Title: Greenleaf & Imladris: Part 11 - Prelude to Grief  
Author: Eressë  
email: eresse21@yahoo.com  
Pairing: Elrohir/Legolas  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: The twins face heart-rending changes in the wake of a horrific 
transgression that takes place in the depths of the Misty Mountains.  
Follow up to Part 10 - In the Silence of Our Hearts.  (The last is a 
Glorfindel/Erestor side story with Elrohir/Legolas implied.)  
Disclaimer: All Elves belong to the highly esteemed Prof. JRR Tolkien.  
This is a but a tribute to him.  I write for the sheer joy of it.  
Author's note: Next up - The Choices We Must Make  
 
Prelude to Grief  
 
Part I: Atrocity  
Imladris, lairë TA 2509  
Legolas looked upon Rivendell with a deep sense of foreboding.  Gloom 
seemed to suffuse the entire vale as he had never felt it do before.  
Even the trees seemed to conspire with whatever calamity had struck the 
elven refuge, their foliage unaccountably sparse, the aromatic scent of 
pine mysteriously muted.  
 
He glanced at his father, Thranduil, and brother, Brethildor.  They, 
too, felt the difference.  Their expressions were half grim, half 
alarmed.  The evil that had befallen the Lady of Imladris had reached 
beyond her ruined body to strip her valley home of its lilting charm 
and welcoming warmth.  
 
It was barely a month since they had received the appalling news of 
Celebrian’s abduction by a band of Goblins and her subsequent torture 
in their dens.  Just over two months since the unspeakable incident in 
the Misty Mountains.  Elrond’s wife had been on her way to Lothlorien 
for a visit to her parents.  It was one of the rare sojourns wherein 
neither Elrond nor any of her children were able to accompany her.  And 
Glorfindel had been away on lengthy patrol, investigating reports of 
brigandage northeast of Rivendell.  Only Erestor and a small company of 
warriors had been with her.  
 
No one had thought anything untoward could happen.  There had been no 
recent reports of orcs near the Redhorn Pass and once past the 
mountains, a company of Lorien Elves were expected to meet her and 
protect her the rest of the way to the Golden Wood.  The ambush had 
been totally unexpected and the numbers of their foes chillingly large.  
 
The orcs had scattered her escort through sheer brute force, wounding 
or killing several warriors.  Before the Elven soldiers could regroup, 
the Goblins had borne Celebrian away.  Erestor was among the grievously 
injured but despite a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder and multiple 
gashes, the steward had had the presence of mind to order his men to 
track the orcs as far as they were able while he saw to the care of the 
other wounded.  Upon fulfillment of his orders, the remnants of 
Celebrian’s escort hastened back to Rivendell and informed Elrond of 
her abduction.  
 
Within hours of learning of his wife’s fate, Elrond had led a rescue 
party into Hithaeglir.  There they split into small search parties, 
their intent to find and retrieve Rivendell’s lady and not to wage war 
on her captors.  That would come later.  
 
Elrond had led one group, Glorfindel’s second-in-command, Daurin, 
another and the brethren, Elladan and Elrohir, the third.  It was the 
twins who discovered their mother’s whereabouts; they who rescued her 
from the noisome hold of her tormentors.  
 
Elrond had sent word to Thranduil as soon as he’d dealt with his lady’s 
erstwhile abductors.  It was as much a warning to the woodland king of 
the increased boldness of the Hithaeglir orcs as the exhange of news 
between their realms.  
 
Thranduil had not wasted any time arranging to go to Rivendell at 
once.  Naturally, Legolas had insisted on coming along.  Brethildor, on 
the other hand, led the well-armed troop that escorted them to the 
elven refuge.  It was fortunate they had been warned by Elrond.  They 
easily beat off a band of maurauding goblins as they descended the 
Misty Mountains from the High Pass.  At the feet of the great range, 
they were met by Glorfindel and a band of soldiers.  Guarded by so 
formidable a company, the rest of their journey was made without 
incident.  
 
Remembering his own mother’s tragedy, Legolas wondered worriedly how 
his friends were coping with Celebrian’s misfortune.  The pall that 
blanketed Imladris was disturbing to say the least.  
 
They were greeted by Elrond and Elladan at the doors of the Last Homely 
House.  Arwen was attending to her mother at the moment.  Elrohir was 
nowhere in sight.  Legolas stifled his impulse to inquire about the 
younger twin and followed the others as Elrond led the way to his 
bedchamber.  They learned that they had missed Celebrian’s parents, 
Celeborn and Galadriel, by just a day.  The Lord and Lady of the Golden 
Wood had arrived in Imladris a scant three weeks after word of their 
daughter’s rescue reached them, riding long and hard and fast with 
scarcely a pause for rest on the way.  They’d stayed for a sennight 
before returning to Lorien; times were such that even grieving parents 
could not turn their backs on their duties and responsibilities 
overlong.  
 
The bedchamber was awash with light, every window left wide open to let 
in fresh air and sunshine.  Elladan softly explained that it was 
necessary since dark stillness only recalled to his mother the deeps of 
the orkish den where she had been kept captive for nigh a week.  The 
nights were the worst for even the light from several lamps and candles 
was oft not sufficient to keep her fears at bay.  
 
Arwen and her former nurse, Almariel, had just finished sponging 
Celebrian and had tenderly dressed her in fresh bedclothes.  The Lady 
of Imladris lay cocooned in warm covers upon the wide bed she shared 
with Elrond.  She was asleep, lulled into dreamless slumber by the 
strong draught her husband had prepared for her.  
 
The Mirkwood Elves gazed at her in mingled horror and pity.  Her 
glorious silver tresses were no more.  Entire plains of bare, scarred 
scalp showed through the thinned locks.  One side of her face was rough 
with abrasions and her lower lip was covered with scabs where she had 
bitten down hard in her exteme pain.  Her gown and blanket hid a 
multitude of atrocities rendered upon her slender body.  Her lamentably 
slow healing was as much evidence of the trauma she had experienced as 
it was of her body’s failing strength.  
 
“Sweet Eru!  What in Arda did those scum do to her?” Legolas heard his 
brother mutter in shock.  
 
Afterwards, Elrond led his guests to his study where Glorfindel and 
Erestor soon joined them, Erestor noticeably limping.  With help from 
his son and chief steward, Elrond recounted to them all that his dear 
wife had endured.  
 
The orcs had easily recognized her, of course.  No one could mistake 
the silver beauty of Rivendell’s mistress for any other.  And so they 
had made her pay for being Elrond’s wife.  They had wreaked all their 
rage and malice against the Imladrin lord upon his hapless lady.  And 
when each stage of torture rendered her unconscious, they cruelly 
brought her back to awareness with a chilly dousing of foul water from 
the nether regions of their underground realm.  
 
It had started with whips.  For two whole days they had scourged her 
intermittently.  When she would faint, her body a mass of welts and 
bruises, they stopped only to forcibly revive her for another round.  
On the third or fourth day of her captivity, her nails had been pulled 
out one by one from her fingers and toes, the exposed and 
excruciatingly tender nailbeds then trod upon or tweaked or bitten 
until she was hoarse from screaming.  
 
For added sport, they had hauled her wounded form from chamber to 
chamber, dragging her by her hair, yanking whole handfuls out in the 
process, leaving her with a bloody patchwork of a scalp.  At last, when 
they’d finally tired of their game, they’d inflicted the worst torment 
of all.  
 
They’d brought forth one of their rough-hewn clubs and, in a ghastly 
parody of the sexual act, had impaled her repeatedly with the filthy 
instrument until she bled profusely.  Not content with the damage 
they’d done to her now torn body, they’d forced her awake then flipped 
her roughly onto her stomach.  And rammed the club up her backside 
until her thighs ran crimson with her blood.  
 
