"You went off without me!" Elros shouted at the top of his voice, giving his brother a shove into the wardrobe. "On Midwinter's Day!"

"But I am here now." Elrond said in an anxious little voice, blinking back tears as he rubbed his bruised back. "I was not gone long."

"But it is Midwinter's Day." Elros' eyes filled with tears and he stamped his foot on the floor in frustration. "We are supposed to be together."

"I was only walking," Elrond reached out to pat his brother's arm, "Just walking, Elros."

Elros did not like it when he spent time with other people that he could have spent with him. He had not liked it when Elrond had played with the other elflings in the fountain and had liked it even less when someone had invited Elrond to a picnic but forgot to invite him.

"But you left me." Elros wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "You do not like me best any more!"

Elrond looked at him, stung by the anger in his brother's words.

"I do! I do! I will never like anyone better than you, I promise."

This did not seem to mollify his brother. Elros had gone very pink and he had clenched his fists tightly - something that he always did when he was trying his hardest not to cry.

"But you were with Gil-galad and Círdan," he glared at his brother with all the hurt and anger that he could muster, "if you really liked me best then you would have been with me."

"I was not with them. Not really." Elrond said hastily. He did not want his brother to begin sobbing and ruin Midwinter's Day for everyone. "I just went for a walk with Gil-galad and then Círdan made him go to his council so then he took me home but then I was cold so. . ."

Elrond took a deep breath and then continued at double the pace before Elros could interrupt, "he made me sit in the kitchen by the fire and drink some hot milk and then Gil-galad's Naneth came and told Círdan off for letting me go out without my thick tunic and woollen shirt and mittens and then she let me help her make fudge and told me stories until I was all warmed up again."

When his voice trailed off the room went very quiet. Elros was watching him with a very strange expression, and now that Elrond thought about it he knew what it was. It had sounded like he was part of a family without Elros. Neither of them could remember their Naneth ever making fudge with them and he knew that Elros would have enjoyed it just as much as he had done.

"I do not like it here!" Elros howled. "I want to go. . ."

He paused in mid-screech because he did not know what to say. They had no home to go to, and they did not know where Maglor was anymore. And however much he tried to ignore it, he could not help but feel that if Naneth and Adar were going to come back then they would have come already.

"Be quiet!" Elrond tried to clamp his hand over his brother's mouth, but only succeeded in poking him in the eye. "Be quiet, Elros!"

He did not like it when his brother spoke like this. He missed Maglor too, and he wanted his Naneth and Adar more than anyone did, but he was afraid that if anyone found out how ungrateful he was then they would not be allowed stay. They did not have anywhere else to go, and however much he was told that this was his home now, he never quite believed it.

Elros let out a yelp of anguish and dug his fingernails as hard as he could into his brother's arm. "I liked Maglor better than Círdan and Gil-galad!"

"Don't!" Elrond pulled back from his brother, struggling against tears as he watched tiny crescents of blood rise up from the cuts.

Both twins watched as a trickle of blood ran down Elrond's pale arm, their eyes too large in their thin faces.

"I am bleeding." Elrond gasped, poking his scratch as if hoping it would go away.

"I am sorry. I am sorry." Elros did not seem able to take his eyes away from the blood. He had seen so much before that it should have been just the same as normal, but this was his brother's blood. His blood.

Elrond whimpered and patted ineffectually at his arm.

"Naneth would have made it better with a kiss." Elros said miserably, trying to dab away the blood with part of his undershirt.

"We have Gil-galad's Naneth." Elrond said, his eagerness for his brother to be happy somewhat marred by his fright. It was not that he wanted to have another Naneth, it was just that they had not seen their Naneth since the day that elves had come with swords, and they both knew what elves did with swords. The healers had said that it was not wrong to want a Naneth. "She is nice."

"I do not want Gil-galad's Naneth!" Elros wailed forlornly. "I want mine."

~*~

"You cannot sign like that." The tallest of the counsellors leant over the High King's shoulder and raised his eyebrows at the elaborate curls of wet ink.

Gil-galad hunched his shoulders over his work and lifted his quill to examine his work. It looked exactly as it always had done. There were no smudges or ink blotches to quibble over, and he had not been so stupid as to misspell his own name.

He was spending his morning in the council chambers as had become tradition over the last years. Although they were officially his council rooms, it did not feel like a home. He would sit stiffly and attempt to complete the duties that were set for him, while the three surviving of his father's counsellors would peer over his shoulder and correct every small error.

