Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters
and/or places thereof
Author's Note: For the aging of Elves, I'm using a scale of 2.5 mortal years to 1 Elven year.
*****
Five years pass. They are difficult ones for Morwinyon, but a tradition develops between the sisters, and Celebrían always journeys to Lothlorien for the winter. She always makes this journey alone, and she and Morwinyon always share their old room, where Morwinyon still sleeps and which is unchanged since they were young. When the window frosts over the girls still draw pictures with their thimbles. They spend the time catching up on the events of the past year, and always visit their secret lake together at least once. Letters are well and good, but there is no substitute for the voice, smell, and love of a sister.
Morwinyon, with and without her sister, comes to terms with the knowledge that she was fostered. She tries hard to please Galadriel and Celeborn, although they make it very clear that they love her as if she was their own. "I am not, though," Morwinyon points out to Galadriel one evening as the two sit together, talking. Galadriel has assured Morwinyon that she can say anything she wishes without fear of judgment or scorn, as a mother feels not such things towards her daughter and it seems that something weighs heavily on Morwinyon's mind.
Something does. His name is Minnó. Morwinyon has known him for many years; he is a tall, blonde-haired boy with a face that easily turns bright red from exposure to the sun. He is often associated with Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin, the troublesome brothers who, in the opinions of most grown Elves are nothing but hooligans. Morwinyon is not a grown Elf. She admires and wishes the acceptance of the hoodlums, and something she did to win their favor weighs heavily on her conscience.
The four boys and Morwinyon had been by the river late one night, under the full moon. The discussion turned to the beauty of the water, somehow, and how refreshing it would be to take a swim just then. The boys all dared each other to jump on in, but of course none of them did, and none dared Morwinyon, the young tag-along. That young tag-along, however, grew weary of this debate. She stripped off her clothes and dove with perfect form into the water. By the light of the moon Morwinyon felt softer, more feminine, as she came gracefully back to the surface. She tried to hide her shivers as she asked, "Will none of you join me?"
"You crazy twat, get out of there!" cried Haldir, grabbing her clothes and holding them out to her, eyes shut. "You'll get us into trouble for sure!"
"Oh, do relax," Morwinyon said. After a time she adjusted to and enjoyed the temperature of the water. She liked the feel of her wet hair matted to her back, of swimming strongly back and forth. Finally the boys were growing frantic, trying to urge her out. Morwinyon climbed gracefully back onto the bank, not minding that she was standing naked as water dripped from her body. "Towel?" she asked, only joking, then thoroughly soaked her undergarments.
"Are you decent?" asked Rumil, averting his eyes like the other boys.
"Quite," she assured them. As the five tramped back through the forest, Minnó came to walk next to Morwinyon.
"You shouldn't do things like that," he told her. "You could get into a lot of trouble with those stunts, or even get hurt."
"I am sorry I made you uncomfortable," said Morwinyon, sensing it in his voice. She got the strangest feelings around Minnó. If it weren't for him, she would probably have no interest in Haldir and the others. She liked him, she thought, though it was difficult to know, really. It was not until hours later, as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, that Morwinyon realized that she had jumped into the river to impress Minnó.
"With Celebrían gone, you are my only child left," says Galadriel. "You have always been my baby girl, but now you are my only girl." Morwinyon looks up at her in shock. She is touched by the words of the older woman, and for many moments cannot speak. At long last, Morwinyon finds her words.
"Mother," she says, laying her head on Galadriel's knee, "I think I may love someone."
"Oh," replies Galadriel with a knowing air. She does not believe that her daughter is in love. Morwinyon is hardly out of girlhood. She tries to imitate Celebrían sometimes, and this may just be another one of those times. "If you are uncertain, Morwinyon, it is not true love. There is no reason to rush these things, they will happen on their own if you let them."
"I suppose. . ." Morwinyon consents.
Galadriel frowns and would continue, but at that moment Celeborn enters carrying a letter. "Celebrían sends word," he says to the two women. "She cannot come this winter, and apologizes for not sending word sooner."
"No!" exclaims Morwinyon, jumping to her feet. She needs Celebrían. A winter without Celebrían is like a day without air. She just cannot get through another year without a visit from her sister. "Then. . .if she cannot come here. . .I shall go to her!" exclaims Morwinyon.
"If you must," consents Celeborn, "but it is a dangerous journey so late in the year."
