Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

Iawen Londea: Thanks! Although Elrohir is given credit as the intellectual one, by the end of the story you will learn that Elladan is not exactly dumb--and Elrohir is not all he's cracked up to be. No more spoilers!

Pinot: It was actually Elrohir who was reflecting, but you get the idea. That is pretty typical after a fight, and of course the relationship is always either stronger or broken. Aw, way to guilt me into writing the next chapter!

Lady of Legolas: You cannot justify showing unequal love to children. Yes, one may be more difficult, but, well, let me tell you something. In this story, I am the Elladan. The less loved. It cannot be justified to me.

Collie Girl: It's not how I pictured him, either. You must remember that this story started at the middle and shall end at the end, with only discussion of the beginning. The characters act out a play began many years before, that you only just began to see. Named, yes, but they were invented far before that. I described it as a "teddy bear"--not Elrohir, not Elladan, but I. You know what a teddy bear is, as do I. In my opinion the use of modern terminology in a story is acceptable from author to reader, although literary and not vernacular. However, I will go back and change that to "stuffed bear toy". And as for political stupidity, had you not pointed it out I would not have noticed at all--though I presume you are American, whilst I am not.

As usual, thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Author's Note: I remind you now that the story began in the middle.

*****

Elladan sat on the windowsill, one leg dangling over the edge outside of the room, the other knee drawn up to his chin. Overall this was a quite precarious position, and Elladan liked that. His lips pouted slightly as he pondered the outside world, wondering what it might be like to get to know it--if his father ever allowed such a thing to happen. He counted it as unlikely, and so remained, pondering. Elladan did not think much, for had he his thoughts would have strayed to Elrohir, and he would be sorry. Elladan had every intention of apologizing--much later, when there was no chance he would encounter any one else.

At the sound of his voice Elladan turned and, seeing who had entered, stood from the windowsill and drew himself up to his full height, his eyes nearly level with his father's. "Yes?" asked Elladan, purposely not addressing Elrond directly. This slight did not go unmarked, rather ignored.

"You hit your brother."

"Yes."

This interested Elrond, who had expected a denial. "Why did you do that?"

Elladan shrugged, as though the actions that bogged his conscience were little to him. "I was angry at you, so I wanted to destroy something precious to your heart."

Elrond seethed with anger. "Elladan…" he said in a warning tone.

"Would you rather I had smacked Glorfindel?"

*****

Elrohir cringed at the sound of a door slamming down the corridor. He knew it was Elladan's door, and it was Elrond slamming it. Elrond had been angry, but Elrohir knew well enough that the door slamming would be Elladan's fault. He was always so brazen, mouthing off and staring in defiance. Why he found such actions necessary Elrohir could not fathom. What had he said this time? Whatever it was, it would be Elrohir who carried messages back and forth between them, adding things and keeping them out, until at last they found another unsteady peace. It had been that way for far too long.

"Peredhil." At the sound of the soft, lilting voice, Elrohir shot upright. That was his mother, it had to be, no one else in Imladris had such a voice. Curiosity drew the Elfling to the door to listen.

In an exhausted tone, Elrond replied, "Yes, Celebrían?"

"You cannot lose your patience with him."

"Celebrían--"

"No, Elrond. He may be difficult, rude, even offensive, but he is your son. You do not slam doors on your children, Elrond. Why do you think he is the way he is, what do you suppose made him that way?" Celebrían had no fear in speaking this way to her lord, though most would quiver at the thought of chiding the Master of Imladris such. "Go back and apologize to him, but then give him his space. After that you apologize to Elrohir." To me? Elrohir wondered.

"I have done nothing to Elrohir," replied Elrond, puzzled.

"You have. What position is he in now, torn of loyalties between his brother and his father?"

"Elladan assaulted him, Celebrían."

"Love goes deeper, Elrond. Did you not once strike your brother?"

"Nay. He struck me," Elrond admitted this almost against his will. Celebrían said something softly then, and Elrohir could not make out her words. He heard Elrond respond quietly in a changed tone, much calmer and more understanding. Elrohir smiled, for this was truly his ada. Yet he was angry, and could not keep that at bay. His anger was towards Elrond, for had he not come between them, Elladan and Elrohir would have been as close as ever they were.

At first, even as their lives adopted separate paths, the twins remained familiar. As time passed, Elladan seemed to be angrier and angrier, mostly directing his fury at their father. Elrond criticized Elrohir, it was true, but only--Elrohir often reminded himself--to make him a better person. Often on Elrohir's behalf Elladan jumped in, not understanding at all that Elrohir could capably defend himself, only wished not to. Even on the smallest of things, Elladan fought Elrond. Could he not point his anger elsewhere?

Of course he could. His anger he channeled and used in fighting. Elrohir had seen his twin with a sword, and it was truly a sight to behold. Elladan moved with more grace than any other Elf, being practically made of fluid. It was breathtaking. Another way he had used his anger…Elrohir's hand strayed to his jaw, where a bruise was forming. Oh, yes. That had been anger, too.

"Elrohir?"

There was a knock at the door. A surge of anger rose Elrohir and he leapt, fully dressed, beneath the sheets on his bed, facing the wall and hoping he might not get caught out in his lie. Elrond cautiously opened the door and, seeing Elrohir in bed, knew what had happened. He crossed the room and sat beside his son. "I want to apologize to you, Elrohir. You do not have to accept this apology; in fact, you would be more than justified in declining it, but when you are ready, I ask that you hear me out." He had so much he wanted to add; that his behaviour had been inexcusable, that Elladan was wrong and he loved both of them, equally, that he had the best intentions if they were carried out badly. Instead he sat in silence. Then he stroked Elrohir's hair, and said, "You are still angry. That is fine. But know that I love you, Elrohir. Please know that."

Elrohir could feel tears rising in his throat. All this time he had hoped his father would just go away, perhaps yell or be angry or speak empty words, but he had done no such thing. "Go away," Elrohir choked out, unsure of why. His anger had dissipated, and all he was left with was the feeling of a painful rawness inside.

"Elladan said the same," Elrond replied with a nod. "Well, when ever you are ready, Elrohir…" Then he stood and left, hoping he had done right.

Elrohir rose and went to the window. He was just in time to see a figure dash across the open space to the trees. A quiver full of arrows and a bow were slung over this figure's shoulders, and a sword hung around his waist. In the failing light, Elrohir could make out little more. He needed no more to identify the figure. "Elladan…" he said through clenched teeth.

Sometimes Elrohir, too, wished to run out into the woods and hunt, or just run until he no longer could, but he had never actually done so. It had been Elladan who pulled such reckless stunts. With a pang Elrohir realized that he was who he was because of his brother, that his brother had formed him. With one apprehensive glance back into the room, Elrohir put one leg on the windowsill…

*****

TBC