Note: This is fanfiction and is not mine.

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It was a warm day for this time in the year, and the shadows that the sun cast on the patterned tiles of the highest terrace were clear and distinct. The sky was glorious blue, free from cloud, extending from the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains to the furthest of the green rolling hills in the south.

The wise octagonal ring of stone searing that surrounded the bell tower had become quite warm in the sunlight, and it was here that Elrohir was whiling away this last fine day before spring. He was sprawled on his back, the deep warmth of the stone seeping through the woollen cloth of his tunic, staring up at the sculpted leaves that adorned the underside of a ledge that ran around the tower, and straining his ears to hear the soft music being practised in the Hall of Fire far below.

The sun was circling slowly in the sky, each leaf edging into light and falling once more into shadow as the hours passed. Elrohir could name them all – ash, been, birch, oak, chestnut, alder, sycamore – for his mother had taught him many years before. He could remember her kneeling on the grass between him and his brother and giving names to the leaves they were weaving into garlands for the spring festival. They had been very young then, but he could remember how a few years later he and Elladan had stood beneath the great sycamore tree at the edge of the meadows and had jumped and leapt to catch the whirling sycamore seeds and drifting leaves. He had gathered the finest and most colourful, but Elladan had made rules and when they had played with them, had won.

“Master Elrohir!” a stern voice sounded somewhere behind him, and Elrohir jerked upright only to find Glorfindel grinning away to himself. “You have taken my seat!”

“Ah, but I was here first!” smirking, Elrohir stretched himself out, long and lean across the stonework. “You should have snuck away earlier!”

Glorfindel was dressed in his council robes – long flowing garments of light blue embroidered with golden flowers – a sure sign that he had been hoping for ten minutes to bask in the sun in the short respite between meetings. It had been a habit of his for many years now, and Elrohir could remember many afternoons when he and Elladan had waited up here to ambush him with handfuls of icy water from the fountain. He could not remember the reason why they had stopped, but he felt too awkward for such things now. Glorfindel too seemed to appreciate that times were changing for he had not pounced and tickled him into begging for mercy as he once would have done.

“It is a lovely day!” Elrohir said properly, swinging his boots down from the bench to make room for the golden-haired elf. “Elladan is practising.”

“Is he now,” the tiniest of furrows appeared on Glorfindel’s brow, but no trace of his opinion was evident in his voice, “and what are you doing, Elrohir?”

“I am being idle.” Elrohir’s eyes met Glorfindel’s for a moment and both grinned. “I am watching the shadows change and listening to the water sing over the falls and smelling the sap and wood smoke. I am behaving in a manner quite unfit for Lord Elrond’s half-grown son.”

“And what manner is fit for the esteemed Lord Elrond’s sons?” Glorfindel asked lightly, wondering where this new turn of phrase had originated. Elrohir was a daydreamer and they all laughed about it, but there was a note of bitterness behind his good-natured tone.

“I have not been advanced with the rest of my training group, Glorfindel.” Elrohir said at last, staring out at the roaring rush of the waterfall and rubbing his cheek with his fist. “I cannot join the Guard now when everyone else does.”

“When Elladan does.” Glorfindel amended.

Elrohir acknowledged the truth of this remark with a small grunt.

“Everyone will wonder why. Ada must be so ashamed. If I had only practised harder…”

He trailed off into a dejected silence, causing the Balrog-slayer to give him a sympathetic glance.

“But if you do not enjoy using the sword, why hurry?” Glorfindel said placidly, flinging an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders. “There is plenty of time yet to learn of war.”

“You do not understand!” suddenly angry, Elrohir tore himself away from the embrace. “My father is the Master of this House. Things are expected of me! People notice things!”

Sighing, Glorfindel moved to rest his elbows on his knees and sank his chin into his palms.

“How much do you know of my story, Elrohir?”

His voice held an unfamiliar note, and Elrohir gave him a slightly puzzled look before continuing.

“Ada has told us of it, of course. Minstrels sing of it, Glorfindel. Everyone knows your story.”

Glorfindel shook his head slowly and spoke wearily, “But that is only song, Elrohir, and song is a small price to be paid for your life and your innocence. People sing of my valiance and my bravery, but it does not make the memories dim or bring back what I have lost.”