It was this horrific scene the twins had come upon, guided to the 
torture chamber by their mother’s agonized shrieks.  It was a testament 
to the brethren‘s self-control that they had not fallen upon her 
torturers in foolhardy rage.  Instead, they had lured the majority of 
the orcs to another cave where their waiting warriors had sealed in the 
creatures with a rockslide.  
 
Knowing the trapped orcs would eventually dig their way out, they 
swiftly returned to the main chamber and slaughtered the guards.  In 
the melee, one orc sought to render their rescue attempt vain by 
slaying the captive Elf-lady.  Elrohir had opened its entrails with one 
savage stroke and the most it had done was wound Celebrian.  
 
The twins had perforce borne their mother halfway down the mountain 
before they were able to stop and inspect her injuries.  It was only 
then that they discovered that the wound dealt her bore poison.  But 
ever aware of the possibility of pursuit, they were forced to continue 
their flight.  By the time they met up with the other search parties at 
the feet of Hithaeglir, her injuries had festered, infection made 
possible by her severe weakening.  And the poison had seeped into the 
flesh and muscles around her right shoulder causing great pain to her 
neck and right upper arm and breast.  
 
Elrond had managed to calm down enough to bring his wife home and treat 
her, drawing as much of the poison from her body as he could and 
tenderly administering to her many wounds.  The worst had been the 
damage inflicted upon her lower body.  He’d been forced to cut her open 
to cleanse her innards; her delicate flesh had been riddled with 
splinters and infiltrated with the filth of the unclean club.  He’d 
barely managed to hold in his fury until he’d finished sewing up the 
incisions.  
 
Then he’d let it out in full.  With Rivendell’s fiercest warriors at 
his command, he and the twins had returned to the orcs’ hold.  They’d 
lured the creatures from their den then driven them into a large deep 
pit they’d filled with kindling and dry wood.  Elrond himself had 
thrown in the burning faggot that set the wood afire.  All around the 
rim of the delved inferno, the Imladrin Elves had prevented the orcs 
from clambering out by forcing them back at spear or swordpoint.  
 
“I never thought I would so delight in the screams of creatures being 
roasted alive or enjoy the stench of burning flesh,” Elrond said, steel 
limning his deceptively soft voice.  “But Elbereth help me, I did.”  
 
Thranduil shook his head.  “None can blame you, Elrond,” he pointed 
out.  “What they did to Celebrian...”  His scowled in remembered rage.  
“Had those brigands done the same to my Ithilwen, I would have been as 
ruthless with them.  Mayhap even more.”  He looked at Glorfindel and 
Erestor.  “I think we’d best discuss how to protect our people from 
these creatures.  They are grown over-bold to have dared abduct the 
Lady of Imladris.”  
 
Erestor said: “It was a well-planned ambush.  They knew our route and 
that our numbers were not great.  And they struck when we least 
expected it.”  
 
“Then they are no longer as witless as we thought,” Brethildor remarked 
with a concerned frown.  
 
“They are no longer leaderless,” Glorfindel pointed out.  “We suspect 
that the Necromancer may have had a hand in this.”  
 
“Accursed sorcerer,” Thranduil scowled.  “What has the White Council 
decided about Dol Guldur?”  
 
Elrond replied: “We have reason to believe the Dark Lord may be taking 
shape once more.  But we have no proof.  And, admittedly, our attention 
has been drawn to the south and the calamities there.  Since 
Osgiliath’s fall, there has been no surcease of troubles upon Gondor.  
Of late, the Steward Cirion has been barely holding the line at the 
Anduin against the Balchoth.”  He looked at Brethildor.  “Have you 
encountered these men?”  
 
The darkling prince said:  “Only infrequently.  They seem more 
interested in the southern kingdom than in our realm.”  
 
“That is not surprising if Dol Guldur is behind their aggression,” 
Glorfindel said.  “Gondor is the only remaining bastion of the 
Dunedain.  If the Necromancer is indeed Sauron returned, he would 
desire the destruction of the last of the Numenoreans in Middle-earth.  
He will not have forgotten Elendil’s part in his defeat in the last 
age.”  
 
At this point, Elrond and Thranduil began to discuss in detail the 
mutual defense of their respective realms.  Ordinarily interested in 
such matters, Legolas now found himself restless instead.  The 
continued absence of a certain Elf greatly bothered him.  
 
He glanced at Elladan and caught his eye.  “Where is Elrohir?” he 
quietly asked.  
 
The older twin sighed.  “In the drill yard spending himself in 
archery.  At other times ’tis swordplay or wrestling.  ‘Tis his way of 
venting his anger over what happened to Nana.”  
 
Legolas eyed his friend compassionately.  “And you?”  
 
Elladan shook his head.  “Elrohir has always felt more deeply about 
everything than anyone else.  I’d often thought it a failing that I do 
not feel as profoundly as he does but now I am grateful.  I, too, am 
enraged by what they did to her but it does not consume me as it does 
him.”  He smiled wanly at Legolas.  “Go to him, meldir nîn.  He would 
welcome your comfort.”  
 
Legolas rose at once and left the study.  
 
He found Elrohir as Elladan had said.  It was apparent he’d been at it 
for hours though he continued to hit his marks with admirable 
precision.  The evidence of excessive exertion showed itself in the 
weary cant of his shoulders, the uncharacteristic lassitude of his 
movements, the tendrils of black silk that clung to his sweat-sheened 
cheeks and neck.  Only his expression betrayed the fires of rage within 
that refused to be quenched even by incessant activity.  The younger 
twin let loose arrow after arrow, his entire mind so focused on the 
task that he did not even note Legolas’ appearance.  It was only when 
he’d emptied his quiver yet again and made to retrieve his arrows that 
he sensed the presence of another.  
 
“Legolas!” he softly exclaimed.  
 
A moment later, he was caught in the balming embrace of his friend.  
They remained thus for a while, the younger twin unable to express his 
deep-seated emotions, the Mirkwood prince eager to sooth him as much as 
he could.  Finally, Elrohir sighed and drew away a little.  
 
“‘Tis good of you to come,” he whispered, grey eyes suspiciously 
bright.  
 
“As you once succored me in my grief, so am I here for you,” Legolas 
softly said.  He gestured to a bench by the yard.  “From the looks of 
it, you have been at this far longer than is wise, gwador.  Come, take 
some rest.”  
 
Elrohir acceded to the suggestion and allowed the prince to lead him to 
the bench.  He sank down carelessly, none of his usual grace apparent.  
Legolas eyed him with concern.  The younger twin was spent beyond 
reason.  
 
“How often do you wear yourself out like this?” he asked anxiously.  
 
Elrohir dully replied: “As often as she dreams.”  
 
“What do you mean?”  
 
Listless pewter pools met his gaze.  “She screams in her sleep.  She 
can find no respite even in slumber, day or night.  Adar has had to 
resort to his most potent draughts that she may rest.”  A spark of 
feeling lit in the Elf-knight’s eyes.   “You can feel her pain and 
terror when she screams.  I--I cannot bear to hear her thus and not go 
out and slaughter as many goblins as I can find.  And so I do whatever 
I can to still my rage.”  
 
Legolas blew his breath out, shocked at his friend’s state of being.  
He pulled the Elf-knight into the curve of a bracing arm, letting him 
rest his weary head against his shoulder, stroking the damp tresses 
comfortingly.  
 
“Ai, what wrong has your mother ever done that this should happen to 
her?” he murmured.  
 
“Evil knows no reason or pity,” Elrohir softly answered.  “It only 
seeks to hurt or corrupt or destroy.”  To this Legolas could provide no 
reply.  He fell silent and let his stroking hand convey his sympathy 
and support.  
 