When he had been small and living in Hithlum with his father and grandfather, the study where they had worked had been cosy and safe. There had been interesting pictures and carvings to look at, and comfortable rugs to curl up on. He could remember one of his favourite treats as being allowed to sit on his grandfather's knee and make smudgy seals for any scraps of parchment that they could find. Back then the most arduous task that he had faced was picking little bits of wax from his fingertips to make tiny cups and saucers.

"It is hardly tidy." The second counsellor sighed, giving the High King's quill a disapproving look as it rather traitorously dripped a large splotch of ink onto the parchment.

"Your father always." The third counsellor began, probably to drone on about how very perfect father had been compared to son. It was by far his favourite past time. Tuning him out very effectively due to long hours of practice, Gil-galad dabbed at the spilt ink with a bit of blotting paper.

"Your grandfather's handwriting was exquisite." The second groaned. "It is a pity that that shipwright did not. . ."

He was silenced by a warning glance from his companions, but the scorn had been apparent in his voice and Gil-galad's eyes narrowed.

"Here, this is how your father signed his name." The third counsellor pushed a scrap of paper under the High King's nose, hoping to soothe things.

"Keep the line straight." The second counsellor craned over the High King's shoulder to examine his handwriting. "And are those loops really necessary, Ereinion?"

"Gil-galad." Gil-galad said stiffly. He knew that there would be eyebrows raised that he could not see, but he no longer cared. "I would like you to call me Gil-galad."

There was a moment's silence and then the third counsellor leant over the High King and rapped firmly on the paper, speaking with a little more kindness than had been customary of late. "Perhaps it would be best for you to sign as much like your father as you can."

~*~

Elrond pattered along the corridor and paused at the doorway to the large and luxurious chamber that they used as a sitting room. Both Círdan and Gil- galad's Naneth were in there, talking quietly. Elrond could never understand how the shipwright could talk and read at the same time, or how anyone could embroider such delicate patterns onto things as she sang or laughed.

They were both frowning at the moment though, and speaking again about how young Gil-galad was. Neither of them looked happy.

"Ereinion is too young yet to bear the burden of such things." Gil-galad's Naneth said, stitching a spray of leaves onto the collar of a shirt with golden thread. "He needs time to learn and grow wise."

She could not help but wish that her son's growing wisdom would not be matched with a corresponding increase in height. In the last few years he had turned from a skinny and lanky youth into a young elf already as tall as his father - even if he was not yet as broad or as muscular as he would eventually become. Lengthening and letting down the hems of formal garments had become a repetitive and boring task.

"He does not only need time to gain wisdom," Círdan said grimly, turning a page in his book and glaring at the words. "He needs time to play."

The queen looked hard at the shipwright and said firmly, "He will be a fine King. His father and grandfathers were fine elves, and he grows like them."

She had not wanted her son to inherit the Kingship of the Noldor whilst still little more than a child himself, but she had no control over the happenings in this world. Gil-galad had been but twenty-six years old when his father had passed to Mandos, and barely into his sixty-fifth year when his uncle had been killed in the fall of Gondolin leaving him High King of the Noldor. He may not yet have reached the strength and wisdom of his forefathers, but it was unfair to dismiss his efforts as those of a mere child.

"You misunderstand me," Círdan said calmly, "He is already a fine elf, but a young one. Young elves need time for leisure."

"You should let him play by the sea more." Elrond piped up from the doorway. Old elves like Círdan always thought leisure meant reading or carving or something else that involved sitting still, but anyone with sense could see that Gil-galad liked splashing in the waves and jumping down the dunes just as much as he and Elros did. "Chasing the waves is much more fun than sitting still."

Both elves stopped speaking rather abruptly, and turned to the small half- elf. Although everyone tried to keep as much worry as possible from the ears of two children who had already seen so much, Elrond especially seemed to have a talent for finding things to become anxious about.

"Come and sit with us, Elrond." Gil-galad's Naneth patted the cushions next to her and held out her hand to the child.

He gladly skipped across the floor and burrowed against the queen's side once he got there, needing the comfort of her familiar feel and scent. Elros had not spoken to him since he had run out of the room earlier, and although he had looked high and low he could not find his brother anywhere.

"You should not make Gil-galad go to councils." Elrond said seriously, nodding slightly as he spoke. "He does not like them and says that his counsellors are about as good company as rotten haddock."

Neither of the elves said anything at this comment. The queen sighed and Círdan adopted a strange expression that looked almost as if he was trying not to chuckle.