Elrohir looked worriedly at the Balrog-slayer for a minute before faltering, “But you have lots of friends here, Glorfindel.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel said grimly, staring morosely out at the angry crashing foam of the waterfall. Then, realising how anxious the young half-elf looked, he softened his tone. “Aye, so I have. But I had others in Gondolin that I loved. I was younger than you are now when my father was slain and I inherited the colours of my house. I knew then that the day would come when I would be called upon to face death for my people, and it did not linger in is coming. Do not seek to hasten that day for yourself, Elrohir. There is little valour in death itself, only fear and pain.”

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“And how shall you spend this fine afternoon, Erestor!” Making his excuses to Elrond and his guests in the aftermath of the council, Glorfindel strode down the hallway, rapidly catching up with the Chief Counsellor, who appeared to be attempting to carry an entire library of scrolls in his arms. “May I be of aid?”

“My thanks, but no…” Erestor’s velvet clad arms tightened possessively around the rolls of parchment as the Balrog-slayer fumbled to take some, only causing to knock a few onto the floor. “Glorfindel! There is no need!”

“But you cannot manage those by yourself!” Glorfindel bent to pick up the fallen scrolls and unfortunately managed to catch Erestor’s elbow with his shoulder as he straightened, sending fresh rolls of parchment sliding across the hallway.

“Believe me, Glorfindel, I can manage quite well!” Erestor said in a tight voice, ungratefully accepting the two remaining unsullied scrolls from the beaming Balrog-slayer. “Why do you not go and practice your sword play?”

Chuckling, Glorfindel was about to respond in kind when there was a patter of running footsteps and a small flurry of dark hair and red cloth flung itself at the ancient elf.

“Glorfindel! Quick! Adar is coming! Quick!”

“He is?” grinning, Glorfindel wrapped a tent of blue velvet around the boy, keeping an eye out for his second-in-command. They had important matters to discuss, but they would be best kept for a time when his tiny son was not present. “Is this he?”

“Yargh!” Shrieking in delicious glee at the sight of his father, the elfling leapt out from behind Glorfindel’s legs and skittered across the hallway to safety, unfortunately managing to knock Erestor off balance as he did so.

Sighing, Erestor gathered up his papers once again, muttering something derogatory about elflings. "It is a mercy that Elladan and Elrohir have grown too old for such things at last! How anything managed to be done whilst they were small I do not know!”

“You have confidence that Elrond and Celebrían have no wish to bring another into this world?” Glorfindel grinned briefly at his friend as he ambled past after his son, and resumed teasing Erestor. “That I do not share!”

“They will surely not. Elrond grows old for such matters!” Looking quite shocked Erestor gave the unsuspecting Lord of Imladris a thoroughly disapproving look. “He already has two sons!”

“Ah, Erestor!” mocking sympathy, Glorfindel danced out of the way of a retaliatory shove. “Have you not seen the way that they look at each other? It will not be long before this House is gifted with another squalling elfling, mark my words!”

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Bright though the sun was, it had not diminished the icy edge to the air down in the depths of the valley. The frost had melted on the grass by now, leaving tiny silver droplets hanging from sagging green blades, but each warm breath still misted the crisp air.

Although the training fields had been busy earlier in the day, they were all but deserted by now – the young elves trailing away in twos and threes for their dinners or duties in the farms or stables. Only a few remained behind, scattered across the expanse of the meadow.

“It is time we were heading home!” one young elf called out, his voice clear through the still air. “Come Nerion, we must call the cattle in before dusk!”

The other elf, currently involved in a sword fight so brutal that it would have caused raised eyebrows if not a reprimand had their training masters been present, did not reply. Assuming that his friend had heard his warning, Tenar wiped his sword on one of the coarse tufts of grass that grew under the ash trees and re-sheathed his weapon.

The battling pair were now the only two remaining on the field, weaving to-and-fro, ducking to dodge blows and meeting blade with blade with harsh clangs of metal. Frowning, Tenar called his friend once again. Since Nerion had started practising with Lord Elrond’s eldest son, he rarely returned home without cuts and bruises in need of care. He was rarely on time either, and often he found himself completing their tasks on the farm alone. His mother and aunt disapproved of the acquaintance, he knew, and now that he thought about it, he did not like it either. Elladan had been in this training group for longer than Nerion, and was an inch or two taller to boot, but was showing little mercy in his attack.