After a few minutes, Elrohir asked:  “How long will you stay?”  
 
“Father must return within a fortnight,” Legolas said.  “He cannot 
entrust Mirkwood to Melthoron just yet.  Not in these days.  My brother 
is still too intemperate to rule with wisdom.”  He glanced at Elrohir.  
The warrior nodded in acknowledgement but his tightened lips betrayed 
his disappointment.  Legolas slipped his fingers beneath the twin’s 
chin and compelled him to look at him.  “Adar must leave but I will 
stay through the winter if I must.  I will stay for as long as you need 
me.”  
 
A ghost of a smile appeared on the Elf-knight’s lips.  His eyes gleamed 
gratefully.  Legolas pulled him back into his consoling embrace.  
 
lairë - Quenya for summer  
meldir nîn - my friend  
gwador - sworn brother  
Adar - Father  
 
 
Part II: Plight  
Legolas soon discovered for himself what Elrohir meant regarding his 
mother’s frightful dreams.  In the days that followed, the peace of 
Elrond’s house was shattered now and anon by the harrowing outbursts of 
his wife.  It did not matter if the horrors came to her in her sleep or 
waking dreams, her screams were the same.  Agonized, terrified and 
almost beyond bearing.  
 
‘Tis no wonder that Elrohir cannot endure it, Legolas thought the third 
night of his visit as he lay abed, listening to the shrieks that 
resounded down the corridor and the hurried tread of feet as the twins 
and Arwen hastened to help their father.  
 
After the disturbing sounds faded and quiet returned, he reckoned that 
the brethren might want some company.  Throwing on a bed-robe, he 
slipped out of his room and made his way to Elrond’s bedchamber.   As 
he neared it, he saw Elrohir come out and race down the stairs as if 
demons snipped at his heels.  Legolas hurried after him, following him 
out into the still night as the younger twin headed for Bruinen.  
 
To his shock, the Elf-knight dove fully clothed into the chill waters 
of the river and began to swim hardily against the current towards the 
cascades.  Legolas realized that the twin needed to spend his pent-up 
rage.  To head him off, the archer ran along the banks, keeping a 
weather eye on the sleek form of his friend as it cut rapidly through 
the coursing waters.  
 
He reached the falls just scant seconds before Elrohir.  
 
The Elf-warrior leadenly clambered up the steep banks, his sopping wet 
clothes clinging to his body.  He was startled when Legolas grabbed him 
by the arm and helped him the rest of the way up.  Wordlessly, the 
prince stripped the twin of his sodden shirt and wrapped his robe 
around him.  Though Elrohir seemed unaffected by the cold water or 
brisk night breeze, Legolas was not taking any chances.  The steady 
drain on his friend’s spirit could very well render him vulnerable to 
the elements and make him supsceptible to the ailments that plagued the 
mortal races.  The blood of Men flowed through Elrohir’s veins.  If his 
mother, a pure-blooded Edhel, had been so weakened that she became 
prone to infection, what more her Half-elven son?  
 
“Here, rest and compose yourself before we return,” he murmured, urging 
the warrior to sit down upon the springy grass.  
 
Elrohir mutely complied and Legolas sank down beside him.  The Elf-
knight folded his arms upon his pulled up knees and buried his face in 
them.  The Mirkwood prince could only stroke his back soothingly.  At 
length, Elrohir raised his head and looked at him.  
 
“Thank you,” he whispered.  
 
Legolas shook his head, feeling quite useless.  “If only I could do 
more...”  
 
The twin lay a clammy hand on his arm.  “‘Tis enough that you followed 
me here,” he said.  “You did not have to.”  
 
The archer covered the chilled hand with his own warm palm.  “I could 
not let you face this alone.”  He reached up and brushed strands of 
raven hair from Elrohir’s face.  “Let us go back.  You should get into 
dry clothes.”  
 
The warrior nodded and they rose to their feet.  Legolas accompanied 
him all the way to the door of his room.  
 
********  
Thranduil and Brethildor departed after a fortnight, shaken by what 
they had witnessed and determined that no such fate would befall any of 
their own people.  But as he had promised Elrohir, Legolas stayed on.  
Keeping company with the twins, he sought to return the care and 
compassion they’d shown him when he’d faced the loss of his own mother 
more than a thousand years earlier.  He was particularly attentive to 
Elrohir for he worried about the younger twin’s dark moods and sudden 
bouts of fury.  It recalled to him his own erratic behavior when his 
mother passed away.  And so he kept an eye on his friend, cajoled him 
out of his worrisome silences, did his best to keep him from over 
expending himself in physical activities and generally just stayed 
close by to lend a sympathetic ear should Elrohir need it.  
 
In this fashion did summer pass into autumn.  Slowly, Celebrian’s 
fearsome dreams declined until several days would pass in between 
attacks.  After a few quiet weeks, her family dared to hope that they 
had weathered the worst and could look forward at last to her healing.  
 
But barely a week after the twins’ begetting day, on a markedly crisp 
afternoon, Celebrian lost the battle anew and nearly her own life as 
well.  Only Arwen’s vigilance prevented a second tragedy from 
happening.  
 
Always anxious about her mother’s state of mind, she went to her 
parents’ room to look in on her.  She came upon an empty chamber with 
its door not only ajar but askew as if it had been slammed violently 
against the wall.  On the floor were a shattered vase, torn pillows and 
the remnants of the silk sheet that had covered Celebrian.  All the 
signs pointed to a panicked exit by Rivendell’s lady.  Fearing the 
worst, the Ef-maid sounded the alarm and soon the entire household was 
out looking for her.  
 
Lindir discovered her teetering perilously on the highest roof of the 
Last Homely House.  Caught in a waking nightmare, Elrond’s wife had 
believed herself in the clutches of the orcs once more.  Unable to 
extricate herself from the hellish dreamscape into which she had 
inadvertently ventured, she had raced down the corridor from her 
bedchamber and scurried out one of the high windows onto the rooftop 
outside.  She’d then struggled up the steep gabled slope in an apparent 
attempt to elude her phantom pursuers.  
 
A concerted and dangerous effort ensued amongst the house-master, 
Elrond, his sons, Legolas and Glorfindel as they attempted to fetch her 
from her precarious perch.  They slowly converged on her position from 
different directions to cut off any escape on her part but approached 
her as carefully as possible to avoid alarming her unduly.  For though 
she was trapped in a waking dream she seemed aware of movement around 
her and flinched like a frightened doe at every imagined assault.  Much 
like Legolas when he attacked me after his mother’s death, Elrohir 
grimly recalled.  
 
Closest in distance to her, he cautiously reached out to grasp her arm 
as she swayed dazedly on the edge of the roof.  But just then, 
Celebrian turned her head and saw him.  Thinking him one of her 
tormentors, she screamed and frantically tried to evade his reaching 
hand.  The motion cost her her footing and she stumbled, toppling over 
the elaborately carved eaves.  
 
While the Elves far below cried out in horror, Elrohir frantically 
launched himself at her, grabbing her flailing arm with one hand and 
just barely managing to catch at the edge of the roof with the other.  
 
“Elrohir!” Legolas desperately scrambled to get to his friend.  
 
The younger twin winced as the ornate carvings bit into his palm; blood 
oozed out of the deep cut and down his wrist.  But gritting his teeth, 
he  doggedly hung on.  He felt hands grab at him and he looked up into 
Legolas’ eyes.  A moment later, Glorfindel joined the prince and 
together they relieved Elrohir of his excruciating grip on the roof 
edge.  However, they found it next to impossible to pull him up while 
Celebrian twisted and struggled violently in his grip; his hold on her 
wrist was already direly tenuous.  
 
