#18 – Count Up
"I can count to a hundred and two," Elrohir stated proudly to his tutor.
Erestor raised an eyebrow over the paper he was reviewing. "Oh?"
"Yes!" Elrohir scrambled up onto the settee Erestor was on, and plopped down next to him. "I'll show you. One, two…three…"
His words were tuned out by Erestor, who wasn't being rude, but simply going along with the daily ritual. Every morning after breakfast, Elrohir would march up to him and declare that he could count to some number, and would then prove it.
The elfling always got it right, anyway, so Erestor didn't see any point in paying close attention when he could listen with one ear, and continue making sure this paper was written correctly.
"…one hundred and one, one hundred and two!" Elrohir announced, and then looked up expectantly at Erestor.
Erestor patted his knee absent-mindedly. "Good job, pen-neth. I'm sure no one else can count that high precisely like that."
Elrohir beamed with delight and then confided, "Elladan can only count to one hundred and one."
Erestor coughed to cover his laughter. "Ah, well…that's interesting."
"I'm going to go find Elladan," Elrohir announced, scooted down from the seat, and dashed away.
Erestor chuckled as he left, then returned to his work, but his mind was occupied with childish laughter and the sparkling eyes of an elfling.
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#20 – Gems and Jewels
It was minutes before the Lady of Imladris would sail into the West. The ship was bobbing gently with the waves, waiting as she said her farewells.
Celebrían held her young daughter tightly in her arms, Arwen's dark head resting on her shoulder. They remained that way for a long moment, then Celebrían pulled back, her face wearied and careworn. She ran her thumb over Arwen's quivering eyelashes.
"Don't cry, íell," Celebrían whispered, brushing away a tear. Arwen blinked rapidly and stared up at her mother, eyes shining. "When will I see you, again, Nana?"
Celebrían's face fell in sorrow, as if she had seen something none other could, and her hand fell to her side. She took a long, exhausted breath. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out something that was hidden by her pale trembling fingers. There was a glimpse of a radiant white jewel before Celebrían slipped it into Arwen's bodice pocket and placed her hand over it. "Follow your heart, my little Evenstar," she murmured, and pressed a last kiss to her daughter's brow before turning to speak one last time with her husband.
To Arwen, it seemed as though her mother's almost-translucent face had been even more grieved at that last moment as a tear trickled down her face.
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#33 – Dreams and Fantasies
Celeborn awoke when the bed shifted suddenly beside him and his wife sat up with a gasp. His dreams had been eerily foreboding, and he would have continued on in them if not for Galadriel inadvertently waking him.
"What is it?" Celeborn asked, making out her pale form easily in the darkness. She had both hands pressed over her mouth and was trembling; he immediately wrapped both arms about her comfortingly. "Love?"
"I saw something," she whispered, fisting his nightshirt as dread overcame her. "We should never have let her leave."
"Celebrían? She was just heading back to Imladris. She has a sizeable escort." Celeborn caught her quivering shoulders and pulled her comfortingly to him, the sheets tangling around them. "What did you see?" he asked in a whisper, knowing that the only reason she would have woken like this was because of something she had foreseen in a dream.
"Pain….fire." Galadriel, so proud and strong in the sight of everyone else, buried her head in his chest, calming in his soothing embrace. "There were screams all around…and a lock of golden hair bloodied on the ground." She said nothing more, breathing deeply and wrapping slender arms around her husband's form.
Celeborn rested his chin on her golden head so like their daughter's, wondering at the dream…and fearing what it meant.
He would find out the very next day.
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#46 – Justice
"Enough, Elladan!" Elrond slammed his cup down, and to his right, Arwen flinched.
Elladan stopped mid-sentence and looked at his father, his jaw clenching. "Enough of what, Adar?" he said mildly, but his voice was cold.
Elrond's voice was quiet, yet angered, when he answered. "You may hunt for the foul creatures, you may follow them and use your trickery to ensnare them and slay them, but you will never speak their language in this haven again. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, Adar." His tone was cutting sarcasm, and he turned away.
Elrohir, sitting beside his brother, bowed his head and continued eating. The only reason they had returned was the poison still biting into his leg, and he yet regretted coming back.
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#72 – Lifeline
Glorfindel noticed the laughter coming from the training fields, and he might have left it as young warrior mischief, except that he heard a familiar name come from someone's mouth. He stood behind a tree and listened for a moment to the new trainees from Lothlórien.
Someone laughed. "Did you see that older Peredhel? All grim-faced and dour, and then that younger one, walking all despondently like a little lost lamb."
The other laughed, and someone else interjected, "Ah! I heard one of them last night, crying his poor eyes out in the library when he thought no one was there."
A roar of amusement was heard at this, and Glorfindel's eyes darkened. He restrained himself from moving, to see what these younglings truly thought of the twins, and if any would defend them.
"And," some wise soul added, "I heard one of them begging Lord Erestor for some book his poor mother liked."