As he watched, the smaller elf’s boot slipped on a patch of damp grass and he stumbled momentarily. Seeing his chance of victory, Elladan lunged forwards, swinging his sword against his opponent’s shoulder with what - if not his full strength, must have been close.

“Nerion!” alarmed when his friend failed to rise, Tenar rushed to his aid, pushing Elladan roughly aside. “Are you well?”

“I am fine.” Nerion spoke in a wobbly voice, still clutching his upper arm. He could feel warm blood trickling between his fingers, but it was not enough to be dangerous, and certainly not enough for tears. “I was catching my breath.”

“You have hurt him!” tearing his friend’s fingers aside to examine the wound, Tenar looked furiously up at Elladan. “You have sliced through his armour!”

“It is just a scratch!” Still grinning triumphantly, Elladan gave the pair a dismissive look. “And it is only leather. Had he been wearing mail it would not have breached it.”

As was customary for elves in their training group, the pair had been wearing only tough leather shirts and gloves by way of protection, full armour normally only being worn on the rare occasions when especially dangerous moves needed practice.

“But he was not wearing mail! You knew he was not!” rising to his feet, Tenar shoved Elladan squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards in his surprise. “Why do you always have to win? It is only practice, it does not matter!”

“We are practising to fight!” Hurriedly sheathing his sword, Elladan balled his fists by his side and glared at his attacker. He knew Tenar from training, and could remember exactly where his weak points were. “The orcs will show you no mercy, and neither will I!”

Narrowing his eyes, Tenar helped Nerion to his feet and set off across the field, spitting behind him, “A fine ambition, to fight as an orc!”

For a moment, Elladan considered racing after them and showing Tenar exactly what no mercy meant, but before he could move there was a quiet voice behind him.

“That was a shameful show, ion nîn.”

“Ammë!” Elladan whirled around to face his mother, his horror at being caught showing all to well on his fair face. “I did not know that you were watching.”

Celebrían gave him a far from friendly look. “That I had gathered.”

Her eyes lingered on her son’s right hand, still tightly clenching the hilt of his sword, and flushing, Elladan hastened to remove it.

“It was but a fight, Ammë. That is what warriors do. You would not understand!” Elladan’s annoyance was clear in his voice, and his tone was sharp. His mother had no right to lurk under the trees watching him, and even less right to scold him for his actions. Had he been allowed to join the Guard, it would not even be an issue anyway.

“Maybe I do not, but I have seen enough to know one thing,” cheeks flushed in anger, Celebrían glared at her son. “You are not one.”

His cheeks now hot with badly suppressed fury, Elladan opened his mouth to retaliate, but before he could speak his mother had resumed her tirade.

“I have known many that are renowned for their glory in battle, and I am yet to see one stoop to such lows. Your father may be strong but he does not seek to wound without need, and whatever you may hear about Glorfindel, I have never known him to respond with unnecessary force. My father would certainly never strike one unarmed, and the High-King Gil-galad – had he been here to see you, he would have been ashamed.” Celebrían paused to draw breath, her whole body quivering with rage. “As am I! Today, Elladan, you disgust me!”

There was a tense silence between the two of them as she silenced, then Elladan responded in an angry, resentful shout.

“I did not mean to hurt him!” taut with anger, Elladan’s hand instinctively reached for his sword and Celebrían flinched, her face telling her son more than he wanted to know. Suddenly feeling sick, he let his hands fall to his sides and spoke in a voice that was both quieter and more shaken than he would have liked. “I did not!”

He looked small and lost suddenly, among the tall and ancient trees, and with heart still pounding from her fright, Celebrían moved to comfort him.

“I know. I know.” Celebrían cupped his chin in her palm and stroked his wild hair back into order, as if he was once more a small child in need of soothing after a tantrum. “You have so much strength, Elladan. So much. If you do not tame it, it will take you.”

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Well, that’s about it for now. Please review and let me know what you think. It’s tricky to write ‘teenage’ twins.