Elladan, son of Elrond, did not return for many years. He spend two generations of men away from his family, causing his brother to become as him. The wrath of the twin sons of Elrond became the thing of legend.

Stories often returned to the Hidden Vale. Stories of a masterful swordsman who was known as the Orc Slayer amongst the Dúnedain. He was a hero to them, a great leader who would enable them to protect themselves against the evils that had always attacked them.

But to his father, who continued under the great fear of kinslaying, his fame was only empty destruction. It was a prophesy of death, of upcoming cursing. When would it be assuaged? When would the end come? Would it bring about his sons' death or could they be saved yet?

And Lírëya too had not stopped hoping for the return of the Elf that she loved. Between them had always been the keen knowledge of a bond, a union in their songs which had been sung before they had been conceived. To hear of his deeds, to know of the madness that would be swelling up in him, she felt her own life grow less colorful and her rejoicing in the song of Eru to become dry.

The doors of Elrond's study burst open and Lindir, his Steward, bowed unevenly. " Aran-nín, pardon the interruption, but I have grave news to tell you?"

Elrond leaned back from that potion that he was distilling and wiping his hands on the silken robe he wore he waited for the news. " Tell me, Lindir."

" Lord Glorfindel found a band of Orcs slaughtered at the secret passageway. Amongst their dead were the bodies of several wounded Rangers. They were able to tell the Seneschal that their master had led the rest of the troop away to destroy the remainder of the Orcs. They called him Glamdagnir(Slayer of Orcs) and that he rides with Aragost, Chieftain of the Dúnedain." Lindir's pale face was taut and he was aware of what he spoke. " Do you think?"

" Assuredly. It seems that my sons have returned to their beginnings. Though I do wonder," Elrond looked off to the left, his mind running through every memory that he had of them at peace, " if they can ever truly return as they were?"

Lindir was silent, waiting for his lord's recognition. " Lindir?"

" Aran-nín?"

" Send out the guard and patrol the borders. Invite the Dúnedain and my sons to the Hall of Fire. Do not come back without my children." Elrond's gray eyes pierced steely into Lindir's. " Do not."

Lindir bowed, his head bent in obligation. " I assure you that we shall not return without them."

He then quickly left the presence of his master, but not before he caught sight of the fear, pure unadulterated fear, that was etched upon his features. A bloodthirsty elf was one to fear. Fear for what he could cause.

As Elrond gazed down at his apothecary, he stiffened at the rustling of silken cloth. A woman had entered, her scent beguilingly that of snowdrop and lake water. " I assume that you are aware of the tidings."

" Yes. I heard. So-"

" He has come back."

" Yes, he has come back." She stepped alongside him, running a single finger along the seam of his cloak. " But has he truly?"

Elladan rejoiced at the sight of his homeland and old perceptions of peace, safety, and purity assailed him. The sound of singing Elves and the lyres mingling with the pipes and flutes reminded him of his father's old lessons about the nature of Iluvatar and the Valar. How their music still thrilled the world, promising good against the discordant doggrel of the Balrogs and Melkor.

Elrohir turned towards his brother and exchanged glances with Aragost. He was proud, young man who had been trained with the brothers at Rivendell, as was the privilege of the Chieftains of the Dúnedain. He had learned their moods and their deep and abiding love of their mother. He too had wept for the loss of the Lady of Imladris and could comprehend their desire to root out the evil in the world. But Elladan had become something that even the man could not comprehend.

" Brother, you are pleased to return?" Elrohir queried.

" Yes. I am quite pleased. I hope that Atar(father) will be pleased with me and that Lírëya still rejoices in my presence." Elladan sent a blushing glance to his brother who chuckled at this while Aragost knew better than to tease him.

" So you only desire the embraces of your lover?"

" We are not lovers. We have yet to wed." Elladan told him, anger tinging his words.

Elrohir shrugged indeed. " But the silver rings adorn your fingers. You will soon wed. Perhaps even in this time that we visit."

Elladan was slightly mollified. " Perhaps so. I dearly desire such a thing." But then he fell silent, the clip-clop of the Rangers' horses echoing in a composition that was more familiar to him lately than that sacred music of his own people.

He fingered the sword hilt at his side and wondered what his father would think of him. Would he be proud or would disgust and disdain decorate his fëa? Truly, he did not know. And what was worse, deep within his spirit, he did not really think that his father would be proud. Beneath the omnipresent hate and madness of evil and their deeds, he was deeply aware that his father had nothing to be proud of.

