Author's Note: Thanks a bunch, Nilmandra, for all the information, it really helps a lot with my timing for everything later on in the story, although I may change a few minor things in the back history for artistic license. For Emerald Queen, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Aragorn's elvish name. ^_^ Working it into the next chapter. As for now, let's meet the twins!
Elladan and Elrohir
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elrond led the boy into a quieter set of corridors, further into the palace. He wanted to introduce the boy to Elladan and Elrohir. He could not show the boy to Arwen, who was away at Lothlorien, but he wanted the boy to know as many of his new family as possible, as soon as possible.
Aragorn made a small sound, and the elvish lord looked down to see the boy halt inside the door, his sterling eyes moving slowly from one elf to another, but whether from amazement or disquiet, Elrond couldn't tell. He'd been raised on the plains, had seen the great city of Minas Tirith. Would he be disturbed by the closed-in feeling of the palace and woods, of their hushed air and lack of freedom?
The last few days of Aragorn's life were a blur in his eyes. He was no longer physically afraid, but he could not be at peace. He was no longer the bright, fearless little son of Arathorn.
That first day, the day he came, was the only day Aragorn was afraid. He liked taking the bath, being all warm and clean at the same time, with Elrond there, and then being dressed in clothes that were not new but were still marvelous to him. But Elrond was more important than any of these things. Elrond became a rock for him in a raging tide, something he could cling to when no one had been left to him.
Elrond took him into a restful chamber where two dark-haired elves, completely identical, were lounging in a set of chairs. He pulled the boy forward, and his sons stood respectfully as he walked into the room.
"This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Elrond said to his sons. "He is going to stay here." He glanced down at Aragorn, smiling encouragingly. "Aragorn, these are my sons, Elladan and Elrohir."
Aragorn looked a little uncomfortably up at the elves. He could not tell them apart, although one had his hair flowing freely down his shoulders, while the other had his hair pulled back into a braid. They both had the same long smooth raven hair as their father, the same gray eyes. They wore identical, almost mischievous expressions of amusement and curiosity. He was amazed at their easy acceptance of him, which was so different from the violated looks some of the other elves had given him, as if he was an invader. These two looked at him openly, without resentment.
The one with the braid laughed, and Aragorn immediately loved the sound of it. It reminded him of his father. It started kind of low, and then burst out of him like a free wild live thing. The other one, his twin, just grinned over at him.
After a few soft, lyrical elvish words with their father, the two spoke the Common Tongue, so that Aragorn could understand them. Although he couldn't quite keep up with them.
"Look at him, up in our old clothes," the braided one declared, still laughing softly.
"He looks like a little fallen princeling," the other replied.
"Aragorn, yes? His has his father's face-"
"-and his mother's eyes."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Of course."
"Father, let us have him awhile," the braided one said finally, raising gray eyes to meet Elrond's in a plea that did not look like it could come from an elf over three thousand years old. It was the expression of a teenager who wanted a chance to play with a new pet.
Elrond considered this a moment, glancing at Aragorn, then back at his sons, then nodded slowly. "Alright, Elrohir. I do have things that need attending. But be gentle. Very gentle. It had been a trying day for him."
Aragorn was glad that Elrond had spoken the braided one's name. He could now tell them apart, at least. But he panicked when Elrond began to leave. "No, don't leave me!" he cried out softly, starting forward to grasp at Elrond's robe.
The elf-lord crouched down to speak with the boy, his voice kindly. "I will not leave you. You have my solemn word. But let Elladan and Elrohir feed you, find you other things to wear. You cannot have just one set of clothing."
The twin elves held his shoulders gently, so he couldn't follow Elrond out.
"Come on, come on, we will be good to you," Elladan said cheerfully. Both of them sounded as Aragorn had always imagined elves would sound, from his father's stories. Not solemn and regal, like Elrond was, but joyful and carefree.
The two of them shuffled through ancient-looking trunks and argued good-naturedly over old tunics and other clothing, whether they were good enough for Aragorn to be seen in. He was fairly overwhelmed.
"What about these boots?"
"They're too ragged."
"For Feanor's sake, Elladan, they're only for now! He'll have his own things soon enough."
"Here are some gloves."
"This vest was always too small for me."
Shimmering necklaces, emblems, jeweled rings and buckles were all given to him, put on him, inspected critically. The boy soon learned that he could not be overdressed for the court of Rivendell. He was given mithril adornments marked with flowing inscriptions he couldn't read. Aragorn did not speak through any of this, only let his eyes wander back and forth between Elladan and Elrohir, trying to find something in their faces to set them apart in his mind.
