A/N: if you don't feel even a little sorry for the twins by the end of this chapter, then I probably haven't been doing something right, so (as usual) I'd like to know what you think. And thanks to Sadie Sil for letting me use the nicknames for Elrohir and Elladan that I first read in her stories.


VII

SEASONS PASSED, and I would like to be able to say that as time went on I gradually settled into my new roles. But the truth is that, although I did enjoy the work, I was not settled. I spent my days laboring longly: taking notes for Father's meetings; copying or setting down healing techniques; assisting in the infirmary with patients, storage, or as Father's assistant; and sewing, always sewing. It was rewarding, yes, but never felt quite right, as though this were but a stopping-place instead of the final destination.

What tied me down, the only things where I could even begin to find a place for myself, were the various processes surrounding sewing. As the seasons passed by I became wholly consumed with every aspect of cloth, from the initial spinning of thread to embroidering embellishments on the final pieces. Like my brothers—like Father—I threw myself into the work with a zeal that could only come from desperation. And like the rest of my family, in doing so I became more detached, more isolated, than ever before. I no longer felt that deep connection which had kept me content in Imladris all my life.

It did not help that I had no real friends. The few childhood companions I had had did not involve themselves in sewing or weaving, let alone dyeing, and the friends of my adulthood, being mortal, were either dead or dying off in some faraway Dúnadan village. I did not even have the circle of admirers to keep me company, though I did not actually want them; Mother's tragedy had given me an excuse to send them away, and I only missed them when I felt utterly lonely and sorry for myself. And I never really had the time to make friends, in my slow way, with the weavers and dyers, all of whom kept to their original circles. I might have become friends with them slowly, later, but as things turned out I was never to have such an opportunity.


Nevertheless—in spite of the struggle of not belonging with any one group, whether dyers or weavers or even the Council Aides with whom I often sat—I thought I was comfortable enough. The more laid-back rituals of cloth offered a pleasant contrast to the sharp immediacy of Father's world of Councils and Healing. In the mornings I would shadow Father; in the afternoons I would focus on my own projects of dyeing or weaving. The lighter occupations of sewing and embroidery I saved for counsel meetings and Infirmary work. It brought a schedule to my days, forcing me out of languor and into action. Action was nice. Action took my mind off the past and forced me to look at, if not the future, at least the present.

Partly because I was pushing myself far beyond my usual activity, I began to experience mortal constraints—slight aches and pains, a more gnawing hunger, and, most disturbing, weariness. I woke up feeling energetic enough, but by the end of the day I was tired. I slept deeply nearly every night.

The benefit was that I was forced to learn to better control my Power. I had not the energy to haphazardly dump power into my works whenever and wherever I felt at a moment's notice. No. I had to hone it and shape it into the form most efficient and most lasting, to spin it out long but strong as spinners do when making thread. My experimentation now went slow and painstaking, as I had to plan out each step in exacting detail, deciding how much power could be spared and where, before implementing any plans.

And the work paid off: I had thought I was good at sewing before, but now—! It was exhilarating. I wondered if this was what my brothers felt when they had just found the Orc den they had been tracking for the last few seasons. And I wondered if, consumed by a similar urge for intensity, they too ever felt so alone.


We did not get along as well as we had used to, although some of this was only to be expected given our disparate ages and work. They were fiercely honed warriors who often spent weeks, and sometimes months, out fighting; I stayed at home and sewed. It was, really, only natural that sometimes our conversations did not quite ... line up.

"How have you been, sister?" Elrohir would say politely while Elladan looked away with a blank expression.

"Well enough. – I have been experimenting with different kinds of embroidery patterns—to see whether different shapes can hold one's Power longer..."

"Arwen, you've sewn every shape possible by now," this from Elladan in an indulgent tone as though I was a child to be mollified by candy.

"I mean the structure of the thread itself, and the different structures created by different patterns through the cloth," I would try to explain. I didn't do it very well.

"How can they be different structures? It's just cloth and more cloth, isn't it?"

It probably was honest curiosity speaking. Very possibly they honestly did not understand the differences. After all, I myself had only come to comprehend such matters after years of studying.

But then I would sense the wave of boredom from them, catch Elrohir's eyes shift toward the window, towards the outdoors, impatiently; and gradually I stopped trying.

They would tell me about the latest hunt without answering my labored questions on basic tracking technique, and I would listen halfway and use the rest of my attention to plan out my next experiment or to draft an amendment to a council's resolution. I would reluctantly show them an old project, and they would affect vague interest before setting off to hunt some more as soon as they could escape.

And each time they came back, they looked more tired and more hunted. Elladan came back sporting a slight cut to his cheek. Elrohir sprained his wrist. Elladan's horse got four bloody gashes along its side.

My brothers were dangerous—but so were the orcs.


They and Father began to fight.

Elladan and Elrohir would take turns shrugging off injuries. "Somehow those filthy bastards heard us coming, that's all." "The wind changed at the last minute and brought our scent. You know they have excellent smell, more's the pity."

