Title: Fair Twins in Middle Earth Did Dwell
Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkein is responsible for the world history and background, but the principal characters in this fic are my own. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Pairing: None yet… only the twins, but no twincest.
Warnings: Occurs post-Return of the King. Not compliant with annexes I-III. Presumes that not all elves have departed for the Grey Havens as of the birth of Aragorn and Arwen's grandchildren, two of which this story details. Will include a good deal of violence and possibly some mild sexual activity in later chapters.
Rating: T for sexual references and some violence.
Summary: Arwen and Elwen, two part-elf descendants of Eldarion son of Aragorn, complete training in arts of the mind and body with elves in Lothlorien to prepare for their part in a prophecy that will decide the balance of light and darkness in the Fourth Age.
Author's Notes: Bear in mind that I wrote this when I was sixteen years old, and will be making only minor changes as I upload the full story in parts. Considering, I'd say it's a pretty fair narrative take on J.R.R. Tolkein's works. The main characters are modeled after myself and a close friend who collaborated.
Also, this preliminary chapter is a historical piece on does not reflect the majority of the composition, which will be a third-person narrative.
- Prologue -
In the year of the birth of King Arvedui Last-king, the royal couple, the queen still heavy with child, took council with Malbeth the Seer. The woman foretold of their son's fate as the Dunedain's last king of Gondor until the end of the fourth age. When Arvedui was a man in his prime, an elf with foresight who knew the old Malbeth the Seer came to relay a prophecy to him, the last of the Dunedain to lay claim to the kingship of Gondor until the King Elessar Telcontar.
"The King Elessar shall sire a son who shall sire two noble daughters. The fair-born twins must grow up away from palace and hall of stone, away from their royal family and the life of a princess' luxury. When their grandfather's time in life is nearly spent, a great and terrible force of evil shall threaten all of Middle-Earth. If the maidens have been taught correctly, they shall bring victory to all mankind. Should the girls fail, evil will overrun the lands where there was once peace and goodness. They shall not be alone, for the Valar shall watch over the two. But the task will be theirs alone to complete." Arvedui did not entirely understand this prophecy, but he recorded it with care nonetheless.
Therefore, it came to pass that Gilraen, mother of Aragorn, lay on her deathbed. She summoned her son Aragorn to herself and after passing the legacy of the Dunedain onto her beloved heir; she passed on the well-worn scroll with the prophecy recorded in black, curling script. The parchment bore the label "For Aragorn son of Arathorn." Her last words were "Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim." After this, Aragorn, a young man still, said his last farewells, leaving his mother at peace in the halls of Rivendell. Aragorn never forgot that last memory of his mother.
The years passed, and the time came when Eldarion, son of Aragorn, begot twin girls by his wife and queen Adelaide. When the babes, christened Elwen and Arwen, were one year of age, their royal parents sadly resigned themselves to the fulfillment of the prophecy. Though it nearly broke their hearts, they readied their guard to accompany the royals on a trip out to a small mountain settlement in Emyn Muil, where dwelt the king's friend of old, Horobad, and niece Linnëan. Linnëan had no children of her own, for she was too old to wed, so she was more than willing to accept little Elwen and sister Arwen.
Although the plan was perfect and the participants willing, fate intervened and put a tragic end to the future that hopeful human planning had prepared for the babes. The party Eldarion and Adelaide had been traveling with was attacked and taken by surprise by a small band of robbers. They threw crude spears and shot arrows at random from their rough short bows, and sadly, one of their wooden spears found Adelaide's heart. She fell off her balance on the back of a fine mare named Fiershane, and the spooked horse fled in all of the confusion. Eldarion, maddened with grief at his wife's death, charged at the brigands in a reckless rage, fighting spear and sword with bare fists. He crumpled to the earth under blows from no less than ten spears and numerous arrows.
Strapped secure amongst the queen's bags, Elwen and Arwen slept soundly in their basket bed. The guards of the group of travelers killed what remained of the terrible robbers, but when the party regrouped and all was calm again, nobody noticed that the horse bearing the infant girls was missing. They buried the dead and made a quick about-face, returning at a gallop to Minas Tirith with a sorely wounded and grief-stricken Eldarion, not realizing that all the while Fiershane the petrified mare was carrying Arwen and her twin away. She was headed for the one place that she felt most calm in: Rohan.
The 'land of horses'… towards it were the twins unknowingly borne. The fleet-footed young mare tore recklessly down the road of Anorien and in seven days' time reached Edoras. Curiously, neither Arwen nor Elwen were soiled, hungry, uncomfortable, or in any way disturbed after five days without human care. It was later said that they must have been aided by the Valar.