The twins were very talkative. They tried to keep to the Common Tongue for Aragorn's sake, but their thoughts seemed to run together, and they often slipped into their own speech. Even when he couldn't understand them, Aragorn was fascinated by watching them. They seemed so different from the other elves, less restrained somehow. They snickered, teased, and interrogated each other and every other elf they encountered. They were a whirling, seemingly unstoppable force, whipping through the halls of Halfelven like a storm of sweeping robes and laughter.
They pulled him through the halls. The Great House they called "ampano", teaching the young boy the elvish word with enjoyment.
"Forget all troubles that have gone before this," Elrohir said, his voice delighted, almost singing. He glanced down at Aragorn and winked merrily at the boy. "Elrond is the Lord of this house, we are his princes, and now, you shall be as well. You are safe now, and nothing can hurt you."
They taught him words in the new melodious language of the elves as they ordered him and themselves a meal from the kitchens, separate from the great hall, because he was not comfortable yet with the court. They taught him the words for silk and velvet and silver, marble and ironwood, the names of doors and windows, candles and books. Aragorn listened, not always catching what they said, but always listening.
They spoke long of mithril, when Aragorn fingered the fine silver chains at his neck. Dwarves dug into the depths of the earth for such treasure, the twins whispered, although sometimes they dug far too deep. Men killed over it in cold blood. It was an elvish wealth, they said, hoarded from thousands of years before, when it had been plentiful. But no Men dared to try and take it from them.
Names Aragorn recognized and names he never heard of came through in the twins' quick talk. Amroth. Legolas. Elbereth. Beren. Arwen. Lorien. Galdor. Galadriel. Celebrant.
He became upset, though, when he came to find that his hawk had been caged by Elrond's attendants. Aragorn was sure that Andune did not want to be in there. The little hawk had been given to him by his father, had once been his father's best falcon, and had never had to be caged in his life.
Andune was old, and hunted now only for himself, not for sport. His bronze-colored feathers were worn, but his eyes were still lively and piercing as ever. Fierce and unblinking. Seemingly indifferent to the violent death of his former master. Just two years before, when Aragorn had petted him and caught him unawares, on the hawk's blind side, Andune had torn the boy's arm almost from wrist to elbow. Aragorn had not cried, and he had not been angry. It was the way of hawks.
"You can't keep him caged," Aragorn whispered softly. The hawk looked back at him silently through golden bars with golden eyes, one filmed and clouded with age, the other still bright as a wedding ring.
Elladan came over by him, his voice gone soft. "Your little hawk is not used to these woods, Aragorn. If you let him loose, he may fly away. You may not see him again."
Aragorn looked in at Andune and knew it wasn't right for him to be in there. If he flew....he flew. Aragorn would not see him caged...not if he could help it. The hawk had followed the orcs that had captured him. One of the things that had helped him to have hope was Andune's shadow following him. Brutal, and merciless, maybe, but the raptor had always had a vestige of loyalty. Aragorn meant to be loyal to his hawk. It was what his father would have wanted him to do.
"It's up to you, Aragorn," Elrohir said. "If you want to take a chance..."
"He is my friend. He will not fly far," Aragorn said softly, although he wasn't sure.
So Elladan opened the cage. Aragorn held out his bare arm to the hawk. "Hie, to me, Andune."
The hawk stepped onto his arm and stood motionless, unhooded. Aragorn carefully stroked smooth, soft breast feathers, balling his fingers, petting the untamed hawk with the back of his hand.
Elrohir let out a low, astonished laugh. "You have trained him? He seemed feral."
Aragorn smiled a little, with a wisdom beyond his young years. "He is wild. He's always been wild. I only friended him. He'd claw my eyes out now, if it suited him."
Aragorn carried the hawk carefully to the entrance of the Great Hall and threw him up into the air. The russet falcon, looking so slow and feeble on tether, shot into the air like an arrow, sailing deftly through the thick trees of Imladris.
The two elves and boy watched the hawk fly off, until he was nothing but a high shadow over the forest in the darkening half light. The smell of smoke from the kitchen's woodfires was in the air, along with the smell of good food. Things of comfort.
"He'll come back," Aragorn said softly, and hoped the words were true. He walked slowly back into the Great Hall with Elladan and Elrohir on either side of him, needing as much comfort as he could get.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Alrighty! Leave good reviews, you know the drill! More than halfway through with the next chapter. It's a weekend, so it'll probably be ready before the end of tonight or early tommorrow, maybe even earlier with that.