"I have to see her," says Morwinyon. Galadriel looks to her husband, and they nod. This is something Morwinyon must do, and thus they shall allow it. Together with her mother, Morwinyon packs her things for the trip.
"Morwin," Galadriel says as the daughter and her parents eat supper together for the last time in what will surely be quite a while. "Do be careful."
"Don't worry, Mother," Morwinyon says, shrugging off her concern. "I'll take care of myself." Galadriel cannot look at her daughter as the feeling of rejection swells in her. She is being shut out, the Lady realizes. Morwinyon sees this, and it nearly breaks her heart to think that she has caused such pain. Before she can think she reaches over silently and caresses her mother's hand, resting their hands together.
Celeborn clears his throat before either woman can begin to cry. "You never did like that Elrond much, did you?" he asks Morwinyon. "I only ask because you must realize that visiting Celebrían in her home means visiting him as well, and a guest should always be polite. No spitting on his boots, Mor, no sabotage--"
"I never!" she exclaims, blushing because she knows full well that she did.
"Should you be tempted, just remember that you represent all of Lothlorien," Celeborn suggests. "Keep your dyes where they belong and your spittle in your mouth, where it belongs." At this last comment Morwinyon cannot help but laugh, amused at the absurdity of it and amused that her father knew for so many years that she spit on Elrond's boots.
Though they think they miss her already, Celeborn and Galadriel have no idea of the emotions that will be stirred in them the next night. They do not know that they will sit alone at the table and try to make conversation, or that they will go through the motions of an average day, trying not to think of their little daughter. They do not know that when night falls, it will be Celeborn who cries in his wife's arms, and Galadriel who keeps her tears within her. They will not know, then, that Morwinyon is not crying, much as she wants to, but trying to pretend it is a game. What they do know is that she grew up all too fast.
*****
Two weeks later, Morwinyon awakes with a cry. It takes a moment for her to realize where she is: on the ground in the wilderness. She has had another one of her dreams, which she is all too used to. The night terrors she had as a child never went away. No one knows but her. Sometimes the things she sees come to pass, and it frightens her more than anything else, especially on nights like tonight.
Tonight, Morwinyon dreamed of Celebrían. In the dream she saw her sister out in the snow with two young boys. The boys were dark-haired and very young, hardly able to stand. Celebrían watched them play, so absorbed in their activity that she does not notice when the snow begins to fall, harder and harder, until she cannot even be seen--
"Cel," Morwinyon whispers, and she gets to her feet. This is it; Morwinyon must reach Imladris before next she rests or it will drive her mad. She gathers her supplies and mounts her horse, nudging him into a full gallop. She has to get there, no matter how far it is, no matter how tired she may get. Celebrían is more important. . .she has to warn her!
Morwinyon is so busy worrying about Celebrían that she does not notice when the snow begins to fall. The chill does not reach her as she hurries on. In fact, she only notices that it is snowing when she cannot see an inch in front of her. "All right," she tells herself, "stay calm. You can do this, just keep going straight ahead. . .just keep going. . ." This mantra she keeps up until she can no longer. The world goes black as Morwinyon slumps forward in her saddle.
*****
"You seem to have quite a knack for getting yourself lost in the snow, Little Light."
Morwinyon turns her face towards the sound of the voice. Her vision is groggy, at first, but as things come into focus she groans. "Vedui, Elrond," she mumbles under her breath.
"Are you all right?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Cel, where is she?" Morwinyon asks suddenly, sitting bolt upright as the memory of her dream comes back to her. "Where is my sister?" She throws back the covers and steps out of bed, shivering from the cold as her feet hit the floor. Elrond reacts at once, urging her to lie down.
"You were out in the snow unconscious, Morwinyon, even an Elf is not immune to--"
"Where is my sister? Tell me now or I shall find her myself!" Morwinyon demands angrily, shoving Elrond's hand from her shoulder. A worried look comes over his face, as if he is unsure of what to say. Morwinyon is suddenly afraid that she was too late, and is about to cry out when a voice from behind her stops her.
"I am here, Morwinyon."
"Celebrían!" Morwinyon runs to her sister and embraces her. Something in that hug feels odd. . .drawing away, Morwinyon gasps.
"Yes," Celebrían laughs. "You see, this is why I could not come to you!" She rests her hands over her swollen belly. "I am too far, now, for travel. But oh, how perfect, you are here now!"