Meanwhile, Elrond and Elladan had swung down to a ledge below the 
dangling pair.  
 
“Gwenneth!  Let her go!” Elrond shouted to his younger son.  
 
A glance down assured the Elf-knight that it was indeed safe to release 
his hold on his terrified mother and he let her drop into his father 
and brother’s waiting arms.  Legolas and Glorfindel quickly hauled him 
to safety.  
 
From the ledge, Elrond gently passed his now awakened lady to Lindir 
who’d climbed onto the balcony directly beneath them.  And then he and 
Elladan clambered down in her wake.  
 
Minutes later, a shaken group of Elves gathered in the upper-floor 
corridor where a white-faced Elrond cradled his weeping wife 
protectively, whispering soothing words in between gentle kisses to her 
silver crown.  Finally, when she quieted a bit, he tenderly lifted her 
in his arms and bore her back to their bedchamber.  
 
Legolas swiftly turned his attention to the twins and Arwen.   The 
three siblings held to each other for mutual comfort.  But there was a 
glimmer of something else in Elrohir’s countenance that even Elladan 
did not see, immersed as he was in his own shock and distress.  At 
length, Elladan murmured something to Arwen and his sister nodded.  
After tearfully hugging Elrohir again, she allowed the older twin to 
bring her to her room.  
 
Legolas stepped to Elrohir’s side and placed a consoling hand on his 
shoulder.  The Elf-knight glanced at him then shivered once.  Legolas 
noticed the crimson stains on his right sleeve and recalled Elrohir’s 
wound.  He reached for the bleeding fist.  
 
“You are hurt,” he murmured.  
 
“‘Tis no more than a scratch,” Elrohir said dismissively.  He swallowed 
convulsively.  
 
Legolas peered at him intently.  “What is wrong?”  
 
The twin’s mouth tightened.  And then he looked at his friend, eyes 
glittering with daunting emotion.  
 
“I never thought I would say this but..” he heaved a shuddering 
breath.  “Your mother was more fortunate than mine, Calenlass.”  
 
“Elrohir!”  
 
“She is at peace within the Halls of Waiting, her spirit whole.  But my 
Naneth--” he broke off, Legolas’ upset expression registering.  
“Forgive me, that was uncalled for.  I--”  
 
“Nay, I understand,” Legolas quietly said.  “You are distraught after 
what has just happened.  But take heart, gwador.  Your mother is safe 
once more and in your father’s care.”  
 
Elrohir shook his head.  “I fear this is not the whole of it,” he 
said.  “I sense worse to come.  I know not if my forebodings are true 
but if they are...”  
 
“What forebodings?” Legolas asked with a pang of apprehension.  
 
“More evil,  More sorrow.  For all of us.”  He suddenly pulled away and 
punched the wall with his wounded fist, leaving a scarlet smear on the 
pale panel.  Legolas moved quickly to shield him from the others’ 
startled stares.  
 
“I hate them,” Elrohir whispered harshly.  “I hate them for what they 
did to her.  And I hate them for what this has done to me.”  
 
“What do you mean?” Legolas queried frowningly.  
 
Elrohir cast him a haunted look.  “I relished watching them roast 
alive,” he said in a hushed voice.  “I felt such joy at hearing their 
screams and seeing their agony.  I understand now why you behaved 
thusly against the men who slew your mother.  ‘Tis all I want to do 
now.  To kill more orcs and all the other abominations Sauron and his 
ilk have foisted on Arda.”  He shuddered visibly.  “It burns inside me, 
Calenlass, this need, this lust for their blood.  I can no longer hold 
it in.”  
 
“What do you plan to do?” Legolas asked worriedly.  
 
For a moment there was only silence.  And then the younger twin 
straightened up and turned to face his friend.  
 
“I will hunt orc and all manner of evil creatures,” he grimly said.  
 
Legolas stared at him in alarm.  “You cannot go alone, Elrohir!” he 
exclaimed.  “‘Twould be madness!”  
 
“I will not be alone.  Elladan will go where I go.  His rage may not be 
as apparent as mine but he, too, seeks to avenge Naneth.”  
 
“But to what end?  ‘Tis a perilous quest you would undertake.”  
 
“Aye, but if we could rid our lands of even a fraction of these 
creatures and spare others our mother’s torment, it will be well worth 
the danger. “  
 
“When--?”  
 
“Tomorrow, at first light.”  
 
Legolas was aghast.  “What?  Surely you jest!”  
 
The Elf-knight’s eyes gleamed with murderous intent.  “I cannot wait,” 
he growled.  “If I do not do this soonest I will explode.”  
 
Legolas regarded him anxiously.  The twilight eyes did not lose any of 
their repressed fury or implacable determination.  The prince knew 
there would be no changing the warrior’s mind.  He swiftly came to a 
decision.  
 
“Then I will go with you,” he said.  
 
Elrohir, surprised, objected.  “‘Tis not your fight.”  
 
“If it is your fight, then ‘tis mine as well,” the prince retorted.  “I 
will join you.”  
 
Elrohir stared at him for a spell, moved by his loyalty.  And then he 
leaned into his friend’s arms, shaking visibly as his volatile feelings 
overcame him once more.  Legolas held him tightly, allowing all his 
concern and affection wash over the younger twin that he may find some 
modicum of tranquility even for a while.  
 
********  
The three of them left at dawn, racing into the rosy light of the newly 
awakened day.  Elrond and Arwen watched them depart with heavy hearts.  
Behind them stood the rest of the immediate household.  Not an Elf 
present did not feel heartsick at their going.  Who knew what would 
come of this quest for vengeance?  
 
Glorfindel quietly said to Elrond: “I will go after them should they 
fail to return come winter.”  
 
Elrond sighed disconsolately.  “I do not fear so much for my sons’ 
safety as for their peace of mind,” he murmured.  “This will not end 
here.  Their thirst for vengeance will not abate so swiftly.  Elrohir’s 
especially.”  
 
“Elladan will restrain him, Ada,” Arwen said soothingly.  “As will 
Legolas.”  
 
Elrond nodded slightly.  “I hope they do.  Ai, our ever valiant Elf-
knight.  Would that he were as even-tempered as Elladan.”  
 
“But then he would not be our Elrohir,” Arwen softly said.  
 
Elrond smiled faintly.  “Nay, he would not,” he agreed.  
 
Edhel - Elf  
gwenneth - younger twin  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
Naneth - Mother  
gwador - sworn brother  
Ada - Papa  
 
 
Part III: Retribution  
Foothills of Hithaeglir, Ringarë TA 2509  
It was too good to be true.  The orcs smacked their twisted lips in 
anticipation as they watched the lithe figure pick its way amongst the 
craggy foothills of the Misty Mountains.  A lone Elf was a rarity in 
these parts.  And not just any Elf but one of the hated Peredhil.  
There was no doubt about the identity of this traveller.  The raven 
hair, the steely grey eyes.  And a countenance and form like no other.  
Fair and lean as the Firstborn yet possessed of a subdued earthiness 
and subtle brawn reminiscent of Men.  
 
They did not know why he was alone in so perilous a place.  But they 
were not about to complain.  He would give them good sport, this son of 
the Lord of Rivendell.  He would fight until the very end, of that they 
were certain; they would enjoy trying to break him if they could.  
 
They waited with bated breath as he neared their position.  
 
But just as they were poised to pounce, he stopped, looked pointedly 
their way, then turned and raced in the opposite direction.  Howling in 
fury that their intended prey might yet escape them, the orcs erupted 
from their hiding places and pursued him.  
 
He was fleet-footed, this Peredhil.  Fleeter than any Elf they’d yet 
encountered.  But there were many of them, about fifty in all.  They 
began to spread out, meaning to surround their quarry before he should 
gain the concealing forests beyond.  To their surprise, however, the 
Elf turned and headed back towards the foothills.  
 
