Author's Note: Continuation from 'Curse of the House of Elrond' and 'The Princess of Mirkwood'. Follows Bronwe, Elrond's youngest and supposedly special child as she lives through the years of Sauron's resurgence. This particular chapter shows her at around eight years of life. This is therefore set eight years after the last two prequels.

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"Ada?"

Elrond suppressed a groan very quickly, the little voice disturbing him just at the one point in time when he needed to preserve his train of thought. He put down the quill and looked down with a faint smile. "Yes, Bronwe?"

"Where is Arwen?"

"She has gone to Lothlorien to see Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Why?"

"I want to play with her beads," Bronwe said brightly, "May I, Ada? She won't mind if you say yes."

Elrond refrained from laughing by the shortest of narrow escapes. Arwen's collection of beads was her pride and joy. All her friends and relatives were aware that the only gift one needed to give Arwen was a beautifully made unique bead from somewhere or nowhere and she was happy as a clam. The Elf Lord could just imagine the damage that his youngest could do to that valuable- and breakable- collection.

"No, Bronwe," he answered firmly, "Arwen has asked you not to play with them and you will respect her wishes. When she returns you may ask her yourself."

He turned back to the speech he was trying to write and felt a little hand tug at his robes again. He looked back down.

"But why not now?"

"Bronwe, pen-neth, I am busy. I cannot allow you to play with Arwen's beads and Arwen is not here to say yes herself. Think of another game to play, iel nin."

"But I am bored, Ada!"

"Play with Faer."

"Faer is a cat," she pouted.

Elrond sighed. He loved his daughter dearly, but sometimes... he often wondered what Herdir had placed in the fertility potion to put so much energy into her. He had asked, and had examined all the ingredients with a trained eye but nothing had seemed out of place or especially different. He had eventually ascribed it to the Valar and the frustratingly murky future of the little elfling.

"Were you writing to Ada?"

Had anyone heard it, they might have been very confused. As far as the Elf Lord was concerned, he understood the question referred to Legolas without thought. "Yes. Sit down, Bronwe; I need to tell you something."

She scrambled up into his lap without another word, not bothered if she were to dirty his robes or upset his desk. Elrond knew enough from his previous three children not to care either way. He settled her properly and then looked serious.

"Your Ada sent me a letter this morning," he began softly, "He cannot come next week."

Eyes as blue as the summer sky grew round. They did not fill with tears for the child never cried, but they adopted a look of immeasurable sadness. "Why?" she whispered.

"He wanted to, very much. But there is trouble in Mirkwood and he does not have the time. He promises to come as soon as he can. But that may be in a few more months. Iel nin, he says to tell you he loves you. He also says he wants another cup of mud the next time he comes; why is that?"

Bronwe giggled and flushed under her father's caustic eye, trying to hide the sound in her hand. Elrond was reminded of Legolas' enthusiastic belief that his daughter was the prettiest elfling in all of Arda. It was Elrond's belief that Bronwe was also the most mischievous. She not only had Arwen's air of innocence and persuasiveness, but the twins' mind for tricks. Erestor was avoiding her at all costs.

"Bronwe?"

"It was tea," she protested, still laughing.

The Lord of Imladris felt his control over his smile slipping and welcomed the tap at the door with relief. Glorfindel looked in and smiled.

"I see you have Bronwe here," the seneschal remarked, "Perhaps that is for the best. There is an alarmingly bright pink cat roaming the Hall of Fire."

Elrond's jaw dropped. Bronwe had dyed the cat bright pink? He groaned at the thought of Faer's displeasure. Bronwe only smirked in a far from penitential way. Indeed, she looked rather like a well-fed kitten herself. Standing, he planted her firmly on the floor and glared down at her, softening the look just a little in deference to her tender years.

"Bronwe?"

"Yes, Ada?"

Glorfindel was dying to be elsewhere so he could roll on the floor in laughter. The daughter was currently doing a very good imitation of her father, her arms crossed and her delicately drawn eyebrow rising as she gazed up at him. Elrond shot him a dark glare and he stilled. He was almost undone as one of her tiny feet began to tap impatiently against the floor.

"Bronwe, why is Faer dyed pink?"

"She wanted me to do it." No fuss, no bother- just total belief.

"Why would the cat want to be pink? If she were meant to be pink, she would have been born pink!"

"Ada, were you born without your robes?"

Elrond stared. "Pardon?" he gasped.

"Well, if you were born without robes, then why do you wear them?"

Glorfindel burst out laughing, unable to control himself any longer. This little one had his unflinching adoration, unwed and childless as he himself was. And she adored him too. Elrond recovered from his shock while sourly watching Bronwe squeal as she was swept up into the Balrog Slayer's strong arms and flung up to the ceiling. He would have found it funny too, except he shuddered to think where her sense of reasoning would land her if she had no morals.

Glorfindel finally saw the look on the face of his Lord and whispered something in Bronwe's ear. She looked too and instantly calmed. She was set gently on her feet where she walked back to position and stared at her shoes.

"Bronwe, it may seem funny now, but such a trick can be quite dangerous," Elrond began, "Suppose Faer has swallowed some of the dye? She may get ill."

"She will?"

"She might, iel nin."

"I- I don't want her to get ill," the child confirmed, shaking her dark head vigorously.

