that it got to snow this close to the sea - and a few soggy flakes stuck to the thick wool of their cloaks.

"I am cold." Elrond complained, barely able to speak clearly through his chattering teeth. He knew that he should be quiet and enjoy the wild freedom of the moment just as Gil-galad was doing, but the skin on his arms was getting goose bumps and he couldn't stop shivering.

"Oh." Gil-galad looked rather shamefaced once he noticed how very cold Elrond was. He often forgot that the young half-elves felt cold and hunger more rapidly than he did. "Here, follow me! This will warm you up!"

Elrond looked puzzled as Gil-galad grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the narrow zigzag path that wove down the cliff to the shore - an expression that quickly turned down to horror as the High King began running, dragging him along with him. Later he thought that he must have screamed most of the way down that descent. The rocky ground seemed to race away under them and the clumps of white flowers and bright sea pinks seemed but a blur as they passed. The crashing waves and shingle of the shore seemed so far beneath them, and Elrond was terrified that he would fall, but by the time that they had reached the soft springy grass of the early dunes he had joined Gil-galad in wild, breathless laughter. He had never known anything that felt so much like flying.

Their laughter breaking into deep gasps for air, the pair raced down off the dunes onto the hard sand of the shoreline - and coincidentally directly into the path of the very sea-elf that the young king had hoped to avoid.

"Ereinion Gil-galad." Cirdan raised his bushy eyebrows but he did not look surprised.

Somehow Cirdan always sounded a tiny bit sarcastic whenever he said Gil- galad.

"Cirdan!" Gil-galad made a very bad attempt at disguising the horror in his voice. "Greetings on this fine morning."

Cirdan did not bother to return the greeting, merely casting an appraising eye at the King. The truant pair fell in step with the shipwright and continued walking along the shoreline in silence.

"Your counsellors are seeking you." Cirdan commented at length. "I passed them as I left the south courtyard."

"It is not very wise to seek me in a group of three." Gil-galad grumbled. "They would have done better to split up."

"Indeed." Cirdan said dryly.

"Why can they not advise themselves on tracking skills." Gil-galad picked up a large piece of driftwood and whirled around with it, practising dramatic yet rather unlikely attack moves. "We would have left evidence on the frost of the lawn at least."

Elrond looked down guiltily at his frost-covered boots. He was half-elven and could not run lightly over snow or dance over sand and frost without sign as elves could.

"It would have been wiser perhaps for the one which they sought to complete his duties before gallivanting off at his own leisure." Cirdan said blandly. He did not look at Gil-galad but he noticed Elrond's unhappy expression and quickly squeezed the half-elf's shoulder.

"They do not know that you have found me." Gil-galad said a touch sulkily. "Maybe if. . ."

"Ereinion!" Cirdan said sharply, and surmising that neither the High King nor the Lord of the Havens was joking anymore, Elrond shrunk frightened against the shipwright's legs.

Gil-galad scowled, but threw down the stick with which he had been swiping at clumps of marram grass and set off towards the palace at a run.

"Oh all right! I am going!"