Further into the hillocks he fled until he was sprinting down a narrow 
cleft.  The goblins gnashed their teeth with glee.  Foolish Elf!  They 
had him now.  There was no way out of this passageway.  
 
As they expected, he came up against a wall of solid rock.  He spun 
around and eyed his pursuers, the twilight pools glittering warningly.  
The orcs came to a halt several feet away from him.  Something about 
this Elf unsettled them.  
 
He showed no fear at all.  Despite being trapped against an unyielding 
rockface, hemmed in by the cleft’s high ridges and faced with a band of 
orcs intent on his ruination, the Peredhil did not seem the least bit 
afraid.  A number of the more quick-witted of the orcs wondered whether 
it was sheer courage or mere bravado that helped him maintain his eerie 
calm.  
 
A few goblins in the front lost their patience and hurled themselves at 
their victim.  Moments later, their heads rolled on the dusty ground.  
The Elf had drawn his sword and decapitated them with wicked speed and 
dexterity.  And still the steely eyes regarded them with cool contempt.  
 
For several heartbeats the orcs did not move, shocked by his audacity 
in the face of their superior numbers.  Then they bunched together.  
This Elf was cunning and highly skilled.  Best to rush him en masse and 
give him little room to wield his deadly sword.  Moving as one, they 
surged forward.  
 
High above the advancing goblins, something dark snapped out, billowed 
and dropped down upon them.  Suddenly, the orcs found themselves 
hopelessly tangled in a net woven from hithlain, the material of which 
the soft but surprisingly strong rope of the Golden Wood was made.  
Those that had managed to elude the net’s embrace were swiftly cut down 
by a volley of arrows from above.  
 
The hunters had become the prey.  
 
Elrohir, his lips curled into a feral smile, advanced upon the 
snarling, heaving mass of orcs, sword in hand.  An instant later, 
Elladan and Legolas dropped down from the ridges and joined him, their 
lethal blades unsheathed.  The cleft echoed with screams of pain and 
fear as the Elves fell upon their trapped foes with savage precision.  
It was a slaughter, pure and simple.  
 
*******  
Legolas leaned against the trunk of the great oak under which he 
reclined.  Thank the Powers he’d been able to wash off all the gore and 
grime though it had taken an abominably long time to vanquish the 
stench of dead and dying orc.  He wondered how much longer they would 
continue thusly.  
 
They had camped by a rushing stream within a day’s journey from the 
feet of Hithaeglir.  First refreshing themselves in the stream, they’d 
then set about securing the site.  While Elladan tended to their 
horses, Elrohir had built a goodly fire, which was more a deterrent 
against fell beasts than a means of warmth for the three Elves.  After 
gathering enough wood for their needs, Legolas had settled himself 
beneath the oak and let his thoughts follow their appointed path.  He 
considered their bleak surroundings, most trees stripped bare of their 
foliage, the grass withered by the cold.  
 
The chill of winter was already in the air.  Soon, frost would cloak 
the land with its icy mantle and even the orcs would retreat into their 
dank and dreary dens.  He let out a weary breath.  
 
Nearly three months had he journeyed with the twins, scouring the 
mountains and forests for goblins; luring, trapping and slaying all 
they could discover with frightening efficiency.  He’d never realized 
how creative the brothers could be in the killing-arts.  Or how brutal 
and pitiless.  It was difficult to reconcile the ruthless hunters they 
had become with the compassionate friends he’d long known.  
 
As always, Elrohir was the more intense, the more coldly determined of 
the two.  It was he who more oft than not served as bait for the snares 
they set, he who took the greatest risks in every encounter with orcs, 
trolls and even human outlaws.  And when his fearsome rage was 
unleashed, it was he who showed the least mercy to their foes, taking 
no prisoners but sending them all to their untimely ends.  
 
Legolas turned his regard to the brethren.  Elladan was busy currying 
his steed.  Elrohir, on the other hand, sat by the fire, staring 
intently into the flames.  The fiery glow cast a golden sheen upon his 
countenance, making him look much younger and more innocent than he 
was.  Legolas felt a twinge of regret.  
 
Fate had dealt his friends a cruel hand.  Elrohir had been right.  
Legolas’ mother was the more fortunate; she was at peace as Celebrian 
was not.  And as for himself... True, he had suffered through the death 
of Ithilwen and all the guilt and anger that had followed.  But the 
twins had to endure a greater torment.  There was no hope of closure 
for them while their mother continued to relive the torment of her 
captivity.  Nor was there a means of purging the emotions that haunted 
them; not when they could see and hear and sense Celebrian’s incessant 
pain and terror.  Once I mourned my mother’s passing, I was able to 
move on, the prince mused.  But they...  
 
It occurred to him then that many years would pass before Elrond’s sons 
would be able to relinquish their anger and desire for retribution.  If 
they ever managed to do so at all.  A shiver coursed through his 
limbs.  He did not want that to happen.  He did not wish for bitterness 
and hatred to have sway over them to the exlusion of all other 
feelings.  
 
Not Elladan though, he thought.  The older twin would weather this 
eventually and come out relatively unscathed.  Always the less 
passionate of the brethren, he would not let this consume him.  
 
Elrohir was a different matter.  The Elf-knight was deeply passionate 
about the people and things he cared for.  Once committed to a person 
or a cause, he rarely if ever swerved from the course he’d chosen.  It 
was both a virtue and a bane.  But for those he loved and who in turn 
loved him, it was a much treasured blessing.  
 
Nevertheless, it was this trait that might yet lead his friend to ruin 
and this Legolas refused to allow to happen.  Come what may, he had to 
help Elrohir find the delicate balance that would keep him from blindly 
pursuing this perilous quest.  *Starting now.*  
 
He rose and joined the younger twin by the fire.  Elrohir glanced at 
him and smiled wanly.  Legolas placed a comforting hand on his 
shoulder.  
 
“Winter is upon us,” he said.  “‘Tis time we returned to Imladris and 
time you rejoined your family.”  When Elrohir made no reply, he pointed 
out:  “Even the orcs will return to their holes to wait out the cold.  
Would you take so great a chance as to follow them into their dens just 
to destroy them?  ‘Twould be folly, gwador.”  
 
“Legolas is right,” Elladan said as he came to them and sat to face his 
brother.  “We cannot do more in this season.  And besides, Adar 
expected us to return ere winter set in.  Would you have Glorfindel 
come searching for us?”  
 
Elrohir shook his head.  “Nay, I would not trouble him and with Erestor 
still on the mend.”  He looked from Elladan to Legolas.  “We will 
return.  There is nothing more to do here for now.”  
 
Legolas narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “For now?  Elrohir, surely you 
do not mean to do this again.  Promise me you will not.”  
 
“I cannot, Calenlass,” Elrohir regretfully said.  “If Nana does not 
improve...”  He turned unseeing eyes into the gathering darkness beyond 
their camp.  “I know not what I will do.  Not yet.”  
 
Elladan reached out and clasped his hand.  “I am of the same mind, 
brother,” he stated.  “If she fails to recover, we will do what we 
must.  Together.”  
 
Legolas sighed in frustration.  “And will you forget all else in this 
quest?” he demanded.  “What of your father and Arwen?  Would you 
forsake them to fear and loneliness?”  
 
Elrohir turned a sad countenance upon him.  “Better to leave them than 
subject them to our black moods.  ‘Tis not only you who cringes at my 
demeanor.”  
 
Legolas flinched at the knowing words.  He had tried to conceal his 
discomfort with the Elf-knight’s behavior.  He’d thought he had managed 
it.  But now it was apparent he had not.  
 