"I did not want to spend a winter without you," Morwinyon mutters.
"I dreaded it, also," Celebrían replies, "but everything is perfect now-- wait. Mor, Mother and Father know you are here, do they not? You did not run away, Morwinyon, tell me you did not!"
"I did not!" Morwinyon tells her sister. "They know I am here. You were right, Cel. It is perfect."
*****
"Have you a name chosen?" Morwinyon asks as she and Celebrían sit by the hearth, a burning fire providing warmth and light. They are in Morwinyon's room, or the room she will be staying the winter in. Both sisters know the meaning of this question, for they have spoken of little other than the child in Celebrían's belly.
"Elladan, if it is a boy, and if it is a girl Arwen," Celebrían says with a nod and a smile, unable to keep her hand from that swollen spot, the skin tight as a drum. "I cannot wait for him to arrive."
"Arwen. . ." Morwinyon rolls the name on her tongue. "I like it," she says. "It will be a pleasure to meet this Arwen or Elladan."
"Aye, and a pleasure not to be so often kicked!" jokes Celebrían. She leans back in her chair, then says, "I am off to bed, Morwinyon. A pleasant evening to you, and a restful sleep."
"Pleasant dreams," Morwinyon replies as her sister gets up, kisses her forehead, and leaves. Moments later there comes another knock at the door. "Enter," she calls, thinking that it could be no one but Celebrían--perhaps she forgot something earlier. It is Celebrían, however.
"We need to talk," says Elrond as he sits in the chair recently vacated by Celebrían.
"Do we?" she hates him--no point in any more than thinly masking it.
"At least for Celebrían's sake. What is it, Morwinyon? Why do you hate me so much? I never meant to hurt you, Little Light, and I am sorry if I ever did. You told me once that if I ever hurt your sister you would make me suffer, well, I want you to know that I would never hurt her. She is the greatest treasure anyone could ever love--are you listening to me?"
Morwinyon is not. She is thinking instead. That name. . .where has she heard it before? Before she can remember, a shout pierces her thoughts. "Celebrían!" exclaim Morwinyon and Elrond together, jumping to their feet. They rush down the corridor to her aid, only to be ushered out of the room by a midwife.
"She does not need a worried husband, go to!" insists the woman. Morwinyon wanders off at once, knowing that she will not be granted entrance and ought not waste her time. Elrond stays outside of the bedchamber for a time, unsure of what to do. At long last he ambles off.
Elrond seeks solitude and meditation in the gardens. Edelweiss and freak roses grow through the snow. By the rose bush, which sports blood red blossoms, a bent figure sits on a stone bench, resting her head in her hands. Elrond does not shy away, but chooses instead to approach her. He brushes snow from the bench and sits beside his sister in law. "You should be wearing a cloak, you know," he says with a cynical half-laugh.
"Huh," Morwinyon replies, but makes no move to retrieve the aforementioned garment. Elrond sighs, then unclasps his own cloak and drapes it across her shoulders. Finally a response: Morwinyon looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "It was you, wasn't it? That night in the snow, just after I was so mean to you. You brought me back inside."
"Yes," Elrond replies. "You never knew?"
Morwinyon shakes her head. "Not until you called me Little Light just before. I thought it was my mother. I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time before. Looking back, you tried to be a brother to me."
"And I failed there, as I shall fail as a father now," Elrond says, betraying his worries before he can think.
"Oh, Elrond, no! You will be a wonderful father. I know from the way you never gave up on me. Your little Elladan or Arwen is truly blessed."
After a long pause, Elrond works up the courage to say, "Thanks, Morwinyon."
They say no more as a wail splits the air, the cry of a newborn babe. The sound is followed by another, similar call. Elrond looks up, excited. Morwinyon turns her face in the direction of the sound, then looks at Elrond. "Are you ready to go and meet your twin children?" she asks.
An hour later, Elrond holds the tiny creature in his arms. They have named the first boy Elladan, and the second Elrohir. Celebrían is asleep, exhausted. Morwinyon observes the careful father interact with his son, his gleeful sobs having stopped for the moment. He still smiles as he looks down at the boy, Elrohir. Elladan is asleep in his crib.
Carefully she lays a hand on his shoulder. "What do you think now, brother?" she asks in a whisper.
"I think these are two very lucky little boys."