Elrond looked up at his sons, pride blossoming as he saw their direct carriage, their handsome features, and the respect which was embossed upon the features of the Rangers that were beside them. He saw that his sons led them, Aragost aware of all the skill that they had to offer.

This knowledge frightened him a little. His sons must be aid and friends to the Dúnedain leader, but they must not become the Chieftain. Such a deference to the Elves could lead to a Second Waning.

Lírëya kept her features lowered, her soul trembling with terrors and fears while her heart, that which still loved, rejoiced and could not wait for the long wait to be over. They must never be separated again, she said. But yet, could she bear to be with him forever?

Elladan dismounted from his perlino mare and bowed graciously to his father, extending his hand in the ancient Elvish greeting. " Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo( A star is shining over the time of our meeting)."

Elrond bowed as was expected of him, but then before his sons could react, he leapt across the marbled courtyard and took both of them into his arms. " Feanya linda cenita let. Nán alassea pà omentiengwa, nín yondor(My soul sings to see you. I am joyous about our meeting, my sons)."

Elrohir chuckled and clasped his father tightly around the neck, small tears of joy decadently sliding down his cheeks. Elladan, however, reacted stiffly, still for much longer than any son of Elrond should have been. But then he too rejoiced in his father's love and leaned into the safety that he provided.

But soon the moment for emotion must pass. Elrond removed himself from his sons, only looking to see that no obvious scars had marred their bodies. And then he turned to his guest, bowing in recognition of the Heir of Isildur. " Mai omenina(Welcome), Aragost, son of Arahad, Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Anda lúme avánie(A long time has passed)."

As Aragost returned the greetings of his foster father, Elladan turned to she who had promised to be his wife. Her scarlet locks fell unfettered and gray eyes fixed him immediately. Of willowy form, she stood as tall as him and was possessed of great strength. Evidently, she had taken up her training again while he had been gone. " Feanya linda cenita tye, melda Lírëya( My soul sings to see you, beloved Lírëya)."

She bent her head in a scant greeting and then with strict dignity, she queried, " The Dunédain call you Glamdagnir. What have you done to earn such an epithet?"

Elladan was struck with silence. " Am I to receive no embrace nor welcome from she who is one of my soul?"

" Once I am aware who I welcome. How did you earn it, Elladan?" She forced her point, drawing near so that the hypnotic effect of her Fëanorian eyes would fall upon him.

Elladan felt himself shrinking and then turned to his brother. Elrohir was to happy to be by his father's side again and was currently involved in speaking with his quickly maturing sister. " We had the good fortune to destroy one of the smaller Orc kingdoms near Carn Dûm."

" Did you kill them all alone?"

" No. I had the aid of a small detachment of Rangers. But we destroyed the entirety of them, Lírëya. I have earned the name honorably." Elladan felt his fëa rising up in protest at this remark and knew from the dangerous kindling in Lírëya's eyes that she felt the falseness.

Lírëya bent her head. Unaware to Elladan, her heart was crying and her soul torn into a thousand webs. " Did you kill them all or were some left to know the fearsome torture of dying whilst still alive?"

Elrohir had heard the bent of the conversation and came over. He bowed to his friend and then shrugged, " My lady, you know that with such a grief as ours we could not kill them without leaving some horrible tale so that the Orcs shall fear our wrath."

Lírëya straightened and greeted Elrohir, embracing him where she had not Elladan. " Elladan, you asked me if I would greet you or embrace you. I cannot. I will not. For my soul is bound to Elladan Elrondiôn, but it is not he who has returned to me. Welcome to Imladris, my lords. May you enjoy the rest of the Elves."

She returned to her rooms, mindlessly tracing the corridors of the Last Homely House. The mockery of her life rose before her eyes and she remembered her father, the haunting darkness in his eyes and the terrible crimes that he still had stamped in blood upon his hands. She wondered if he had found peace when he killed himself; if Eru had been able to restore his song; if he had begged forgiveness of Eru. And she too wondered if one day she should have to wonder the same thing of Elladan. Iluvatar knew she already was.

The wrath of the eldest twin of Elrond was palpable; following the denouement between him and Lírëya, all Elves had been careful to avoid his presence.

This was made difficult because all of them wished to greet him upon his return. It was something engrained within them, as was their love and devotion to the descendent of the family of Fingolfin. But as Lindir was wont to say, " Better to be negligent in respect, than to encourage someone in an outburst of wrath."

Ellladan, after several botched attempts to speak with the lady, had retired to his rooms. There were sounds of violence that echoed once he had isolated himself. Elrohir went to try and soothe the maligned Lord, but the ruddy blotch asserting itself upon his features showed with what respect he had been treated.

