Elladan glared at himself in the mirror, dark eyes meeting their reflection in an equally uncompromising gaze. It was another perfect day for the Midwinter Festival - there had been a storm overnight, but now it was calm and the valley was covered in a blanket of fresh white snow. The frozen trees were glinting silver in the sunlight. He had risen at dawn to welcome the new day out on the mountaintop, and all had been quiet and pure and peaceful.

He knew that he need not have climbed for those hours to find silence. It was just as quiet here in his chambers as it had been out on the windswept cliffs. Last year there had been singing and laughter as they had struggled to get ready in time. Today he could not even hear his twin moving in the neighbouring room. He would have asked his brother to join him, but he was afraid of that he might do if he was refused.

Frowning, Elladan tied the last braid painfully tightly and turned to the garments that he had set ready. He should find a woollen shirt if he was to spend the afternoon out in the forest. The winter felt colder this year.

He moved his hand across his chest, grimacing as it revealed a faint purple mark where there had once been a deep and jagged tear. The wound had healed well. The scarring had faded now, leaving just a darker shadow close to his heart. The healers said that it would disappear in time.

"Elladan." There was a sharp knocking on the half-open door and his father's voice called out his name.

"Come in," he sounded rather more eager for the interruption than he would have liked to appear. His loneliness and sorrow were as private as his pain, and he had little intention of sharing them, even with his father.

"Greetings." Elrond strode into the room and hesitantly reached to embrace his son. He had not been in here for longer than he had remembered. The carved wooden animals that had once wandered across the dresser and window ledges had been crammed untidily into a drawer. A selection of knives and a well-used sharpening stone were resting on the bedcovers.

"Greetings, father." Elladan gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement then, on impulse engulfed his father in a rough hug. "Ammë?"

"She is resting now." Elrond said reassuringly. He had stayed with her until she was sleeping peacefully before seeking out his children. "She was singing in the Hall of Fire."

"Good." Elladan would have grinned at the note of pride in his father's voice had it not seemed inappropriate. His mother had always loved singing the traditional songs of the Midwinter Festival, and it would have hurt to him to think that she had missed a rare chance to laugh and smile.

"Yes." Elrond said stiffly.

Father and son looked at each other for a few moments. Neither had released the other from their embrace.

"She will get better, Ada." Elladan said firmly, his eyes daring his father to disagree. There was a minute of silence before he spoke again, his apparent confidence betrayed by a slight quaver in his voice. "You have healed her."

There was a pause.

"Have you not?"

"I. . ." Elrond's eyes strayed to the thick cloak that was draped over the back of a chair, then turned to his son with an expression of confusion.

"You are going out." Elrond gripped Elladan by both shoulders and looked hard at him. "I had thought that we would talk."

"It is Midwinter's Day, Ada." Elladan said softly, looking at his father. "Remember. . ."

"The Festival. . ." Elrond paused, glancing guiltily towards the doorway. His people needed to see him there. They had little hope left. But his sons perhaps had the more urgent need. Elrohir's spirit was breaking. Elladan had become someone that he did not know.

"I shall go." Elladan grabbed a cloak - a blue one, and fastened the brooch with practised fingers. He seldom wore the grey one now, even though the blood had washed out without stain. "Stay with Elrohir, he needs you."

Elrond paused, looking back at the darkness that shadowed the doorway to Elrohir's chambers and turned to his elder son. It was not only Elrohir that needed him. "Elladan. . ."

"I must hurry, Ada!" Elladan called behind him, his long legs making quick progress down the steps to where his sister was waiting. His voice sounded a little tauter than usual - perhaps attributable to the speed at which he was moving, but to all eyes he appeared unconcerned. Just another young elf- lord hurrying to the duties that he had been assigned. "I am late!"

~*~

The singing and dancing of the Midwinter Festival was long over by the time that anyone dared disturb the peace and privacy of the family's chambers. Alone and unanswered on the terrace, Erestor tentatively pushed the door open. The rooms were dark and cold, candles unlit and the fireplaces empty. His boots were caked with snow from the long trek through the valley, and although there was nobody to greet him or take his cloak, Erestor wiped his feet with excessive care.

It was unnaturally quiet in here, especially for a place he had come to associate with laughter and light. Each door was shut, plunging the corridor into a musty darkness. There were empty vases on the tables.