“I am sorry,” he said.  “I did not mean to--”  
 
“Avo,” Elohir cut him off.  Don’t.  “‘Tis natural for you to be 
discomposed by how I have acted and what I have done.”  
 
“By what we have both done,” Elladan corrected.  “We have long seen 
your unease, Legolas.  And we understand and accept.  Yet you have 
stayed by us despite everything.  For that you have our most profound 
gratitude.”  
 
Legolas could not help blushing at the older twin’s heartfelt 
pronouncement.  Elladan did not speak thusly to him as often as 
Elrohir.  That he now did so indicated his deep appreciation of 
Legolas’ deeds.  
 
“What think you of our course now?” Elrohir softly asked.  “Will this 
be the last we shall see of you for a while?”  
 
Legolas stared at him, disconcerted by the question.  They knew he 
disapproved of their decision and were expecting him to withdraw from 
their company for a spell.  He pondered the situation for several 
minutes.  Neither brother attempted to press him for an answer.  
 
“I do not wholly agree with you,” he finally said.  “But I will join 
you whenever I can.  Come what may, you are still my friends and I do 
not care to forego your company, so precious is it to me.”  At their 
relieved smiles, he added:  “I only implore you not to let your anger 
rule you.  While your mother’s suffering is great and demands 
vengeance, I beg of you, do not let it taint your lives.  She would not 
desire that.”  He glanced at Elladan then gazed at Elrohir, letting his 
concern shine clearly in his eyes.  “I do not desire that.”  
 
The Elf-knight regarded him affectionately before replying.  “You are 
surely the Powers’ gift to us that you should counsel us now with such 
tender wisdom,” he said, causing the prince’s cheeks to color anew.  
“Rest assured, we will heed your words, Calenlass.”  
 
Legolas felt some relief at the younger twin’s reply.  It did not allay 
all his fears but, for the present, it was enough.  
 
Ringarë - December  
gwador - sworn brother  
Nana - Mama  
Adar - Father  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
 
 
Part IV: Broken  
Imladris, hrivë  
Their return was marked by great joy and vast relief.  It seemed every 
member of the household and most of the valley’s warriors had turned 
out to greet them.  Most wondrous of all, Celebrian joined her husband 
and daughter in welcoming them home.  The three stared at her in 
visceral appreciation.  Her hair had grown back and regained some of 
its former luster.  And the scars that had despoiled her face were no 
more, her shimmering beauty readily apparent once again.  She bestowed 
a tender smile on the twins and their Mirkwood friend, enfolded each 
son in a loving embrace, placed a warm hand upon Legolas’ cheek and 
even went so far as to gently chide them for departing so precipitously 
with nary a word of farewell to her.  It heartened her sons to see her 
so seemingly recovered.  Mayhap their mother would finally be whole 
once more.  
 
But on second glance, she seemed as brittle as sugar pane.  Her 
coloring had always made her seem ethereal but now she seemed little 
more than a will-o'-the-wisp.  And behind her sparkling eyes and 
beaming lips lurked traces of her erstwhile distress.  It roused the 
twins’ forebodings anew.  
 
However, as the days went by, they strove to bring her naught but 
happiness and contentment while in their presence.  They sought to 
please her in all things even if it meant joining her in the most 
unlikely of activities.  Thus, the inhabitants of the Last Homely House 
were treated to the astonishing sight of Elrond’s virile sons 
industriously baking nutbreads and sweet cakes alongside their mother 
and sister or patiently learning the finer points of embroidery under 
Celebrian’s critical eye.  Not even the prospect of helping her care 
for her prize roses by winter’s end fazed them if by doing as she bid 
they could elicit her stunning smile.  Naturally, they did not allow 
Legolas to escape taking part in their toils and the Mirkwood prince 
quickly found himself sunk in placid domesticity, will he, nill he.  
 
On occasion she would demand that all three regale her with tales of 
their adventures.  They readily humored her but took care to leave out 
anything that might recall to her the dark days of her hideous 
captivity.  And always the brethren kept a close watch on her, praying 
fervently that their fears be proved unfounded.  
 
Their prayers seemed answered as December came to an end and nothing 
untoward occurred.  The days passed without incident, the nights in 
peaceful silence.  She was even merry enough to join them in their 
whimsical winter games, hurling icy missiles at a spuriously indignant 
Elrond and rolling in the snow with her delighted children.  It seemed 
all so normal that they all to an Elf came to believe that she had 
found the wherewithal to start healing.  
 
But as December flowed into January, her spirits began to droop.  She 
became withdrawn once more and would start or flinch at any sudden 
movement no matter how slight.  Her fear of the dark returned in full 
as did her nightmares and her screams.  Worst of all, she soon turned 
violent, oft striking back at Elrond or the twins when they attempted 
to aid her.  Arwen was all but forbidden to approach her alone.  
 
They realized then how thoroughly she had fooled them all even her 
husband who knew her so well.  Out of love for them, in her reluctance 
to continue burdening them with her troubles, she had put on the act of 
her life.  But the strain of keeping up such a masterful charade had 
proved too great a drain on her already frail spirit.  Now she was 
paying the price in full.  
 
A shroud of apprehension settled once more upon the family.  It was 
becoming patently clear.  There would be no miracle for her or them.  
 
The end came with resounding anguish.  
 
*******  
Elrond smiled indulgently as he observed Glorfindel and Erestor from 
his bedroom window one lazy afternoon near the end of January.  The two 
had gone for a stroll in the snow-covered gardens, the captain 
solicitously helping the steward negotiate the downward slope that led 
to the orchards beyond.  
 
Erestor no longer limped but his game leg was still prone to sudden 
fits of weakness and would buckle without warning especially when he 
traversed uneven surfaces.  That wasn’t surprising considering his leg 
had been broken in two places and his kneecap near shattered.  It had 
taken all of Elrond’s skill and then some to restore the injured limb 
and ensure it would mend properly.  
 
The long recovery period had been the hardest for Erestor.  For an Elf 
who always kept busy at one task or another, the enforced inactivity 
proved agonizing at worst and tedious at best.  Only Glorfindel’s love 
and attention kept him reasonably sane throughout the dull days of his 
confinement  
 
Now that he could move about again, he took every opportunity to walk 
around, so happy was he to be freed of his necessary captivity.  
Glorfindel seldom strayed from his side during these periods and they 
were oft seen wandering about Rivendell, arm in arm, Erestor’s brush 
with tragedy drawing them even closer to each other.  
 
As Elrond continued to watch them, Erestor’s leg chose that moment to 
fail him and he lurched forward awkwardly.  He would have fallen but 
for Glorfindel’s quick reflexes.  The captain swiftly caught him and 
helped him regain his balance.  Then, when Erestor leaned momentarily 
against him, Glorfindel snaked his hand around his mate’s waist and 
pulled him close for a kiss so heated Elrond feared it would turn all 
the snow to mush.  
 
Releasing the flustered advisor, the golden Noldo suddenly scooped him 
up in his arms as he would a mere Elfling and bore him back to the 
house.  Elrond laughed softly as Erestor’s vociferous protests 
resounded through the quiet gardens.  Glorfindel paid him no mind.  The 
captain’s wicked smirk made his intentions quite clear as he carried 
his now red-faced spouse to their conjugal quarters.  
 
Elrond continued to chuckle, amused by his friend’s actions.  It seemed 
that as time went by, Glorfindel’s appetite for Erestor only 
increased.  Seldom a day went by that the steward did not go about in 
high-collared garments to hide the flagrant marks of passion the fair 
captain enjoyed inflicting on him.  Not that Erestor objected to such 
usage; he was as enthusiastic a bed-partner as Glorfindel.  But he was 
reserved by nature and shied at the prospect of flaunting such obvious 
signs of his mate’s considerable ardor.  
 
