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To say Aranwë was in a bad mood would be a slight understatement.

He was cold, soaked to the skin, tired, hungry, covered in mud and grime, and fit to kill. He was sore and riddled with cuts from the fall from his horse, and his arm hurt unmercifully. His other shoulder ached from the leather strap of his pack constantly rubbing on it, and somewhere along the road, he had lost his precious cloak-pin. So now he had to lug his cloak along on his one good arm.

It was really losing the cloak-pin that bothered him the most. It was a beautiful pin, made of the rarest mithral in the shape of a leaf, set with sparkling diamonds and brilliant jade, and delicately seamed with molten silver. Each of his brothers had an identical pin- it had been a gift from their father. Even Aluír had received one, although he was but their half-brother, and step-son of the king. Thranduil had said they needed some way to identify themselves as the princes. Aranwë had never seen it that way though. The pin had always been the proof that he belonged somewhere. And now it was gone.

So the proof of his belonging was gone. Besides, why should he go back there? He was eighteen, true, but he had not reached his majority and was still treated like an elfling while his friends were treated as adults. They were able to make their own decisions, they went on patrol twice a week, they went out hunting, swimming, fishing... just having fun. But Aranwë was never allowed to do any of these things with his father's permission. He felt like a prisoner most of the time. He had been locked in his room half of his life for doing something stupid.

Suddenly realizing that he was wallowing in self-pity, Aranwë quickly shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and continued down the trail.

It was nearing sunset when he suddenly heard hoofbeats and merry voices floating along in the wind.

He stood still and waited for the newcomers to show.

It was a pair of elves. They looked to be Noldo elves and were obviously brothers, he decided from their identical features, black hair and gray eyes. Even their horses and weapons were identical. Suddenly Aranwë remembered hearing his sister, Queen Luthíen Hanöhína of Mithlond, mentioning her good friend, Lady Arwen, and the identical twin sons of Lord Elrond. Looking over the elves again, he noted the excellent quality of their clothes and steeds, and decided these must be the grandsons of that creepy Witch of the Woods, as Galion had once so nobly put it.

I best be careful, but friendly, so they don't suspect anything, Aranwë thought. "Mae govannen," he said aloud, standing in the middle of the dirt path.

"Mae govannen," one of the elves replied, a casual grin on his face. "What brings you to the Realm of Imladris?"

"Imladris?" Aranwë looked around, noting with awe for the first time how light and cheerful the atmosphere was, despite last night's rain.

The other elf chuckled at the look on Aranwë's face as he turned slowly in a circle, taking in every detail of the beautiful forest around them.

"I am going to make a wild guess and say that you are from Mirkwood," he said.

Aranwë turned quickly on his heel, his eyes asking the silent question.

The elf who had just spoken laughed. "It is not hard to figure out. You are wearing silvan green, and your cloak is green as well. Only Silvan elves wear silvan green." Then the elf frowned. "Only, I'm not reasonably sure why you would have that color hair if you were Silvan."

Aranwë scowled, quickly avoiding the elf's last sentence. "So I'm Silvan. So I'm from Mirkwood. Why does that matter?"

The first elf spoke up again. "It would seem to me that every one of Thranduil's warriors would be back in Mirkwood fighting the spiders and orcs." He exchanged confused looks with his twin when the strange Silvan elf glanced away, biting his lip.

"I am Elladan Elrondíon," he said. "This is my brother, Elrohir. What is your name?"

Aranwë's eyes darted back and forth from the twins' faces to the forest to the ground. He couldn't give them his true name, for it literally meant 'son of the king', and that would give away where he belonged, especially since he had his father's platinum hair and ice-blue eyes, although gifted with his mother's beautiful features. "Um, it's uh… Naëríon," he finally added lamely.

Elladan and Elrohir again exchanged looks. It obviously wasn't his true name. But what reason would this elf have to hide his identity?

"We are going back to Imladris," Elladan said after a moment of awkward silence, "if you would like to join us. There will be plenty to eat… and dry clothes," he added, eyeing the Silvan elf's mud-splattered tunic and face.

"Alright," Aranwë said, hefting his pack onto his shoulder again. "Even that valley of yours would be better than to be lost in these Valar-cursed mountains without my dumb horse."

Elladan clenched a fist in barely concealed anger. The elf didn't have the best of manners, and he certainly didn't have the right to insult the beautiful kingdom of the Noldo elves, but Elrohir put a restraining hand on his twin brother's arm.

"Calm down, Elladan." Elrohir then looked at Naëríon, smiling kindly. "Why don't you ride with me? It will be much easier on all of us."

Aranwë scowled at him. "No. You can ride your own dumb horse, for all I care. I will walk." He hefted his pack on his shoulder again and set off walking past them down the trail. "A little walk never hurt anyone. As my own dumb horse proved last night when that stupid tree almost smashed us and he threw me. Blasted horse. Scared of everything. What's a little lightning? Now he's probably halfway to Mirkwood, and my brothers will find him, and I will become the laughing stock of the household, and- oh, Valar!"

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged amused glances at Naëríon's rambling. He had obviously not parted in good favor with his family.

