Sorrow and Joy

Chapter Four

Sorry for the exceptionally long pause between chapters. It's been a bit of a chaotic year.

Thanks to Lalaith and Isis for betaing this.

Reviews are really very good for my muse. ;)

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Celebrían awoke to the slightly disconcerting sensation of something landing on her legs with a soft thump. For a moment she lay there, trying to gather her sleep-scattered wits, only to have them dispersed again by a second thump. She groaned, her face squashed into the pillows by the pair of elflings dancing energetically on her back with bare dusty feet Elrond's hand found hers under the covers and squeezed reassuringly

"Your children," she whispered, her breath ruffling his hair, but he only grinned.

With a mock sigh, the Lady of Imladris rolled onto her back, catching her young sons round their waists to stay their antics before they managed to end up on the floor. The elflings squealed and squirmed happily, and Celebrían was confronted with two pairs of over-eager grey eyes framed by sleep-tousled dark hair.

"Now, what can it be which has awakened you so early this morn?" she teased, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Ammë..." they chorused, shock and horror showing in their faces. "You cannot have forgotten!"

"Forgotten what?"

"You cannot have forgotten!" they repeated adamantly.

"But you must know that your mother is very absent-minded," Elrond said seriously, but there was a wicked glint in his somber eyes.

Celebrían shot him a look which promised seriously retribution later, and turned back to her sons. "So, pen-nîn tithin, what have I forgotten this time?" she asked innocently.

"Our begetting day!" they clamoured.

"Oh yes!" She clapped one hand across her mouth. "I remember now. I wonder if I remembered gifts too…"

"You never forgot!" Elladan cried, grinning broadly. "Elrohir, I bet you an iced bun that ammë never forgot about our begetting day after all…"

Elrohir bounced excitedly, his hair flying. "May we have our gifts now, ammë? Please?"

"Nay. First you must dress, and, once we have broken our fast, then you may see your gifts."

She slumped back on the pillows and watched as they scampered from the room, jostling each other companionably to be the first through the arched doorway which led to the corridor to their rooms.

"Well, meleth-nîn," Elrond said with a smile, "we should be up, or else the twins will have driven Glorfindel to distraction before breakfast is served."

"Can we not stay here?" Celebrian burrowed underneath the covers to emphasis her point. "There is a chill in the corridors, but here there is warmth enough for two."

Her husband lowered his lips to hers and kissed her softly, slowly, tenderly. "I would love to accept your invitation, Brí-nîn but I fear we shall not go long undisturbed if we remain here and do not present our relentless offspring with the gifts they demand."

With a groan, she rolled from the bed, reaching for a thick gown in which to wrap herself until she could take the edge off the winter's chill with a warm bath and a warmer robe.

~*~

It proved to be a feat of skill and endurance indeed to keep the twins in their seats during breakfast. Even as they were toasted with spiced wine by the population of the Last Homely House, their names resounding in the Great Hall, they were restlessly excited, sweetened warm milk spilling from their mugs as they jiggled on their chairs, fidgeting with the honeyed pastries provided for the occasion, crumbling them into bits beneath their fingertips. Glorfindel caught his friend's gaze and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Rather you than I, mellon-iaur."

"I would wish myself in no other position." Elrond smiled tenderly at his sons. Then he paused, and pulled a fragment of pastry, covered in dried fruits and sticky icing, from his braided tresses. One long-fingered hand clamped around Elrohir's wrist as he was about to fling another such morsel at his elder twin, undoubtedly to miss again and hit his noble sire. "Nay, ion-nîn. This is no seemly behaviour for an elfling. And you would not like to be thought an orcling, now would you?"

Elrohir ducked his head in shame and mumbled something indecipherable under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Sorry, Adar."

"Good." Elrond ruffled his hair affectionately. "These pastries really are much more pleasant to eat than to throw."

Glorfindel smirked. "You were saying?"

"Nothing, mellon-nîn. Absolutely nothing."

He stood, checking his hair and clothing for any more unusual surprises, and raised his goblet. "To my sons, Elladan and Elrohir, to the valley and the House which are their home, and to the lady who gave them life, my Lady Celebrían."

Once the cheering had faded somewhat, Celebrían rose to her feet, and smiled. "To my sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and to my lord husband."

In the evening, more toasts would be drunk, but at this age the elflings would be unlikely to stay awake for any great part of it, much though they averred each year that they would. Instead, the morning's toast drunk with a draft of hippocras, and of honeyed, spiced milk for the elflings, had become a custom in Imladris which none would willingly forsake.

When all was done, and there was little left of the repast save crumbs and fruit peel, the crowd dispersed, going about their daily tasks. The Lord and Lady, however, were dragged off towards their living quarters by their sons, who were entirely intent on reaching their goal, no matter what stood in the way, even if that did happen to be a solid wall.

The twins ricocheted around their chambers like misfired crossbow bolts, their clothes in an increasing state of disarray, their faces tense with excitement and not a little trepidation.

"What if they have got us clothes?" Elladan elbowed his twin in the ribs.

Elrohir shrugged. "We shall just have to pretend that they get lost in the laundry so they have to give us new gifts."