Before they could even express their enjoyment of that statement, golden fury moved upon them and the main mockers' bodies were flung to the ground. Glorfindel stood over them, terrible in his splendor, and he glared at them.
"They found their mother, you fools!"
A silence had fallen, and their eyes were wide with terror. Not one moved.
Glorfindel laughed mirthlessly. "Do not speak of which you know nothing about. You've started off quite well here, younglings. I can send you back." He turned on his heel and left, away from the temptation of pounding heads together.
Who had ever heard of someone getting sense knocked into them, anyway?
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#63 – Vanity
Elladan stared unblinking into the mirror before him. He saw himself standing…doing nothing. His face was expressionless, lips set in a firm line. Eyebrows were set low over clear grey eyes, long sable hair falling to his elbows.
Elladan scowled, and the image before him did the same. He smiled, and it repeated the action.
Looking at it more closely, Elladan could see the flecks of silver in his grey eyes, a trait inherited from his mother. Feeling a little mischievous, he crossed his eyes and tried to see the blurry reflection in the mirror. It didn't work, so he refocused his eyes and continued staring at himself.
His hair was out of place. Elladan flicked a dark strand over his shoulder.
The door to his room opened and someone came in, but Elladan didn't look away from himself. The person set down something that jangled, then walked over to Elladan.
Elladan smiled as the person came into view of the mirror, and identical grey eyes met.
"Admiring yourself in the mirror?" Elrohir teased. "Getting a little vain, aren't we?"
"Speak for yourself," Elladan said, and daintily smoothed his hair.
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#80 – Cowardice
"Define the word 'harm,' Erestor," Glorfindel challenged, leaning back in his seat and sipping at his goblet of wine.
Erestor considered it for a moment as he watched the chess board between them, absently deciding his next move. "I think it would be when someone has been emotionally wounded, a blow to their soul. Something that can never be forgotten."
Glorfindel tilted his head and regarded the dark-haired adviser curiously. "What would you call physical pain, then, harm to the body?"
"Well, that's 'hurt,' of course," Erestor replied promptly. "Harm is emotional, hurt is physical."
"That seems reasonable enough," Glorfindel agreed after a moment.
Erestor moved a rook sideways.
"What then would you call something of a lesser harm, something forgotten?" queried Glorfindel, his fingers twitching as he wondered which chess piece to move.
Erestor shrugged. "It needs no label if it doesn't last."
"But hurt doesn't last; why then does it need a name?" Glorfindel said, thinking on his own death and the not-permanence of it.
"What would I know of pain such as you have endured?" Erestor retorted. "And why would it not need a name?"
"You tell me why it would," said Glorfindel, seeing the glint in his friend's eyes. He moved a pawn forward to protect his knight.
"Nameless things are feared, but if they have been given a title, the potency of their fear abates." Erestor took a deep drink from his own cup. " 'Hurt' has a name, therefore it is lessened. Would you not be more wary of it than if it was unnamed, something to be afraid of and to shy away from?"
"I have fought the Nameless before," Glorfindel argued. They both knew what he meant.
"But did you not feel more fear?"
Glorfindel said something under his breath and swallowed the rest of his wine. "Fear doesn't make a warrior less courageous," he said, rolling the cup in his fingers and then placing it beside the board game.
"I never implied that," Erestor said.
Glorfindel stared at him, then snorted. "How did we even get into this conversation?"
"It's your fault," Erestor said immediately. "I was happy to talk about politics, but no…"
"Shut up," Glorfindel said pleasantly.
A chess piece that had been taken from the board bounced off his head, and then Erestor pushed his queen forward. "Checkmate."
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#95 – A Difficult Road
Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Woods, stood in a quiet nursery as he held a pair of identical elflings in his arms. He looked down on their serene faces, chubby and drooling, and felt a wave of love and affection wash over him. His daughter had birthed these beautiful miracles!
One of the babies awoke and squirmed, and Celeborn adjusted his grip so he wouldn't roll sideways. Large grey eyes cleared and blinked up at him sleepily, and then the child broke into a gummy grin. Celeborn felt his heart swell, and he smiled back.
Just a moment later, the other twin wiggled in his arms, awake as well. This one giggled upon seeing Celeborn's doting expression, and kicked his feet in excitement.
The door swung open then, and Celeborn's lovely wife stepped through, her golden hair tossed over her shoulders. She swept over to Celeborn and stopped behind him, smiling over his shoulder at the twins. "They've awoken?"
Celeborn hummed an affirmative, and then the elfling he held with his right hand released a pitiful cry and reached toward Galadriel. Celeborn chuckled and turned, depositing the child into her arms. "Here, love, he wants you."
"Oh, look," Galadriel cooed, and safely nestled him in her arms. "He's got our little Celebrían's nose."
"How odd is that," Celeborn commented to the twin he held, and both babies giggled.