Father growled at them in frustration and fear, and they returned the gesture, spitting back, "We have been doing our part to keep the North safe" and, even more cutting, "You have no such authority over our every move. You are our father, yes, and our liege lord, but we are adults. If we want to get ourselves hurt, we can. And at least we are useful."

They were growing reckless, but nothing serious had yet occurred to deter them. So instead of moderation, my brothers continued to hurl themselves at Orcs with breathtaking mindlessness.


I gathered my courage and approached them one evening cautiously. It was late in the year and cold, almost winter, though no snow as of yet. They were in the bow-shed tending to their weapons.

"'Ro? 'Dan?" They looked up at me, half-curious and half-suspicious. It had been some time since I had used the old nicknames, and even then I had used them rarely. "May I join you?"

Elladan recovered first. "Of course." He cleared a space for me courteously.

"So what brings you out here? It is a cold walk between this shed and your rooms," Elrohir said in a manner too forced to really be teasing. They were both tense, as though I were some unknown danger not yet assessed.

"I have not seen you in a while." It was not really an answer. I knew it, and they knew it, too; after all, they were Father's children as well. "Will you be staying the winter?"

"Why do you ask?" Elladan's face was unreadable, but I could sense trepidation. They were unsure of me and of my motivations.

"I was just wondering. ..." I looked down at my hands, empty for once, in order to sidestep the question. "It gets lonely sometimes."

"Lonely? and you surrounded by people and visitors?"

I grimaced. "They either do not understand, or they understand all too well and always let me alone. – At least you have each other."

Elrohir's mouth relaxed for a moment, and his eyes danced mischievously. "Poor Arwen. Have they been neglecting you?"

Elladan laughed tightly without any real humor. "Ah, dear heart, you must not worry. We will keep you safe."

I stiffened. "They have not been neglecting me. If anything, it is my fault. I, too, have thrown myself into some work at the expense of companionship."

They both looked at me sharply at that. After a moment Elladan drawled, "Too?"

"You both have done the same thing I have, and Father, as well. We all have spent nearly all of our time honing our crafts, whether it is you and fighting or Father and his healing."

Elrohir raised a brow. "And what is your craft? Sewing?"

"Yes."

They looked at each other as if exchanging silent messages of mutual disbelief.

"You rank embroidery with Orc-hunting?" Elladan said at last.

"Not just embroidery," I tried to explain once again. I could feel the conversation starting to slip back into the old patterns. "I have been studying the whole process—making thread and dyeing as well as weaving, and, yes, embroidery."

Elrohir was studiously examining his bow.

At last Elladan said kindly, "I am glad you are employed, sister. But our work is important."

I stood in a rush. "And what would you do, without mine?"

"We are just trying to say that you probably would not be able to spend time ...coloring, or whatever else you do, if not for warriors like us," Elrohir answered honestly.

"And you would go fighting orcs nude if not for my work," I shot back.

"Those monsters are growing in strength all the time," Elladan said, his voice taut with suppressed emotion. "We cannot stop fighting."

"Not even to spend a day with me?"

Elladan looked as though he could have strangled something. "Oh, so it would be better to spend a day watching you play with needles all cooped up rather than being out there, free to move and fight and, and do something!"

"Aye, because it is so much better to come home all bruised and battered!" I spat back.

My brothers stood as one, eyes glittering. "Is this why you came out here, then?" Elladan asked, his voice all the more dangerous for its sudden softness. "To criticize and condemn like all the others?"

Elrohir shook his head and glared at me. "Just because Father disagrees does not mean you have to follow him blindly, Arwen. Think! Where is the sister I went sliding down the banisters with? the one who was always on our side? Look past your sheltered world for once and try to understand what we are doing!"

I stared. "Oh! so it is a crime for me to at least sometimes want to feel as if I have real brothers and not some phantoms always leaving? If you think I blindly follow Father's every thought just because, unlike you, I actually spend time with him, then you are fools indeed. Where is your sister? Here! unlike you."

Elladan suddenly turned away and took several steps back toward his bench, shaking his head slightly. "Leave it, 'Ro. It is no use trying; she cannot understand."

Elrohir ignored him. "Arwen. Listen to me. I know it is hard for you in there sometimes. It was hard for us; why do you think we leave so often? It's true: they do not understand. And we have to fight!"

"But why? When will it be over? When will you rest?" I asked, voice quavering.

A pause—Elrohir bowed his head, and Elladan shifted slightly; and it seemed the temperature plummeted as we three stood frozen—and then came the low, hoarse whisper: "When we have made things right."


And I shall leave this world still not knowing which of my brothers spoke those anguished words.


But all I could see then, the only thought I could hold onto in the heated aftermath of that bitter exchange, was that my brothers were fools indeed. There had to be some way to save them from themselves, I felt. If my brothers could not see the doom they were heading towards, I could. And Father's increased reliance on me had taught me at least one thing—that I was, in fact, not useless at all. What could I do?—I could sew, and sew well.

So I did. And if my work could prove my brothers wrong as well, then that made it all the more desirable.

I would show them. I would show everyone.