Chapter One: Children of Sirion

Elrond could hardly believe his eyes as he stood blinking in the sunlight over Sirion, the place of his birth. He noticed he and the Valar were on a flat, paved path, near a curve that wound out of sight along the side of a hill on which they stood.

Mandos and Lórien released his hands and stood beside the elf as he stared around in wonder. Green hills rolled down to the shores of the Sea that sparkled turquoise in the bright morning. A cool breeze rippled the air, refreshing Elrond.

"Was I really born here?" he marvelled.

Lórien nodded. "You were indeed, and on this day as well."

"What day is it?" the elf asked.

"The fourth of April, in the year five hundred twenty-five of the First Age of the Sun," replied Mandos. "And if I am not mistaken, you will be born in precisely fifteen minutes, just around the corner from where we now stand."

"You are correct, brother," nodded Lórien. "It is seven minutes past the eighth hour."

Elrond stood in silent wonderment. Here he was, over six thousand years old, and waiting to be born! It was almost overwhelming.

"It is wondrous, is it not?" said Lórien casually. "I can understand how you might be overcome by the shock of it. Such a thing has not happened in all the years of the world, counted or not."

Elrond turned to look at the Valar beside him. He noticed for the first time that in this light, Mandos' hair, eyes and cloak, which had all seemed pure black, now glimmered with the darkest hues of the spectrum – green, blue, purple and even red. And they caught the light oddly, so that each shimmered with a different shade. The effect when he moved was mesmerizing, the colors softly shifting.

Elrond was jolted to reality as a scream rang out. The elf leapt forth, but Mandos caught him by the shoulder. "Be not alarmed; it is your mother. Soon you shall see the world for the first time – a second time."

To any other person at any other time, this would have made no sense whatsoever. But Elrond understood perfectly. Another cry rent the air, and Elrond's keen ears caught the sound of a voice speaking, the tones brimming with excitement.

"We need another healer! I think there will be two!"

Lórien nudged Elrond forward. "Go on."

The elf bowed respectfully to the Valar before hurrying around the corner.

A tall, dark-haired elf rushed up to him, gasping breathlessly, "Are you a healer, sir?"

"I am," Elrond nodded. "What seems to be the trouble, sir?"

"My name is Eärendil," the elf replied. "My wife, Elwing, is having children. I had only counted on one child, but it seems she has twins. We're short a pair of hands. Could you help?"

"Of course," Elrond said, hastening after the elf. Eärendil – his father! Together they rushed toward the source of all the excitement.

Eärendil led Elrond into a house around the bend. A pregnant elf-woman lay gasping upon a couch, obviously in labour, surrounded by anxious elves. Her chocolate-coloured hair was plastered to her face with perspiration, but her silver-blue eyes were bright.

Eärendil led Elrond forward to his wife's side. Elrond gazed lovingly at the woman who was, and soon would be again, his mother.

"Elwing," said Eärendil, grasping his wife's hand. "Are you all right?"

Elwing nodded, a faint sob escaping her throat.

"I'm fine, love," she gasped. "Ohh—" She gave another cry of anguish.

Elrond winced. Was it really this difficult? He tried to recall the birth of his own twins, but the memory was so vague.

Elwing's labour did not, thank the Valar, last for too much longer. Nearly a quarter of an hour later, Eärendil spoke the fateful words:

"All right, Elwing, once more… Push!"

Elwing wailed again, but the child did not come. Was something wrong? Had the baby slid into a position that kept it from leaving the womb?

"Elrond," said Eärendil. "Come here."

The elf moved hesitantly forward, and his father went on, "Your hands are smaller than mine. I need you to guide the baby out. Can you do that?"

Elrond tried hard to mask his nervousness. "Yes."

"Thank you." Eärendil glanced over at his wife, seeking her assent; she nodded breathlessly, her face pained.

Elrond slid Vilya from his finger and put the ring into his pocket for safekeeping, then prayed silently to the Valar – any that were listening – as he went to work.

He knew that in order for the child to emerge safely from the womb, it had to be facing headfirst. But the unborn infant had turned so that the side of its head, not the top, was toward him. This was not good.

Carefully the half-elf tried to shift the baby's body without harming it. So far, so good. A few moments later he withdrew his hands, rinsing them in a bowl of water an elf offered him. Replacing Vilya on his finger, Elrond spoke to his mother in an exhilarated voice.

"There," he said. "It's all right now, my lady." Mother, he corrected himself mutely.

Elwing nodded, and gave another pained cry.

Elrond cringed, both in concern and pain. His whole body suddenly felt as if it was being squeezed by an enormous hand, or like he was wriggling through an extremely narrow hole.

And as the sensation passed, another voice was raised in a piercing howl.

"It's a boy!" cried one of the elves nearby.

Elrond's heartbeat quickened. Happy birthday to me! he thought. Would this be a once-in-a-lifetime, or twice-in-a-lifetime experience?

Eärendil gently rocked his newborn son in his arms, and Elrond, watching them, felt as if he were swaying as well. He wondered if this was a side-effect of the time travel, like the odd squeezing feeling he had experienced before.

But Elwing was gasping again; the second twin was on its way to the world beyond the womb. Eärendil carefully handed the babe to Elrond before moving to help his wife.

The half-elf gazed down at the child in his arms, who was staring at him through bright blue eyes. Elrond couldn't hold back a smile. Hello, me. He laughed as the infant's tiny fingers closed around Vilya. The baby was single-mindedly intent on getting the ring off the half-elf's hand.

Elrond was delighted. "Accepted your destiny already, have you?" he murmured, so no-one else could hear.

The baby gurgled happily as Elrond spoke. But then two more mingled cries arose from mother and child; the second twin had been born.

Eärendil's face glowed with pride as he held his younger son, smiling at Elrond who held the elder. Elwing's breathing had returned to normal; a nearby elf was gently bathing perspiration from her face. She smiled as Elrond handed her child to her.

"Thank you," she said to the half-elf. "If it weren't for you, my children would never have made it into the world. Might I have your name?"

"My name is Elrond," he replied.

"Elrond," Elwing nodded. "A noble name indeed; and you shall share it with my elder son, if it pleases you."

"It would be an honour, my lady," Elrond smiled. Things were working out well so far.

"Very well," said Elwing decisively, gazing lovingly down at the infant nestled in her arms. "Elrond you shall be."

"And you, little one," said her husband fondly to the babe he held, "shall be named Elros. And Master Elrond," he added, glancing at the elf-lord. "If it pleases you, I would like to name you godfather of our children. For it is by your hands that they were guided into the world."

"Again, I would be honoured, sire," Elrond said solemnly. "But if you will give me leave, I was in the midst of conversing with two very esteemed friends when I heard word of your wife."

"Then bid them come here," spoke up Elwing. "For a great feast shall be held tonight, in honour of our sons."

"I will certainly ask my comrades to attend," said Elrond, with a courteous bow to her. "Good day, my lady… my lord," he added, glancing briefly at Eärendil before he left.