Author's Note: For the aging of Elves, I'm using a scale of 2.5 mortal years to 1 Elven year.
*****
Five years pass. They are difficult ones for Morwinyon, but a tradition develops between the sisters, and Celebrían always journeys to Lothlorien for the winter. She always makes this journey alone, and she and Morwinyon always share their old room, where Morwinyon still sleeps and which is unchanged since they were young. When the window frosts over the girls still draw pictures with their thimbles. They spend the time catching up on the events of the past year, and always visit their secret lake together at least once. Letters are well and good, but there is no substitute for the voice, smell, and love of a sister.
Morwinyon, with and without her sister, comes to terms with the knowledge that she was fostered. She tries hard to please Galadriel and Celeborn, although they make it very clear that they love her as if she was their own. "I am not, though," Morwinyon points out to Galadriel one evening as the two sit together, talking. Galadriel has assured Morwinyon that she can say anything she wishes without fear of judgment or scorn, as a mother feels not such things towards her daughter and it seems that something weighs heavily on Morwinyon's mind.
Something does. His name is Minnó. Morwinyon has known him for many years; he is a tall, blonde-haired boy with a face that easily turns bright red from exposure to the sun. He is often associated with Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin, the troublesome brothers who, in the opinions of most grown Elves are nothing but hooligans. Morwinyon is not a grown Elf. She admires and wishes the acceptance of the hoodlums, and something she did to win their favor weighs heavily on her conscience.
The four boys and Morwinyon had been by the river late one night, under the full moon. The discussion turned to the beauty of the water, somehow, and how refreshing it would be to take a swim just then. The boys all dared each other to jump on in, but of course none of them did, and none dared Morwinyon, the young tag-along. That young tag-along, however, grew weary of this debate. She stripped off her clothes and dove with perfect form into the water. By the light of the moon Morwinyon felt softer, more feminine, as she came gracefully back to the surface. She tried to hide her shivers as she asked, "Will none of you join me?"
"You crazy twat, get out of there!" cried Haldir, grabbing her clothes and holding them out to her, eyes shut. "You'll get us into trouble for sure!"
"Oh, do relax," Morwinyon said. After a time she adjusted to and enjoyed the temperature of the water. She liked the feel of her wet hair matted to her back, of swimming strongly back and forth. Finally the boys were growing frantic, trying to urge her out. Morwinyon climbed gracefully back onto the bank, not minding that she was standing naked as water dripped from her body. "Towel?" she asked, only joking, then thoroughly soaked her undergarments.
"Are you decent?" asked Rumil, averting his eyes like the other boys.
"Quite," she assured them. As the five tramped back through the forest, Minnó came to walk next to Morwinyon.
"You shouldn't do things like that," he told her. "You could get into a lot of trouble with those stunts, or even get hurt."
"I am sorry I made you uncomfortable," said Morwinyon, sensing it in his voice. She got the strangest feelings around Minnó. If it weren't for him, she would probably have no interest in Haldir and the others. She liked him, she thought, though it was difficult to know, really. It was not until hours later, as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, that Morwinyon realized that she had jumped into the river to impress Minnó.
"With Celebrían gone, you are my only child left," says Galadriel. "You have always been my baby girl, but now you are my only girl." Morwinyon looks up at her in shock. She is touched by the words of the older woman, and for many moments cannot speak. At long last, Morwinyon finds her words.
"Mother," she says, laying her head on Galadriel's knee, "I think I may love someone."
"Oh," replies Galadriel with a knowing air. She does not believe that her daughter is in love. Morwinyon is hardly out of girlhood. She tries to imitate Celebrían sometimes, and this may just be another one of those times. "If you are uncertain, Morwinyon, it is not true love. There is no reason to rush these things, they will happen on their own if you let them."
"I suppose. . ." Morwinyon consents.
Galadriel frowns and would continue, but at that moment Celeborn enters carrying a letter. "Celebrían sends word," he says to the two women. "She cannot come this winter, and apologizes for not sending word sooner."
"No!" exclaims Morwinyon, jumping to her feet. She needs Celebrían. A winter without Celebrían is like a day without air. She just cannot get through another year without a visit from her sister. "Then. . .if she cannot come here. . .I shall go to her!" exclaims Morwinyon.
"If you must," consents Celeborn, "but it is a dangerous journey so late in the year."