Elfwine, son of Éomer, was king of Rohan in this age. His own lovely Queen Fëanor discovered the infants from Gondor. The queen had already borne four healthy children to Elfwine, the oldest one, Éomund, already a strapping young man of seventeen. Fëanor was watching her younger children - little Thorongil was but four and his sisters, Éolaf and Freya, were barely turned nine and eleven. The young women laughed gaily, as they ran and rolled in the grass on a hillside. Not far off lay the main road into Edoras. Poor little Thorongil was struggling to keep up with the long-legged girls on his own chubby short ones. Their fair mother sat on the hilltop, a sentinel standing guard over her offspring. Fëanor let her eyes explore the countryside as she found that Freya and Éolaf were safely seated in the grass, showing a weary Thorongil how to weave a crown out of grass and wildflowers.
The queen was gazing around in a preoccupied sort of manner when she spied a lone horse, weary to the bone and clearly on the brink of collapsing from hunger and dehydration. Fëanor shot up from her seat in the grass. Giving one last glance to her brood in their nest of grass, she descended quickly down the hillside facing the road. She slowly approached the mare, which nearly shied away, but perhaps from sheer exhaustion, the horse calmed down and let Fëanor stroke her heaving sides. Fiershane, for indeed it was she, whickered softly as the gentle hands of the woman stroked her nose. The mare smelt the scent of many happy horses on Feanor's clothes, and heard the kind human voice murmuring, "Steady, steady there girl. You are in Rohan now, the land of your brethren. You shall not fear while you stay in this country, where horses and men live in harmony."
Fiershane did not resist as Queen Fëanor slowly reached for the reins dangling beneath her head and took a firm grip on them. The horse almost reared and bolted when Feanor's three children came tumbling down the hill towards her, but they, too had contented horse aromas faintly about their bodies, and their smaller hands were also gentle like the hands of their—
"Mother, where did this pretty one come from? She is not from our herd or our stables, is she?" asked Freya in a soft voice.
"This mare has come a long way, riding hard and fast without halting for rest, water, or food, I believe. Only fear would cause a horse to undertake such a grueling journey. We must take her to our stables - this mare is in bad shape," replied Fëanor, not telling her innocent little ones that there was dried blood on the back of the horse, and it was not the horse's own blood.
The girls skipped away unconcerned, swinging a chortling Thorongil between them by his chubby arms. Fëanor quietly led Fiershane after the children to Edoras, capital of Rohan. She entered through the outer wall and pursued a direct course to the stable doors, held open by a boy with a flushed face and shy "Milady."
Fëanor was about to follow Freya and Éolaf to Meduseld, the grand hall, leaving the horse to the care of the wonderful grooms, when she heard a small soft noise coming from one of the horse's burdens. Her curiosity piqued, Fëanor inspected the bags for the source of the sound; imagine her surprise at finding not one, but two babies asleep in a basket!
In the arms of Fëanor, Elwen and Arwen were brought before King Elfwine, and after a brief discussion, he and Fëanor decided to raise the children as their own. No identification of the babes was to be found in their mother's bags, save that they came from Minas Tirith. The King and Queen could not say why, but they knew somehow that the infants ought to be called Arwen and Elwen, and that fate had sent them to Edoras.
Seven years passed, and none could recall a time when the fair twins were not a part of their lives, though they were all aware of the strange circumstances of the children's adoption into the royal family. Éolaf and Freya dearly loved their younger sisters, helping the eight year olds to learn their lessons and ride horses, for in Rohan, children very nearly grow up on horseback. On a certain sunny day in spring, the King and Queen had decided that a journey to the woods of Lórien was in order, where the royal couple would spend time with the Faderlings. They were the elves who had not left and journeyed into the West; because they remained, they were slowly fading into nothing. Nevertheless, they still had much wisdom to teach and were great artisans of all manner of things.
Whence all preparations had been made by the able hands of the noble couple and loyal aides, and the wise Hamahad, advisor to the king, left in charge, a party of Rohirrim left at a brisk pace with all of the royal family for the woods of Lórien. Elwen rode with her eldest brother Éomund on his pony Eldos and Arwen with Freya on the gentle P'nini. The gentle rhythm of horseback lulled both girls to sleep, so when the company first entered the wood, both twins were slumbering in the saddle, legs dangling.