As he reached the end of the house where Elrond's sons had their chambers he paused by a door that swung slightly open. He had intended to enter and try to bring some cheer to those of the family that remained here, but when he tried to move, something held him back. He had not noticed at first, but through the crack of the door he could see Elrond sitting on the edge of the bed together with his youngest son, a comforting arm wrapped around the child's shoulders. Neither were without tears.

Swallowing hard, Erestor swiftly drew the door shut and hurried away, leaving the silence of the family home as smooth and deep as it had been before his coming.

~*~

"But I should have been there, Ada! I should have been there!" Elrohir gulped in air and smeared some tears across his cheek with the side of his fist. "If we had gone with her. . . if we had left a little sooner, then maybe, maybe. . ."

"Hush. Hush, child." Closing his eyes tightly, as if in pain, Elrond gripped his son's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Do not speak of such things."

Elrohir looked at his father, unconvinced. He had thought long and hard on such questions. He has played with them in his mind until they threatened to consume him. He had seen beams of light and shade circling his ceiling, shadows lengthening and then creeping back, the moon waxing and waning. He still had no answer, but he was close. He must be close.

"But these things have happened, Ada." Elrohir said blankly. "There must be a reason."

Elrond moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, his spirit weary. He was a lore master, and he too found the quest for reason a temptation it was hard to ignore. But one could not think that way forever. Sometimes things just were.

"Sometimes things happen, Elrohir, terrible things. We cannot prevent them." Elrond sighed deeply and lowered his gaze to the ground. "It does not make it our fault."

Elrohir remained silent a little while longer, shadows of grief and sorrow flickering over his face. Although he was almost motionless, Elrond could see his eyes and mouth - seeming to fumble for some appropriate emotion - and for some strange reason he suddenly remembered one day when the twins had yet seen only five summers. They had climbed to the top of some small hill not far from the valley and they had cast themselves down onto the lush green grass. The sky had been dazzlingly blue and wisps of clouds had been blowing lazily across the sky. The boys had lain on the ground for hours watching the sky, and he had watched their faces, their expressions changing as quickly as the shapes of the clouds as they had argued, giggled and teased. Now though, there was little joy in his son's eyes - fear, pain, dark memories. . . and then suddenly the carefully controlled face was shaking, quivering, crumpling.

"Ada." Choking with the intensity of his grief, Elrohir flung himself at his father; heaving great sobs of a sorrow so intense that Elrond's own heart seemed to be breaking. "It is not fair."

There was little left to say.

~*~

"It is Midwinter's Day, Elladan." Glorfindel said kindly, glancing sidelong at the half-elf as he checked the stringing of his bow. "I did not expect you to come."

They were alone on the training field, almost knee deep in the drifts of snow that had blown into the bottom of the valley. Although the captains of the Imladris Guard met at this time each week to train, none were expected to come today. This festival was one of the high points of the year for the elves of Imladris and they would be celebrating far into the night. He had come here to be alone.

"You are here." Elladan said stubbornly. He did not meet his mentor's eyes, instead taking each arrow in turn and fixing it with a fearsome glare before returning it to his quiver.

Glorfindel sighed and cast back the hood of his cloak, allowing golden hair to cascade down his back. "I had little to celebrate."

Elladan grunted a response, concentrating completely on the target and the bow in his hands. He had come here to be alone, foolishly assuming that Glorfindel would be celebrating with his father as he always had done. The coming year promised little hope of light for any of them.

The arrow whistled as it shot through the frosty air.

"Good." Glorfindel nodded curtly as the arrow thunked satisfyingly into the centre of the target. There was so much he needed to say, but curiously he was left without adequate words. "Perhaps you wish to celebrate with your mother. . ."

A second arrow joined the first in the centre of the target, then the half- elf fixed him with a hostile stare.

"No."

"No?" Glorfindel glanced quickly at Elladan and fitted an arrow to his own bow. It had started snowing in earnest again. Fine flakes blew here and there in the breeze, and the greyness of the sky threatened more before nightfall.

"No." Elladan repeated, blinking some cold flakes of snow from his eyes.

Glorfindel released his arrow, wrinkling his nose in disgust as it landed a few inches off target. He had warned Elrond not to speak to his sons too soon. Neither were yet ready to hear what they knew in their hearts.