"I have to see her," says Morwinyon. Galadriel looks to her husband, and they nod. This is something Morwinyon must do, and thus they shall allow it. Together with her mother, Morwinyon packs her things for the trip.
"Morwin," Galadriel says as the daughter and her parents eat supper together for the last time in what will surely be quite a while. "Do be careful."
"Don't worry, Mother," Morwinyon says, shrugging off her concern. "I'll take care of myself." Galadriel cannot look at her daughter as the feeling of rejection swells in her. She is being shut out, the Lady realizes. Morwinyon sees this, and it nearly breaks her heart to think that she has caused such pain. Before she can think she reaches over silently and caresses her mother's hand, resting their hands together.
Celeborn clears his throat before either woman can begin to cry. "You never did like that Elrond much, did you?" he asks Morwinyon. "I only ask because you must realize that visiting Celebrían in her home means visiting him as well, and a guest should always be polite. No spitting on his boots, Mor, no sabotage--"
"I never!" she exclaims, blushing because she knows full well that she did.
"Should you be tempted, just remember that you represent all of Lothlorien," Celeborn suggests. "Keep your dyes where they belong and your spittle in your mouth, where it belongs." At this last comment Morwinyon cannot help but laugh, amused at the absurdity of it and amused that her father knew for so many years that she spit on Elrond's boots.
Though they think they miss her already, Celeborn and Galadriel have no idea of the emotions that will be stirred in them the next night. They do not know that they will sit alone at the table and try to make conversation, or that they will go through the motions of an average day, trying not to think of their little daughter. They do not know that when night falls, it will be Celeborn who cries in his wife's arms, and Galadriel who keeps her tears within her. They will not know, then, that Morwinyon is not crying, much as she wants to, but trying to pretend it is a game. What they do know is that she grew up all too fast.
*****
Two weeks later, Morwinyon awakes with a cry. It takes a moment for her to realize where she is: on the ground in the wilderness. She has had another one of her dreams, which she is all too used to. The night terrors she had as a child never went away. No one knows but her. Sometimes the things she sees come to pass, and it frightens her more than anything else, especially on nights like tonight.
Tonight, Morwinyon dreamed of Celebrían. In the dream she saw her sister out in the snow with two young boys. The boys were dark-haired and very young, hardly able to stand. Celebrían watched them play, so absorbed in their activity that she does not notice when the snow begins to fall, harder and harder, until she cannot even be seen--
"Cel," Morwinyon whispers, and she gets to her feet. This is it; Morwinyon must reach Imladris before next she rests or it will drive her mad. She gathers her supplies and mounts her horse, nudging him into a full gallop. She has to get there, no matter how far it is, no matter how tired she may get. Celebrían is more important. . .she has to warn her!
Morwinyon is so busy worrying about Celebrían that she does not notice when the snow begins to fall. The chill does not reach her as she hurries on. In fact, she only notices that it is snowing when she cannot see an inch in front of her. "All right," she tells herself, "stay calm. You can do this, just keep going straight ahead. . .just keep going. . ." This mantra she keeps up until she can no longer. The world goes black as Morwinyon slumps forward in her saddle.
*****
"You seem to have quite a knack for getting yourself lost in the snow, Little Light."
Morwinyon turns her face towards the sound of the voice. Her vision is groggy, at first, but as things come into focus she groans. "Vedui, Elrond," she mumbles under her breath.
"Are you all right?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Cel, where is she?" Morwinyon asks suddenly, sitting bolt upright as the memory of her dream comes back to her. "Where is my sister?" She throws back the covers and steps out of bed, shivering from the cold as her feet hit the floor. Elrond reacts at once, urging her to lie down.
"You were out in the snow unconscious, Morwinyon, even an Elf is not immune to--"
"Where is my sister? Tell me now or I shall find her myself!" Morwinyon demands angrily, shoving Elrond's hand from her shoulder. A worried look comes over his face, as if he is unsure of what to say. Morwinyon is suddenly afraid that she was too late, and is about to cry out when a voice from behind her stops her.
"I am here, Morwinyon."
"Celebrían!" Morwinyon runs to her sister and embraces her. Something in that hug feels odd. . .drawing away, Morwinyon gasps.
"Yes," Celebrían laughs. "You see, this is why I could not come to you!" She rests her hands over her swollen belly. "I am too far, now, for travel. But oh, how perfect, you are here now!"