. . .

They were about halfway home, when Elladan noticed that Naëríon was walking with a slight limp, and continually pulling at the strap of his pack. He knew Elrohir had noticed the same.

He wondered absently if Naëríon was possibly hiding an injury, but upon recalling an unfavorable episode concerning the wild wood-elves and their injuries when they had brought a letter from Thranduil to their father last winter... well, Elladan decided to drop it.

They kept on down the trail for a while until Elladan couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hey! Hey, you!" He called to Naëríon.

Aranwë jumped when he heard his false name called out to him. He turned. "Yeah? What do you want?"

Elladan dismounted. "Look, you. You're gonna ride the rest of the way. Whether it's on my horse, and I ride with 'Ro, or the other way around. But you're riding!"

Aranwë's annoyed features grew angry. "I don't take kindly to people telling me what to do."

Elrohir frowned. "Look, Naëríon, just give your pack to my brother and you can ride with me."

"I said no. I am perfectly able to walk on my own."

"Ha!" Elladan snorted. "Very funny!"

Aranwë's jaw tightened, and his one good fist clenched. "I don't take kindly to being laughed at."

Suddenly Elladan took a step forward. "Look, brat, you're riding with 'Ro, whether you like it or not."

"I don't take kindly to being called names, either."

Elladan grabbed Naëríon's free arm with one hand, yanking him to Elrohir's horse.

Aranwë nearly cried out in pain as his injured arm was jerked. He glared so venomously at Elladan, the older twin was actually quite taken back for a moment. He grabbed Naëríon's pack and cloak away from him and mounted his own horse.

"Here, Naëríon," Elrohir extended his hand for the younger elf to grab hold of. Aranwë looked at the younger twin disgustedly, until he received a death-glare from Elladan. Then he took Elrohir's hand and mounted.

. . .

Ithendil, one of the many Royal healers of Imladris, hurried down the corridor, humming idly, packing a load of medical books under his arm. He was just coming from classes. His students had been unusually cooperative that evening- they were respectful and polite, they had completed every bit of their assignments, they asked sensible questions, in return had answered correctly, and things had run very smoothly. Ithendil wasn't sure if that was because Lords Elladan and Elrohir had been unavailable to attend classes that evening, according to Lord Elrond, or if his students had just felt the need to behave before their master sent notices home to their parents. Regardless, Ithendil was well pleased.

As he proceeded down the corridor, he heard voices drifting in from an adjoining balcony. It was Lord Elrond's sons. He smiled softly. They must have just gotten back. Could the day become any better? He had already drawn up the assignments they were to do, to make up for the missed class, and just had to deliver them.

He was about to call their names when he heard a third voice. Lord Elrond? He ducked behind a flowering potted tree of Lady Arwen's.

"It is unlikely Naëríon will admit to anything of the sort. He is, however, much too young to have permission to be wandering the wild, if he is as young as you said. That leaves us two choices. He is either a refugee, or he is a runaway," Lord Elrond was saying.

Ithendil frowned. Who was this Naëríon? He had never heard of any such elf. Or man. Whatever he may be, Ithendil added, his frown deepening.

"He is very suspicious of everyone," Elrohir said. "It is more likely he is a runaway, and is scared that someone may recognise him.

"It is obvious from what you say that he is some sort of nobility. A knight's son, perhaps," Lord Elrond mused.

"He is a spoiled brat," Elladan retorted.

Lord Elrond sighed, rolling his eyes towards his elder son. "Maybe so, but that gives you no reason to speak of him that way. I feel he just needs someone who will understand him. Perhaps some female attention." He chuckled at his sons' expressions. "I mean a mother's care, not a love-sick elleth. You might have turned out the same as him, you know, if your mother hadn't put her foot down. Maybe our young guest just needs the same treatment your mother gave you."

They both nodded.

"Oh, and Ada, one more thing… he was limping. I think he should be checked over by a healer," Elrohir said.

"I will be busy tonight with Lord Dithrin and his dwarves- you remember the trade negotiations?- so you will have to just go hunt one down. The first one you find, take him to our… guest, and make sure he is treated properly," Elrond turned toward the entrance, then paused. "I'd also like his physical report, when you have a chance."

Behind the bush, Ithendil nearly choked. The chances of them finding him were very likely- too much so. If he hurried out of there quickly, he would have no chance to get down the corridor in time to escape. And if he stayed behind the bush, it was more than probable that he would be found.

So he stood up, sighing inaudibly at the tedious chore he would be given, hefted his books under his arm, and marched boldly out onto the terrace.

"Good day, my lords."

"Ithendil!" Elrohir exclaimed, taking the healer's free arm companionably. "We have a wonderful surprise for you!"

Ithendil grinned nervously at his young lord, groaning inwardly. "Of that, I'm sure."

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Ok, pls don't kill me. Ik this is late, like really late / but I hope you guys enjoyed. Thanks for your amazing feedback, IthilNaur! And thanks to my new reader for reviewing!!! You have no idea how much I appreciate it!

Love you guys!! I'll post soon :)

~Aërlinwë Greenleaf