"You did well this afternoon." Glorfindel spoke lightly. To his surprise Elladan and Arwen had managed the speeches and traditional dances with skill and every semblance of ease. "I am grateful."

Elladan glowered at the snow beneath his feet, fists clenched tight as he tried to control his temper. Another arrow slammed into the target before he turned to face Glorfindel and spoke coldly and deliberately. "Why would you care?"

His dark hair was speckled with snow now and was hanging limply across his face. His face seemed too pale, but his eyes were bright with rage.

"I am one of many that live in this valley." Glorfindel spoke gently. He did not want to fight the boy. Not now. "We are all grateful, Elladan. We know. . ."

"No!" Elladan whorled back to face the row of snow-covered targets and drew back an arrow with a shaking hand. "None of you understand! Not one of you!"

Glorfindel did not attempt to argue, merely letting his bow hang loosely at his side as he watched Elladan's arrow fly into the snowy depths of the forest. He had time enough.

The next arrow went into the forest too. So did the next. The silence over the valley increased, the wind drowning out the sound of distant singing. The falling snow had covered any sign of their coming.

"Ada. . ." Elladan's voice faltered and broke. His whole body was shaking now and he lowered his bow to his side as he struggled to regain self- control. An arrow dropped from his hand, landing deep in the snow. "Ada said that. . ."

He turned his face down towards the snow, damp hair falling like a shadow across his features. His chin was shaking and tears were streaking unbidden down his cheeks. Droplets of warm salty water fell to the frozen ground close to where the red tail feathers of an arrow were just visible above the powdery snow.

Glorfindel was at Elladan's side before the first sob broke the silence.

~*~

The Lord and Lady of Lorien strode down the hallway in silence, each consumed in their own thoughts. Neither had wished to linger for formal greetings and had neatly dodged the surprised counsellor that had tried to welcome them. They had not changed from their journey, and their cloaks and hair were sprinkled with snow. Celeborn's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, gripping it perhaps more tightly than he realised as he approached the doorway of the Hall of Fire.

"She is inside?" As her husband hurried the last few steps towards the open doors, Galadriel slowed her pace, lingering just out of sight of the entrance. She could wait here, out of sight. She would be free to hope for the best, free to believe that the things that she had seen would not be realised.

If she moved just a few steps further she would know. She would be forced to accept whatever had happen. She would either be overwhelmed by relief or face her worst fears.

"Galadriel," Celeborn called softly, extending a hand towards his wife who had halted a few steps behind him, "Come. She is here."

They were all there, the whole family, sitting silhouetted against the glow of the fire. They were exchanging gifts, all smiling as one of the boys lifted up a quilt embroidered with sparkling threads. It had been a long time since he had spent Midwinter with his family.

"Is she. . ." Galadriel faltered slightly as she walked slowly forwards, finally coming to stand at Celeborn's side as her husband wrapped an arm around her waist. "She is not. . ."

She had anticipated this moment. She had prepared herself as much as she could. The Mirror showed many things, some which were, some which had been and others that were yet to come. But powerful though it was, the Mirror did not obey, and she did not know truly what had happened. She could not even guess at what her daughter had suffered.

"There," Celeborn said softly, nodding towards a small group sitting near the fire, "She is there."

He had thought about this meeting. It had seemed so difficult from a distance, imagining the worst, training himself to expect the most grievous sorrows. But here was his daughter, smiling and laughing as she sang. She was gently swinging her husband's arm in time to the music as they sat hand- in-hand. She was not dancing as she should be perhaps, and the notes of her laughter sounded weaker, but suddenly the problem of how he should react did not seem a problem at all. She was his daughter, and he would greet her as he always did - with a hug and a kiss.

"I. . . I. . ." Suddenly overcome by tears, Galadriel turned sharply from the doorway, hiding her face from her husband. She had waited so long for this moment, and she had tried to prepare herself for the worst in any way that she could. But now. . . "I cannot."

"You cannot?" Celeborn's fair brow furrowed, and he turned to make after his wife's running footsteps but before he could move, his daughter had seen him.

"Adar!" Celebrian called joyfully, her voice becoming choked by tears as she ran towards her father, and she buried her face in his shoulder, clinging tightly to his body. "Oh, Adar, you came!"