Elrond trembled within himself, wondering what horrors had come to his household. His eldest had descended into fits of harm against his own kin. Surely the shedding of blood would soon be forthcoming. And he too thought of the elleth who was to wed his son. She would not. Not now. She would rather be tortured by elves and her fëa left to danger.

And thus it was that he knelt in the garden that had housed his wife's memories and most fond moments with his children and prayed. " Eru, Allfather, Master of this Earth, You know in what state my son has returned to me. Often I have cried that Your song of peace would enter him and he would be changed. That he would accept the mastery of Your command. But yet, he still refuses to do so. His only desire is his own will and his own determination of what is right in this earth. Oh, my Lord, I beg of Thee, please restrain my son and keep him from the this great evil that rears its head within him. Please let no kindred blood seep from his sword."

The heavy sorrow of his soul was not soothed nor was there a conscious promise that all would be well. But he knew, as all Elves know, that the song of Iluvatar burned ever brighter at his faith. And he perceived that what would happen would happen: only he would not be alone in all of it.

" Elladan, won't you follow me hither to the Hall of Fire? Father desires that you would make an appearance for those that have yet to welcome you." Elrohir bargained with his brother's insensate door. " Lírëya will be there. She would never neglect a celebration no matter the vein of her spirit. Won't you break out of this huff? It doesn't become the Orcslayer. Even Aragost who's seen you at your worst is worried for you."

Elladan focused only upon the mellifluousness of his brother's cadence, refusing to give credence to his words. But his own desire to see his betrothed was quickly giving him masterful arguments why he should leave his room. And in the end, that desire common to all races won out. Love or desire for a single person will always rule over one's better or worse judgement.

" Aye, hanno(brother)," Elladan spoke begrudgingly through the door. " I suppose that it serves me better to see her than to talk outside her door."

Elrohir huffed and then gave him a shrewd look when he came out of his room. " Of course. It suits you to argue face to face. Yet, your love for me is so great that I am left to haunt your corridors like a whipping boy looking for his next assignment."

Elladan gave him a wry look. " Enough of this. Let's to the Hall."

Elrohir appeared as though he desired to speak further, but he accepted his brother's invitation and walked by his side.

The Hall of Fire gleamed before them, and both Elves quickened their footsteps until they entered the Hall, their raven hair glinting with fire woven gems and the gold of their clothes becoming false besides the luxurious red gilt the fiery hall was alight with. Elves and men wove about in a cunning weave of company, tolerance, and love. Here and there the poet elves who knew the songs of both nations spun their trade while the flutists and the harpers skillfully plucked the strings of a dozen instruments.

Híril Arwen stood in royal court alongside her father as each Elf made his greetings and every Man stood speechless in the blossoming moonlight of her beauty. Elrohir nudged his brother to go stand with her but found that he was alone. For one moment, he was uncertain where his brother had gone off, suffering from the confusing warmth and light of the Hall.

Then a startled shout and he found his brother. And what he found sent a knife wrenching into his heart even as Lord Elrond shouted, " Elladan, vá! Á pusta!( Elladan, don't! Stop!)"

Elladan, upon entering the Hall, had immediately sought out the spirit of his affianced wife. What he had seen had shocked him. Lírëya had been singing the Song of Beren and Luthíen, her features animated with the respect that ancient story stirred. Besides her, his harp bending and bowing with the expression of his body had been Lindir. At first, Elladan had merely left his brother's side to attend to Lírëya. But it had been the tears in her eyes and the sorrowing of her features that had alerted him to trouble. And then, once the song was finished, she had turned with great dignity and love to Lindir and had embraced him. They had exchanged a tender kiss and then Lírëya, clinging to his hand, had stepped away from Lindir.

Lindir had made to follow her, his slender features betraying the graveness of the situation when Elladan had arrested them both. " Lírëya, what is this that I see you committing? Do you hate me so much that you must flaunt it so obscenely?"

Lírëya appeared as if she had been struck while Lindir cast a startled glance at the Elves who were pressing forward to congratulate the players. Lirëya quickly found her possession though:

" Elladan, what warrants this? I have simply been bidding Lindir farewell. What crime has this committed then?" She inquired, her eyes holding a warning.

" You touched his lips with your own," Elladan retorted taking her hand to draw him nigher himself. " I know that you would not do so if you did not love him."

Lírëya gave him an incredulous look and then exclaimed, " Elladan, have you gone mad? Of course I love him! How can you think I would not love him?"

Elladan felt his heart stop beating; his blood rushed through him with a turpitude that invigorated and gave him dark power. He spoke no intelligible words, but tearing his sword from his sheath, he borne down upon Lindir who exclaimed in terror.