“They are so happy.”  
 
Elrond turned around to stare at his wife in surprise.  She was 
standing at his shoulder, her eyes riveted on the pair below until they 
disappeared from sight.  Shrouded in a thick white wrap, which 
concealed her much too slender form, she looked almost otherwordly.  
 
“I thought you were asleep,” Elrond said, curling a welcoming arm 
around her.  
 
She shook her head.  “I tried to.”  After a moment’s hesitation, she 
admitted:  “It hurts... there.”  
 
Elrond sighed.  “Lie down, meleth, and let me attend to you.”  
 
Biting her lip, Celebrian complied.  A sad expression crossed her 
husband’s countenance as he reached into the drawer of the bedside 
table for a small jar of medicinal salve.  Though Celebrian’s wounds 
had healed and the sutures were long removed, she still felt pain every 
once in a while either in her shoulder where the orkish poison had 
severely damaged the muscles around it or in her nether regions.  The 
salve had a numbing effect and gave her respite from the lingering 
discomfort of her injuries.  
 
I have healed so many yet I cannot give complete ease to my own wife, 
Elrond thought somewhat bitterly.  He climbed onto the bed and signed 
to his recumbent lady to part her legs.  Celebrian obeyed then closed 
her eyes as she always did when her husband tended to her.  Gently, 
Elrond applied the salve to her tender flesh.  
 
It was a service he’d performed for her for two months now.  Therefore, 
he did not in the least expect what followed.  
 
He had just gingerly pressed a salve-anointed finger into her when she 
suddenly shrieked and jerked away from him.  He stared at her in alarm, 
noting her terrified, wide-eyed countenance.  
 
“Melethril, what is wrong?!” he queried anxiously, reaching for her.  
“Did I hurt you?”  
 
He gasped in shock when her hand lashed out and her fingernails raked 
his cheek, leaving scarlet streaks in their wake.  He evaded her second 
attack, then caught her wrists as she lunged at him, hands ready to 
claw and gouge him.  He bore her down beneath him, using his body to 
pin her down.  
 
“Let go of me!” she screamed, her voice strident with fear and 
loathing.  
 
“Celebrian, ‘tis me!” he shouted desperately.  
 
When she became even more agitated, twisting, kicking and rearing in 
his grasp, he was compelled to resort to force.  Tears stung his eyes 
as he did what he had never done in all the time they had known each 
other.  He struck her hard, the sound of his palm against her cheek 
reverberating with harsh clarity in his ears.  
 
She fell back limply.  Almost sobbing, he cradled her in his arms, 
pressing his lips to her temple, brushing shaking fingers against the 
crimson splotch on her pale cheek.  It was several minutes before she 
recovered her wits.  She opened her eyes and stared at him dazedly, her 
hand reaching up to touch the unaccountable sting on the side of her 
face.  
 
“What--?”  She noticed the weals that marred the elegant curve of his 
cheek and frowned in confusion, her own pain forgotten.  “Your face...  
How did you get hurt, hervenn?” she asked, struggling to sit up.  
 
“‘Twas an accident,” he lied.  “Think no more about it.”  
 
She regarded him curiously and raised her hand to tenderly touch the 
welts.  It was then that she saw his lashes.  His tear-damp lashes.  
Her husband seldom shed tears.  She could scarcely recall when she had 
last seen him cry.  Her eyes widened as horrid recollection came back 
in an instant.  
 
“I hurt you!” she cried out.  “Ai, Elrond, forgive me!”  
 
“You were not yourself, meleth,” he protested.  
 
She shuddered then slumped exhaustedly into his arms.  She lay her 
argent head upon his shoulder.  
 
“I was not,” she wearily agreed.  “I have not been myself since...”  
She suddenly sobbed.  “I fear I will never be myself again.”  
 
“Hush, do not say that,” he objected.  
 
“But it is the truth,” she said.  She lifted her head and raised her 
hands to cup his handsome face.  “Look at me, melethron,” she 
whispered.  “I am no longer the elleth you married.”  
 
“You will always be my love,” he said fiercely.  
 
“As you will be mine,” she said sadly.  “Wherever I go, you will always 
own my heart, Elrond.”  
 
“What are you saying?” he exclaimed, fear limning his words.  
 
She lay her head once more on his shoulder.  “I am so tired, meleth,” 
she murmured.  “And I am little more than a burden to you and our 
children.”  
 
“You are no burden,” he heatedly insisted.  “We would gladly take care 
of you for eternity if need be.”  
 
“And I would repay you with pain as I did just now.”  
 
“‘Twas not your intention.”  
 
“But it was my doing.”  
 
“Celebrian--”  
 
“What will it take for you to accept the truth?” she softly asked.  
“For too long have we denied it.  Must I turn on Arwen to prove my 
eroding sanity?  Would you have our sons recklessly court their deaths 
on my account before you admit that this cannot continue?”  She turned 
her face into his neck, seeking his strength in this dark hour and 
sighed as he held her snugly.   She drew a shuddery breath.  “My body 
is whole but my spirit wanes even as we speak."  
 
Elrond closed his eyes.  Defeat weighed heavily on him.  The tears he 
had held back earlier now trickled down, their salt causing the weals 
on his cheek to sting.  Celebrian burrowed deeper into his embrace and 
wept against his chest.  They held tight to each other for the longest 
time, dreading the parting that they now knew would follow.  
 
hrivë - Quenya for winter  
meleth - love  
melethril - beloved or lover (f.)  
hervenn - husband  
elleth - Elf-maid  
melethron - beloved or lover (m.)  
 
 
Part V: Unbidden  
The twins, Arwen and Legolas gathered in Elrond’s study, wondering why 
he had summoned them so suddenly that evening.  They became even more 
curious when Glorfindel and Erestor joined them, their fair faces 
bleak; it was apparent that they knew what this was all about.  But 
before they could question either counsellor, Elrond walked in.  
 
Arwen could not help a soft exclamation of alarm at first sight of her 
father.  Elrond looked spent and drawn, his eyes red-rimmed.  And he 
had not bothered to don his customary robes of office.  Clad in a 
simple tunic and breeches, he appeared more the warrior Elf of yore 
rather than the august Lord of Imladris.  
 
“Ada, what is it?” she asked worriedly.  “You look exhausted.”  
 
“Are those welts on your face?” Elladan suddenly interrupted.  
 
Elrond sighed and raised his hand to absently touch the crimson marks 
on his cheek.  He said: “Your mother assaulted me unwittingly.”  
 
The younger Elves gasped in shock.  “Nana did that to you?” Arwen said 
disbelievingly.  
 
“She did not know what she was doing,” Elrond explained.  “She is 
finding it more and more difficult to cope with her fears.”  His gaze 
swept  over his daughter and the twins.  A spare glance at Legolas 
prompted the Mirkwood prince to move closer to Elrohir.  “She is weary 
beyond bearing,” he said.  “There is nothing more I can do for her.  
She...is fading.”  
 
His utterance cast a pall over his children.  Though they had long 
suspected that this might come to pass, it was still difficult to 
actually hear the words confirming it.  But they were not surprised.  
They had seen the signs.  
She’d fought valiantly to regain her old vivaciousness.  Her struggle 
had been painfully apparent to all.  No one could doubt the courage and 
determination of the Lady of Imladris.  But in the end, it was to no 
avail.  
 
The days of torture had altered something in her.  Elrond’s children 
had seen the steady diminishment of the light in her eyes, comprehended 
as winter passed that things would never be the same again.  That she 
would never be the same again.  
 
Their mother’s incandescence had dimmed, her innocence completely 
shattered.  What was lost could not be restored.  
 
“You have healed so many others,” Arwen said imploringly.  “Can you not 
help her?”  
 