Elrond sighed and bent down to meet her eye-to-eye. "Go and bring her to me and we shall see what we can do, hmmm? And please, Bronwe, do not dye anything or anyone any colour at all for a few more years."

She nodded vigorously and took off out the door, running like the little rabbit that Elrohir nicknamed her. Glorfindel paused only long enough to see her disappear down the corridor before shutting the door securely. "She is a handful, my Lord," he commented dryly.

Grey eyes laughed with him even as the mouth remained stern and unsmiling. "Yes. Where she gets it from, I do not know." A delicately arched dark eyebrow rose as the blond choked. "Was it something I said?"

"No, my Lord," Glorfindel murmured, "I was only remembering a trick that a friend of mine used to play, one that involved putting glue on the seats of the chairs in the dining hall during a feast?"

Elrond coughed and sat down, hiding his sudden flush by turning hurriedly back to his letter. "An interesting prank," was all he would say, "Was there something you wanted in particular?"

"Yes, my Lord. Erestor asked what was to be done about Bronwe's begetting day celebration. Will Legolas be here? And what about others her age?"

"Subject impressionable young elflings to my little orcling? Glorfindel, surely you would not do so!"

"Talk sense, Elrond!"

"Oh. Are you accusing me of speaking nonsense? I am surprised at you. Such unbecoming familiarity and severity to the one to whom you owe allegiance!"

Glorfindel sighed morosely. Once Elrond was in this mood, there was no turning him. Or reasoning with him! Indeed, there were only two who could do so- Legolas and Arwen. Bronwe was too small and Elladan and Elrohir were too much away. It would end with someone threatening to hit the legendary elven warrior and that, knowing Elrond's self-defence skills very intimately, would be a mistake.

"Have my sons returned?"

"They have not. But we do not expect them for another two days. But you haven't answered my question yet, my Lord. Erestor really does want to finalize with the guest list. He needs to inform the chefs of the numbers."

"Legolas cannot make it," Elrond said heavily.

Glorfindel looked surprised and then compressed his lips so as not to say anything that would be out of place. It was none of his business, he told himself; it was nothing to him if a father could not be there for his daughter's begetting day.

Elrond's sorrow lifted at that familiar look of disapproval. "He cannot leave Mirkwood now; the spiders are becoming bolder. And the orcs are pressing ever inwards."

"This sounds serious. Should we not send aid?"

"It is," Elrond agreed wryly, "But Thranduil still, uh, disapproves of seeking my assistance. Legolas spent an unhealthy part of his letter trying to mediate between the seriousness that keeps him from his daughter and the promise that the trouble is not that wide-spread. I do not know what it is that makes him think I will be offended."

"It is no secret that there is tension between you and the King of Mirkwood, mellon nin."

"Not by my hand, I promise you! He still persists in blaming me for what was not my fault. I do not understand him... perhaps I should send a tentatively bland offer of help?"

Glorfindel laughed at the worried look on the Elf Lord's face, but shook his head. "It would only anger him. Will he be attending the day's celebration?"

"Ada?"

Both started as the little voice called through the doorway. A piteous miaow accompanied it, reminding them of why the little child was coming back. Glorfindel obligingly opened the door and then the child was once more scrambling up into the Lord of Imladris' lap.

Elrond took the cat with a long-suffering sigh and stared distastefully at the bedraggled pink fur while his daughter happily settled in against him. He put the abused cat on the desk and gently checked her over. Bronwe sat quiet, her head against his chest and her eyes round as berries while she soberly observed everything.

Glorfindel watched in amusement as father and daughter sat in silence, haloed by the cloudy sky through the window. Such was the picture he had observed for the past fifty years. It was becoming all the sweeter as such peaceful moments became rarer.

For his children alone Elrond would smooth his habitual frown of concentrated worry. For his children alone would he talk of inconsequential things like pink cats and parties. And for one elf alone would he ease away the mask enough to confide his fears. Glorfindel had hoped to see the tensions lessen as the day of Legolas' return loomed closer. But now... he shook his head in frustration.

"Glorfindel?"

He looked down to see Bronwe. Absently he picked her off the floor, holding her against his hip as Elrond let the cat go. "The dye will come out soon enough," he heard, "We need only leave it be."

He nodded and let Bronwe go when she asked. The patter of little feet retreated and he turned back to face the look of enquiry on his Lord's face.

"You do not look happy," Elrond observed quietly.

"I'm not," Glorfindel admitted, "This darkness... it is growing too fast and we are not ready. There is too much at stake for us all if we fail. This business in Mirkwood has me worried."

"It worries me too. Albeit for different reasons," the half-elf admitted, tugging at a braid before pushing it behind his ear.

"The Prince will be fine," his friend assured him, "He is a rather lucky person. And that combined with his skill makes him very deadly to spiders and orcs."

"He is also accident-prone. Especially when Estel is with him."

"Estel is...?"

Elrond nodded.

"They will be here for healing in a few days after saving someone from deadly peril."

"Tis what I said," Elrond laughed. "But pray the Valar will smile on their sorry heads a few more months. Once they are under my roof I will breath easier."

"As will we all," Glorfindel muttered fervently, "There is no telling what will happen when Estel and Legolas get together! They are almost as bad as your Bronwe!"

"Well, I do try to remind people that she is his daughter. She must inherit something from him."

"Ai Elbereth! She is the daughter of both of you! We are doomed!"