"But Ada always knows when we lie…" But he never finished, for his parents had returned. The packages in their arms certainly did not seem to be clothes. For one thing, they looked to be far too small, and for another, there was no hint that the contents might be malleable under their silken wrappings, bound with gaudy ribbons in the colours of their House.

Elrond placed a package in each pair of outstretched hands, and stepped back to watch that which ensued.

Elrohir felt his heart pounding in his throat as his childish fingers struggled with the intricate knots, trying to find out how to manipulate them to free the contents which slipped so enticingly beneath his touch. He bit his lip in concentration, determined that he would not have to ask his amme or ada for help. To his left, he heard Elladan's cry of triumph, and just as he felt most frustrated, the last knot gave way beneath his fingers, and the silken wrappings parted. Then, he, too, squeaked happily, his braids bobbing as he hopped from one foot to the other.

In his hands lay a weapon that could be classed neither as a dagger, nor as a sword, for it was something in between them in size. Its blade was leaf-shaped and delicate, but the elfling could feel the tensile strength in it, the resilience of a blade no ordinary blow could shatter. He turned it over and over, noticing the curved crosspiece, the leather-bound hilt, the simple jewel set in the pommel. The length of the blade was engraved with a pattern of mallorn leaves, entwined with runes. He traced them with one finger, laboriously reading wishes for protection and for peace which would make such a weapon unnecessary.

"Thank you!" He threw himself first into his father's arms, and then his mother's, narrowly missing impaling them with his new gift. In turn, they hugged him, tucking his flailing arm carefully to his side.

"May this begetting day bring you joys uncounted in the years ahead."

He would never be able to remember in which voice's cadence he had heard those words, only that they had been full of amusement, and of love.

Breaking free, he grinned wildly at Elladan. "I challenge you, Orc!"

"Ha!" Elladan threw himself into the fight with an expression of heartfelt glee. The two blades clashed inexpertly, sliding past each other, the cross guards tangling together, separating only with difficulty and the grinding hiss of metal against metal. The elder's blade was swifter in its attempt to find its mark, whistling towards the throat of his brother. No intent of malice was there, but he so wanted to win…

It found fabric…

But instead of his brother's boyishly slender chest, it was his father's narrow hips it met, cutting a neat line through the heavy robes of the Lord of Imladris but drawing no blood.

With gentle hands, Elrond retrieved the knife, weighing it in his grasp. "This is a trust which you bear, and may you bear it well. But always remember that it is a trust, and a deadly one. These are no toys we have given unto you. Your mother and I hope that you derive much enjoyment from them, but you must not use them in idle play, or else you may cause more harm than you can possibly know. And if either of us discover that you have used these blades in anger against any but a creature of the Enemy, they shall no longer be yours to hold."

The twins nodded, chastened, although Elrohir still held his knife as if it was the most precious thing in the entire world. Smiling, Elrond returned its companion to the elder twin. "Would you like to go and play in the snow? I believe that Glorfindel is waiting for you…"

The swift flight of the eagles of Manwë could scarcely have exceeded their rush from the room, the knives already fastened around their waists by the belts and sheaths of supple leather which had accompanied them.

Immediately, Celebrían hurried forward, checking her husband for any signs of blood loss. His grey eyes glinted at her undaunted although he made no attempt to stay her hands. "I am well, meleth-nîn."

Ascertaining for herself that he spoke the truth, she made her way downstairs at a leisurely pace, hand in hand, pausing only to don a heavy cloak.

They found their sons attempting to bury one another in deep snowdrifts and stockpiling caches of loosely packed snowballs. The elflings coughed and spluttered as they inhaled mouthfuls of the drifting snow, but kept their hands conscientiously well away from their new knives, relying instead on the load of snow on the bending branches to assail one another.

Elrohir scaled a bare-branched oak tree with the facility of a squirrel, pelting his sibling, his parents, and his tutor indiscriminately with snowballs garnered from the nooks and crannies of the ancient tree which had stood there even before his father had founded the haven in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Elladan scurried up the tree after him, not so agile, but making up for it in determination, while the older Elves stood on the ground and laughed, not adverse to throwing snowballs among themselves. Celebrían was particularly assiduously occupied shoving fistfuls of snow down the neck of her husband's robes when the elflings leapt from the tree, shrieking delightedly to find their move unexpected. Moving with speed only possible for the Eldar, their parents caught them, staggering slightly at the blow, and found their clothes plastered in snow, even as their faces were covered in slightly sticky kisses.

Laughing, they sat in the midst of the snow, the cool, low sun of midwinter lancing onto their faces, pale and silver even this early in the day. Warm cloaks provided enough comfort against the cold, and from somewhere Glorfindel produced a handful of honeyed sweets, showering them into the elflings' laps with a grin.

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Haldir awoke with a shudder, sweat and tears mingling on his cheeks, salty and sweet, and the bitter tang of defeat lingering in his mouth. He could see the last stars of the night pricking the sky through the heavy awning of the tree. Unwilling, he traced the path of Eärendil the Mariner across the sky until he faded into the West, returning to Aman, to the tower upon the shores of the sea wherein his wife awaited him.

He spat a mouthful of bile over the edge of the talan, cursing as he felt the blankets pull away from him.

It was getting harder; harder to believe that even hatred could right the world.

Silently, he wept until he fell asleep again.

TBC.

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