"Ereinion must go to councils, just as you must learn to read and write." Círdan began seriously, when the child interrupted him.

"But he is in councils all the time!" Elrond exclaimed. He only had to spend a few hours each week in the library, and in truth he had been hardly been able to contain his joy when they had been told that they would be allowed books. "And anyway, I like reading and writing."

"And I am sure that in time Ereinion will grow to love councils," Círdan said smoothly. "In the meantime we must all try to cheer him as much as we can. Will you do that, Elrond?"

"Yes." Elrond nodded eagerly - proud that Círdan would trust him with such an important task, and added helpfully, "You should play with him with your spears. He likes that!"

Círdan winced and Gil-galad's Naneth snorted the kind of derisive snort that meant that her son had got exactly what he had wanted for his Midwinter gift. The Queen of the Noldor seldom criticised the shipwright's upbringing of her son, but she never seemed able to understand the young King's fascination with all things shiny and sharp. Although Elrond was sometimes a little curious as to what Gil-galad did with his spear; he had heard too many pointed comments about grown elves trying to skewer themselves with oversized darning needles to dare to mention it.

"Elrond," Círdan coughed rather loudly, "where is your brother?"

Elrond's face crumpled and hot tears rushed to his eyes. For a few minutes he had forgotten his brother and the argument, but now he would have to tell everyone all about it. The dried trickle of blood had washed off his arm, but Elros might stay angry with him for days. If they argued then they were scolded, but it always seemed to upset him more than it upset Elros.

"Is he hiding from you?" Gil-galad's Naneth brushed some hair back from the half-elf's flushed face. "Do not fret, my little one. He will soon come looking for you."

She was worried about the two little half-elves that had come into her care although she did not often speak of it. They had lost those that they had loved too many times, and it had taken them weeks to trust anyone with even the most simple things. Elrond had become shy and withdrawn - pathetically eager to please his carers, afraid of losing them once more. Elros tried to manage with a shaky bravado, unwilling to be friendly to newcomers and becoming viciously jealous of anyone who became between him and his brother.

"But he said that he would hate me forever." Elrond's voice was high- pitched and wobbled with imminent tears. "What if he never comes back?"

"He will." Círdan said grimly, not moving his eyes from the pages of his book. "Even stubborn elflings get hungry."

It sounded almost as though he spoke from experience, but Elrond knew that the shipwright had never had a wife or children.

"He will soon want to play," the queen promised, glancing over at her harp standing alone in the corner of the room. She had seldom played since her son had been sent away to the Havens many years before, but this little half-elf was so fond of the music that she often found herself making music when nothing else would calm him. "Since we have a little time, why do I not show you how to play some songs?"

Elrond beamed through his tears. There was nothing in Arda that he liked more than listening to the melodies of the harp, and Gil-galad's Naneth always played slowly enough that he could sing along with her. Maglor had taught them so many songs and it would be good to remember him.

~*~

As they finished the sixth or seventh melody, they both turned to the creaking and found a very stubborn and upset looking Elros standing there, kicking the door backwards and forwards against the doorstop.

"There you are, Elros!" the queen knelt down on the floor and held out her arms towards the child. After a moment's hesitation, Elros ran to her and buried his face in the soft red velvet of her gown. She held him tightly as he clung to her, and only let go when he wriggled out of her grasp. "We missed you!"

"Did you?" Elros asked doubtfully, looking as anxious and insecure as his brother was prone to for a moment.

"Of course." Gil-galad's Naneth smiled reassuringly at him and pointed at a pile of gifts resting in one of the chairs by the fire. There were bowls of fudge, and sugared and spiced fruits, buttery biscuits sprinkled with sugar, two pairs of blue knitted mittens and a number of carved wooden toys painted in bright colours. "People have sent you these. We have been waiting for you to come before looking at them."

Many of those on Balar had been moved by the tale of the little lost half- elven twins, and they had not been forgotten in the Midwinter gift giving. There were more than enough sweets and playthings to keep five or six children busy for years.

"For us?" Elrond said, his brow wrinkling in puzzlement. They did not know many people in the Havens yet. "There is so much."

"Oooh!" Elros' eyes lit up at the unexpected kindness. He had never seen so many toys and good things in all his life, and it was more than enough to coax a smile to his face. He ran to the pile and burrowed around until he found a woven bag filled with wooden blocks in all sizes, shapes and colours. "Can I have this one?"