Elrohir had seen the beginning of this occur and he dove for his brother. Out of the corner of his mind, he noticed that Aragost and Elrond were already shoving their way through the shoals of shocked and fearful onlookers. Elrond felt his soul darken, Elrohir knew he was choking, Aragost perceived that evil had come alive.

And every elf in that Hall felt an ancient fear. One that had been born at the Harbor of Alqualondë. With disgusting terror, they beheld their family members. Some dying at their own kin's hands, some defending their lives, some killing their elvish enemies. But always, it was kin against kin and kindred blood mingling with kindred blood.

Lindir blocked Elladan's first blow with his harp and quickly ducked beneath the second. With the skill of warrior, he launched himself into the air, his heel striking Elladan on the chin, whilst he flew backwards towards the weapons that decorated the tapestried walls. He tore an ancient sword from the side and then faced the Elvish Lord on his own terms.

Elladan had not stopped even once to consider what he was doing. He was blind, he was deaf, he was dead. Dead to the beating of his soul, dead to the commands of his father; he had signed his name to that ancient covenant of madness and it was killing him.

Unseeing that Lírëya had leapt between him and Lindir, he lurched forward grappling for Lindir's throat. Then the haze lifted from his eyes as one single cry of pain was torn from his opponent. His opponent? He could suddenly see and realized that Lírëya stood before him? Had he been attacking Lírëya? No, he would never have done that.

But the sight of Lírëya, her arm gushing warm blood, the rich, vital ichor decorating the floor as she fell upon it, awakened him to what he had indeed done. Her dress was soon stained with blood, and Elrond knelt before her, his hands tightening around the upper arm in a tourniquet. Lindir, his chest heaving, also bowed before her, but soon he lifted his eyes to the enemy elf before him and he shouted:

" What are you? Has the death of your mother caused you to descend so deep into madness that you cannot see that you are killing your own loved ones. You have struck your brother this day. Your father has been disgraced. And your fiancé lives only because your father kept you from doing more so."

Elladan gave him a confused look and then gazed down at the lady. " I did that?"

Elrohir nodded and then quickly drew him away from the crowd. They murmured thankfully that they had been freed from the menace of a kinslayer. That they would not be at risk of more slaughter. That they would not have to relive the terrors of the First, Second, and Third Kinslayings.

Elladan gazed at Elrohir's face blankly and then slowly muttered, " What happened, Elrohir? I feel terrible as though my mind has stopped working and my body doesn't even exist. What is this?"

Elrohir turned his face to look at Lírëya and saw her head keel back as she lost consciousness. " It is the madness of the Kinslayers. You've become enraged against your own kind. You've shed kindred blood. It's how Maglor used to describe the dissonance betwixt the slaughter that you're committing and the terrible peacefulness of your own fëa while doing so."

Elladan felt his spirit come alive a little more and he became aware of the heaviness of his sword in his right hand. " I've shed kindred blood. Who?"

Elrohir then suddenly burst into tears. " Oh, hanno, why did you have to do it? Why did you attack Lindir? He means you no harm. He would never tell Lírëya to leave this earth, to remove the silver ring of engagement. You know that he is too loyal. And he knows and loves the fëa of his cousin too well."

Elladan shuddered and then finally the knowledge that he had indeed touched another elf with his blade, that it had drawn blood, that the Glamdagnir had attacked and perhaps slain another elf, rushed upon him. He descended to his knees, and he felt his stomach heave and his mouth await its contents. Elrohir fell beside him and then they both wept. Elrohir because his brother had committed an unforgivable crime; Elladan because he had come to a place that no Elf may enter and return from. Return unchanged. Return unbroken and unchastised. He could no longer return to Lírëya. As she had said, Elladan the son of Elrond no longer existed.

I've broken my word. This is going to be a three parter. I promise that the next story will be the last. This story is just very important to me. One of my favorite Tolkien themes is the Song of Eru and the madness of the Kinslayings. I hope that everyone who reads this will be moved by the descriptions and that you will be able to see the majesty of Tolkien's flawed creations in them.

The madness that Elladan is descended into is that of the Kinslayers. It was said that once they had become fully enraged, bound by their Oath to Fëanor, they lost all sight of what they were doing and would kill even their own brothers. I wanted to show that with the fluidity of the descriptions and Elladan's inability to comprehend what he's done. In the next chapter, he'll fully realize who he's hurt and have to face the repercussion of his crime.

I hope that you are enjoying the story. Please comment, vote, or state an opinion. I would truly appreciate it.

Living for Christ,

Jetta Lee