Elladan and Elrohir
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elrond led the boy into a quieter set of corridors, further into the palace. He wanted to introduce the boy to Elladan and Elrohir. He could not show the boy to Arwen, who was away at Lothlorien, but he wanted the boy to know as many of his new family as possible, as soon as possible.
Aragorn made a small sound, and the elvish lord looked down to see the boy halt inside the door, his sterling eyes moving slowly from one elf to another, but whether from amazement or disquiet, Elrond couldn't tell. He'd been raised on the plains, had seen the great city of Minas Tirith. Would he be disturbed by the closed-in feeling of the palace and woods, of their hushed air and lack of freedom?
The last few days of Aragorn's life were a blur in his eyes. He was no longer physically afraid, but he could not be at peace. He was no longer the bright, fearless little son of Arathorn.
That first day, the day he came, was the only day Aragorn was afraid. He liked taking the bath, being all warm and clean at the same time, with Elrond there, and then being dressed in clothes that were not new but were still marvelous to him. But Elrond was more important than any of these things. Elrond became a rock for him in a raging tide, something he could cling to when no one had been left to him.
Elrond took him into a restful chamber where two dark-haired elves, completely identical, were lounging in a set of chairs. He pulled the boy forward, and his sons stood respectfully as he walked into the room.
"This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Elrond said to his sons. "He is going to stay here." He glanced down at Aragorn, smiling encouragingly. "Aragorn, these are my sons, Elladan and Elrohir."
Aragorn looked a little uncomfortably up at the elves. He could not tell them apart, although one had his hair flowing freely down his shoulders, while the other had his hair pulled back into a braid. They both had the same long smooth raven hair as their father, the same gray eyes. They wore identical, almost mischievous expressions of amusement and curiosity. He was amazed at their easy acceptance of him, which was so different from the violated looks some of the other elves had given him, as if he was an invader. These two looked at him openly, without resentment.
The one with the braid laughed, and Aragorn immediately loved the sound of it. It reminded him of his father. It started kind of low, and then burst out of him like a free wild live thing. The other one, his twin, just grinned over at him.
After a few soft, lyrical elvish words with their father, the two spoke the Common Tongue, so that Aragorn could understand them. Although he couldn't quite keep up with them.
"Look at him, up in our old clothes," the braided one declared, still laughing softly.
"He looks like a little fallen princeling," the other replied.
"Aragorn, yes? His has his father's face-"
"-and his mother's eyes."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Of course."
"Father, let us have him awhile," the braided one said finally, raising gray eyes to meet Elrond's in a plea that did not look like it could come from an elf over three thousand years old. It was the expression of a teenager who wanted a chance to play with a new pet.
Elrond considered this a moment, glancing at Aragorn, then back at his sons, then nodded slowly. "Alright, Elrohir. I do have things that need attending. But be gentle. Very gentle. It had been a trying day for him."
Aragorn was glad that Elrond had spoken the braided one's name. He could now tell them apart, at least. But he panicked when Elrond began to leave. "No, don't leave me!" he cried out softly, starting forward to grasp at Elrond's robe.
The elf-lord crouched down to speak with the boy, his voice kindly. "I will not leave you. You have my solemn word. But let Elladan and Elrohir feed you, find you other things to wear. You cannot have just one set of clothing."
The twin elves held his shoulders gently, so he couldn't follow Elrond out.
"Come on, come on, we will be good to you," Elladan said cheerfully. Both of them sounded as Aragorn had always imagined elves would sound, from his father's stories. Not solemn and regal, like Elrond was, but joyful and carefree.
The two of them shuffled through ancient-looking trunks and argued good-naturedly over old tunics and other clothing, whether they were good enough for Aragorn to be seen in. He was fairly overwhelmed.
"What about these boots?"
"They're too ragged."
"For Feanor's sake, Elladan, they're only for now! He'll have his own things soon enough."
"Here are some gloves."
"This vest was always too small for me."
Shimmering necklaces, emblems, jeweled rings and buckles were all given to him, put on him, inspected critically. The boy soon learned that he could not be overdressed for the court of Rivendell. He was given mithril adornments marked with flowing inscriptions he couldn't read. Aragorn did not speak through any of this, only let his eyes wander back and forth between Elladan and Elrohir, trying to find something in their faces to set them apart in his mind.