"I did not want to spend a winter without you," Morwinyon mutters.
"I dreaded it, also," Celebrían replies, "but everything is perfect now-- wait. Mor, Mother and Father know you are here, do they not? You did not run away, Morwinyon, tell me you did not!"
"I did not!" Morwinyon tells her sister. "They know I am here. You were right, Cel. It is perfect."
*****
"Have you a name chosen?" Morwinyon asks as she and Celebrían sit by the hearth, a burning fire providing warmth and light. They are in Morwinyon's room, or the room she will be staying the winter in. Both sisters know the meaning of this question, for they have spoken of little other than the child in Celebrían's belly.
"Elladan, if it is a boy, and if it is a girl Arwen," Celebrían says with a nod and a smile, unable to keep her hand from that swollen spot, the skin tight as a drum. "I cannot wait for him to arrive."
"Arwen. . ." Morwinyon rolls the name on her tongue. "I like it," she says. "It will be a pleasure to meet this Arwen or Elladan."
"Aye, and a pleasure not to be so often kicked!" jokes Celebrían. She leans back in her chair, then says, "I am off to bed, Morwinyon. A pleasant evening to you, and a restful sleep."
"Pleasant dreams," Morwinyon replies as her sister gets up, kisses her forehead, and leaves. Moments later there comes another knock at the door. "Enter," she calls, thinking that it could be no one but Celebrían--perhaps she forgot something earlier. It is Celebrían, however.
"We need to talk," says Elrond as he sits in the chair recently vacated by Celebrían.
"Do we?" she hates him--no point in any more than thinly masking it.
"At least for Celebrían's sake. What is it, Morwinyon? Why do you hate me so much? I never meant to hurt you, Little Light, and I am sorry if I ever did. You told me once that if I ever hurt your sister you would make me suffer, well, I want you to know that I would never hurt her. She is the greatest treasure anyone could ever love--are you listening to me?"
Morwinyon is not. She is thinking instead. That name. . .where has she heard it before? Before she can remember, a shout pierces her thoughts. "Celebrían!" exclaim Morwinyon and Elrond together, jumping to their feet. They rush down the corridor to her aid, only to be ushered out of the room by a midwife.
"She does not need a worried husband, go to!" insists the woman. Morwinyon wanders off at once, knowing that she will not be granted entrance and ought not waste her time. Elrond stays outside of the bedchamber for a time, unsure of what to do. At long last he ambles off.
Elrond seeks solitude and meditation in the gardens. Edelweiss and freak roses grow through the snow. By the rose bush, which sports blood red blossoms, a bent figure sits on a stone bench, resting her head in her hands. Elrond does not shy away, but chooses instead to approach her. He brushes snow from the bench and sits beside his sister in law. "You should be wearing a cloak, you know," he says with a cynical half-laugh.
"Huh," Morwinyon replies, but makes no move to retrieve the aforementioned garment. Elrond sighs, then unclasps his own cloak and drapes it across her shoulders. Finally a response: Morwinyon looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "It was you, wasn't it? That night in the snow, just after I was so mean to you. You brought me back inside."
"Yes," Elrond replies. "You never knew?"
Morwinyon shakes her head. "Not until you called me Little Light just before. I thought it was my mother. I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time before. Looking back, you tried to be a brother to me."
"And I failed there, as I shall fail as a father now," Elrond says, betraying his worries before he can think.
"Oh, Elrond, no! You will be a wonderful father. I know from the way you never gave up on me. Your little Elladan or Arwen is truly blessed."
After a long pause, Elrond works up the courage to say, "Thanks, Morwinyon."
They say no more as a wail splits the air, the cry of a newborn babe. The sound is followed by another, similar call. Elrond looks up, excited. Morwinyon turns her face in the direction of the sound, then looks at Elrond. "Are you ready to go and meet your twin children?" she asks.
An hour later, Elrond holds the tiny creature in his arms. They have named the first boy Elladan, and the second Elrohir. Celebrían is asleep, exhausted. Morwinyon observes the careful father interact with his son, his gleeful sobs having stopped for the moment. He still smiles as he looks down at the boy, Elrohir. Elladan is asleep in his crib.
Carefully she lays a hand on his shoulder. "What do you think now, brother?" she asks in a whisper.
"I think these are two very lucky little boys."
