Elrond holds one of their sons, his free hand stroking Celebrían's hair. "They're beautiful," he says, leaning forward to press a kiss against her forehead. "Do you have names for them?"

She smiles weakly. "Elladan for the first, she says, nodding at the elfling cradled in her arms. "To honor both sides of his heritage."

Elrond sits down on the bed next to her, holding their secondborn tight to his chest. "Elrohir," he says, and doesn't give an explanation.

He and Elros talked about this as children, what names they would have if they could have chosen, and Elrohir was Elros's choice.

"Elladan and Elrohir," Celebrían murmurs. Her smile is less exhausted as she says, "Our sons."