The twins were very talkative. They tried to keep to the Common Tongue for Aragorn's sake, but their thoughts seemed to run together, and they often slipped into their own speech. Even when he couldn't understand them, Aragorn was fascinated by watching them. They seemed so different from the other elves, less restrained somehow. They snickered, teased, and interrogated each other and every other elf they encountered. They were a whirling, seemingly unstoppable force, whipping through the halls of Halfelven like a storm of sweeping robes and laughter.
They pulled him through the halls. The Great House they called "ampano", teaching the young boy the elvish word with enjoyment.
"Forget all troubles that have gone before this," Elrohir said, his voice delighted, almost singing. He glanced down at Aragorn and winked merrily at the boy. "Elrond is the Lord of this house, we are his princes, and now, you shall be as well. You are safe now, and nothing can hurt you."
They taught him words in the new melodious language of the elves as they ordered him and themselves a meal from the kitchens, separate from the great hall, because he was not comfortable yet with the court. They taught him the words for silk and velvet and silver, marble and ironwood, the names of doors and windows, candles and books. Aragorn listened, not always catching what they said, but always listening.
They spoke long of mithril, when Aragorn fingered the fine silver chains at his neck. Dwarves dug into the depths of the earth for such treasure, the twins whispered, although sometimes they dug far too deep. Men killed over it in cold blood. It was an elvish wealth, they said, hoarded from thousands of years before, when it had been plentiful. But no Men dared to try and take it from them.
Names Aragorn recognized and names he never heard of came through in the twins' quick talk. Amroth. Legolas. Elbereth. Beren. Arwen. Lorien. Galdor. Galadriel. Celebrant.
He became upset, though, when he came to find that his hawk had been caged by Elrond's attendants. Aragorn was sure that Andune did not want to be in there. The little hawk had been given to him by his father, had once been his father's best falcon, and had never had to be caged in his life.
Andune was old, and hunted now only for himself, not for sport. His bronze-colored feathers were worn, but his eyes were still lively and piercing as ever. Fierce and unblinking. Seemingly indifferent to the violent death of his former master. Just two years before, when Aragorn had petted him and caught him unawares, on the hawk's blind side, Andune had torn the boy's arm almost from wrist to elbow. Aragorn had not cried, and he had not been angry. It was the way of hawks.
"You can't keep him caged," Aragorn whispered softly. The hawk looked back at him silently through golden bars with golden eyes, one filmed and clouded with age, the other still bright as a wedding ring.
Elladan came over by him, his voice gone soft. "Your little hawk is not used to these woods, Aragorn. If you let him loose, he may fly away. You may not see him again."
Aragorn looked in at Andune and knew it wasn't right for him to be in there. If he flew....he flew. Aragorn would not see him caged...not if he could help it. The hawk had followed the orcs that had captured him. One of the things that had helped him to have hope was Andune's shadow following him. Brutal, and merciless, maybe, but the raptor had always had a vestige of loyalty. Aragorn meant to be loyal to his hawk. It was what his father would have wanted him to do.
"It's up to you, Aragorn," Elrohir said. "If you want to take a chance..."
"He is my friend. He will not fly far," Aragorn said softly, although he wasn't sure.
So Elladan opened the cage. Aragorn held out his bare arm to the hawk. "Hie, to me, Andune."
The hawk stepped onto his arm and stood motionless, unhooded. Aragorn carefully stroked smooth, soft breast feathers, balling his fingers, petting the untamed hawk with the back of his hand.
Elrohir let out a low, astonished laugh. "You have trained him? He seemed feral."
Aragorn smiled a little, with a wisdom beyond his young years. "He is wild. He's always been wild. I only friended him. He'd claw my eyes out now, if it suited him."
Aragorn carried the hawk carefully to the entrance of the Great Hall and threw him up into the air. The russet falcon, looking so slow and feeble on tether, shot into the air like an arrow, sailing deftly through the thick trees of Imladris.
The two elves and boy watched the hawk fly off, until he was nothing but a high shadow over the forest in the darkening half light. The smell of smoke from the kitchen's woodfires was in the air, along with the smell of good food. Things of comfort.
"He'll come back," Aragorn said softly, and hoped the words were true. He walked slowly back into the Great Hall with Elladan and Elrohir on either side of him, needing as much comfort as he could get.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Alrighty! Leave good reviews, you know the drill! More than halfway through with the next chapter. It's a weekend, so it'll probably be ready before the end of tonight or early tommorrow, maybe even earlier with that.