Éomund, of twenty four years now, was an able, strong warrior and adept diplomat in peacetime, but he supported his adoptive sister's body as she slept so gently one would think she were breakable. Moreover, when his eyes strayed from Elwen or the path, it was only to glance at Arwen, in a similar state of sleep, supported just as gently by Freya.
Freya had inherited her mother's flyaway fawn-colored hair and strong, noble features, matured into a lovely young woman of eighteen.
Sixteen-year-old Éolaf was attractive as well, but her looks favored the broad, handsome looks of her father and tanned skin with golden hair of her grandfather. Through the responsibility of having her own younger sisters to care for, Éolaf had developed her own individual persona, no longer mimicking Freya in all she did. Éolaf was a definite tomboy, preferring to wear fine men's garments than less practical dresses.
She was followed on horseback by lanky and agile Thorongil, who was maturing into a fine lad of eleven with more speed than the sheer force of Éomund – but the brothers were as thick as thieves, despite their differences in age.
In the lead were the King Elfwine, blond and fair-skinned yet muscled, and Queen Fëanor, brunette and ruddy yet beautiful in a strong way.
Then there were the twins, who surpassed any mortal in beauty and grace. They were not identical, for Elwen had curling brown locks and eyes green flecked with rich gold, whereas Arwen had sea green eyes and straight, strawberry blond hair. However, each had the same ageless, potent beauty, and while they were in truth eight years old, they looked to be only five or younger. Their mannerisms were those of older children, hinting at a more than mortal heritage.
The hence described party halted no more than a furlong from the edge at King Elfwine's signal. He dismounted and brought forth a small silver flute, intricately engraved with an intertwining vine motif. He brought it to his lips and it emitted a mellow trilling call whose noise echoed faintly back from the forest, a noise both beautiful and immeasurably sad. From the shadows, fluid beings stepped forth gracefully and without a sound, graceful longbows in hand but not raised. They, too, were simultaneously beautiful like the trill of the flute, yet their eyes revealed gazes full of the heartache of many thousands of years. They had indeed seen the passing of so many millennia, for they were the elves of Lothlórien, most beautiful of elf-kingdoms.
These elves were Faderlings, and such was their name because their refusal to heed the calling to leave middle-earth for the land of their kindred in the west. Some stayed because they had no desire nor cause to go, others because they had work yet unfinished, and the oldest and wisest because they knew of a prophecy of old that must be fulfilled with Elven aid. Whatever the motive, all of the elves were slowly fading away as the years came and went. There were only twenty in all, but the Faderlings radiated calm power as they approached and encircled the party from Rohan. None panicked, for they had been told what to expect. The tallest and most beautiful elf, a strong male with a regal bearing, stepped forward.
"Welcome, lords and ladies, to the Golden wood. We have been expecting you," the spokes-elf intoned in a musical voice. "I am Atanamir." He beckoned to the elf on his right and addressed the party: "This is Daeron. He will accompany the gentlemen to their living spaces." Another elf stepped forward to take the women to their spaces, named Ninniach.
"Lord Elfwine, Lady Fëanor, if you would follow me to the private halls; we have much to speak of."
Thus, it became known to Elfwine and Fëanor the true past of Elwen and Arwen; for the Faderlings, in communication with the King Elessar of Gondor, had been looking out for the twins. Sadly, the girls truly were orphans, for their father Eldarion had died from his wounds on the day their mother was killed, so long ago, ere his return to Minas Tirith. As joyous as the news of the twins' survival was, Atanamir and his elves had to ask something difficult of Arwen and Elwen's adopted family of Rohan. Atanamir feared to waste time on the training of the girls, but to accept them as part of Lórien's inhabitants also meant they could no longer stay with their adoptive family. King Elfwine called his children to him when the twins were sleeping that night. Although nobody was less than heartbroken to be parted from their twins, in the end the family agreed it was best for Elwen and Arwen.
Such memories were only vague shadows to Elwen, a woman now in her twenties. Her sister Arwen, too, remembered little but their life with the elves of Lothlórien. Tall and graceful, they seemed to be elves themselves, but like Men, they were sturdy. Under the tall mallorn trees, the twins had learned the proper arts of Elven skill, such as writing in Tengwar and Angerthas forms, playing flutes and lyres, and dancing. They had also learned proper archery, swordsmanship, and wilderness subsistence. One thing they never had to be taught was the riding of a horse, for they were raised as children of the horse lords.
Well-taught by the elves, the girls feel ready to take on the world. They may wind up coming close to it.