Elrond flinched inwardly at his daughter’s plea but he carefully 
concealed it.  He could not break down before them now.  
 
“There is no healing for her,” he quietly replied.  He hesitated as he 
came to the meat of the matter.  “At least, not here.”  
 
Elrohir jerked his head up.  “Then where, Ada?” he demanded.  
 
Elrond gazed at his younger son.  The Elf-knight’s eyes were positively 
ablaze with apprehension.  He looked at the others, noted Arwen’s wide-
eyed stare, Elladan’s paled features, Legolas’ wondering frown.  At an 
encouraging nod from Erestor, he drew a deep breath and replied.  
 
“In Valinor.”  
 
His children’s stunned expressions struck him like a physical blow.  
Glorfindel swiftly reached out a hand to steady him and he glanced at 
his friend gratefully.  
 
“Nay,” Elrohir objected.  “You cannot mean to do this!”  
 
“I--we have no choice.”  
 
“How could you have decided this without consulting us?”  
 
“Elrohir--” Elladan cautioned.  
 
“This will split our family asunder!”  
 
“Do you think I have not  considered that?”  Elrond countered.  At 
Elrohir’s almost furious glare, he raised a supplicating hand.  “I am 
loath to take this path,” he said.  “She and I have never been parted 
for longer than a few months since our binding beneath the eaves of 
Lorien.  She is my light, gwenneth.  My life’s meaning.”  Elrond let 
out a sorrowful sigh.  “But to save her I must let her go.  ‘Tis the 
price I must pay if by it she may be made whole once more. ”  
 
Elrohir bit his lip then bowed his head.  “I am sorry, Ada,” he 
whispered contritely.  Legolas clasped his shoulder in mute sympathy.  
 
“As am I,” Elrond said quietly.  “I wish I could make this easier for 
all of you.  If only--”  He visibly trembled.  
 
Elladan looked at him with pain-filled eyes.  “When will she leave?” he 
asked, his voice fraught with sorrow.  
 
“Come spring,” Elrond said.  “’Twould be best for her not to delay her 
departure.”  He stopped, seeing their renewed shock.  
 
“So soon?” Arwen protested.  “Can she not stay a while longer?”  
 
Elrond shook his head.  “She will not last if she remains much longer 
in these lands.  Only in the Blessed Realm might she find peace and 
wholeness.”  
 
“Might?” Elrohir asked sharply.  
 
“There are no guarantees,” Elrond admitted.  “But her chances of 
recovery will be far greater there than were she to linger here.  To 
stay will only hasten her fading.  I will not lose her to the Halls of 
Waiting.  Not while I still draw breath.”  He spared them one last 
grieving gaze then said: “I must go back to her.”  
 
He hurriedly left the room.   For several minutes his children could 
only look at each other in speechless disbelief.  
 
“I never imagined it would come to this,” Elladan softly said, his eyes 
bright with unshed tears.  
 
On the verge of speaking, Arwen broke into sobs instead.  She sank into 
Elladan’s arms, weeping heartbrokenly.  The older twin held her 
tightly, channeling all his strength into comforting her despite the 
anguish in his own heart.  But Elrohir did not go near them.  Instead, 
he stood and walked to the wide window behind his father’s desk and 
stared out at the stark landscape.  Legolas watched him worriedly.  The 
younger twin’s eyes had been veiled but the prince had glimpsed 
something terrible in their depths, what, he did not know.  
 
After a few minutes, Glorfindel rose to go to him but as soon as 
Elrohir became aware of his approach, he drew in a ragged breath, spun 
on his heel and fled the study.  The others exchanged glances of 
consternation.  Elladan would have followed but Legolas swiftly 
forestalled him.  
 
“Arwen needs you now,” he said.  “I will see to Elrohir.”  
 
Elladan nodded and went back to his sister.  Legolas, on the other 
hand, hastened after the other twin.  Questions placed to various 
servants and retainers yielded the information that Elrohir had gone to 
his bedchamber.  Coming to the door of the twin’s room, Legolas knocked 
on it.  When silence greeted him, he decided to enter with or without 
the warrior’s permission.  He stepped in and halted on the threshold.  
 
The Elf-knight was seated on the low, wide divan below his window, 
leaning back against the glazed panes, half turned to stare into the 
twilight.  He was hugging himself as if to still the trembling that 
wracked his body.  Tears streamed down his pallid cheeks but no sound 
escaped his quivering lips.  
 
Legolas shut the door behind him and swiftly went to his friend.  
Kneeling before him, he took the other’s hands in his, tugging at them 
until Elrohir turned to look at him.  The argent eyes were brilliant 
with tears yet strangely dulled with sorrow.  The sight nearly broke 
Legolas’ heart.  
 
“We failed her,” the words spilled numbly from the twin’s lips.  “We 
did not get to her in time.”  
 
Legolas shook his head vehemently.  “Nay, Elrohir, you did not fail 
her,” he firmly objected.  “Do not blame yourself for this.”  
 
Elrohir stared at him blankly.  And then the blankness was replaced by 
sheer anguish.  “Elladan and I were supposed to accompany her to 
Lorien,” he bitterly said.  “But  then you sent word that you might 
visit and I begged off.”  
 
Legolas caught his breath,  Suddenly, Elrohir’s behavior made so much 
sense.  The Elf-knight continued, his voice harsh with self-
recrimination.  “Elladan said ‘twas wrong to change our plans when 
there was no surety of your coming but I refused to hearken to him,  
Then Mother bade him stay because she knew we did not like being apart 
overlong.”  His eyes glistened with remorseful tears.  “Elladan was 
right.  I should have done my duty.  Had we been with her, we might 
have prevented this from happening.”  
 
“More likely you would have been killed or grievously injured as 
Erestor was,” Legolas countered gently.  “’Twas not your fault, 
gwador.  You could not have saved her anymore than I could have saved 
my own naneth.”  
 
He looked down at the hands in his.  Powerful, supple warrior’s hands.  
Yet they now shook helplessly as Elrohir struggled with his 
desolation.  Legolas felt the cold that clutched at his friend’s heart, 
knew it for the chill of grief and guilt and despair.  Letting go, he 
threw his arms around the twin instead, holding him close, urging him 
to lean his head upon his shoulder.  He felt Elrohir wrap his arms 
around him in return, clasping him tightly as if he feared to lose him.  
 
The Elf-knight’s next words proved his suspicion true.  “Do not leave 
me, Calenlass,” Elrohir said brokenly.  “I could not bear to lose you, 
too.”  
 
“I would never leave you!” Legolas exclaimed softly.  “You are my 
heart’s brother, I cannot conceive of life without you at my side.”  
 
The twin shuddered in his arms.  Drawing back slightly, he peered into 
the silvery pools anxiously.  Elrohir gazed back at him, his eyes 
blurred with grief.  And then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward and 
brushed his lips against Legolas’ mouth.  It was a soft, brief kiss, 
almost a chaste one, yet it caused the archer’s heart to skip a beat.  
He stared at Elrohir in surprise.  The darkling Elf flushed and looked 
away,  
 
“I am sorry,” he whispered.  
 
Legolas hesitated then raised his hands to cup Elrohir’s face, 
compelling him to look at him.  Gazing into the depths of the twilight 
eyes, he comprehended his friend’s need.  Mere lust alone had not 
impelled the kiss; there was also a hunger for warmth, comfort and 
affection to dispel the cold that had taken hold of his spirit.  
 
The memory of that passionate Mirkwood week recalled itself to the 
prince’s mind.  He shivered, remembering in graphic detail what had 
passed between him and his friend.  Unbidden, he felt his body react to 
the memories and he swallowed with some difficulty.  He had never 
really come to terms with his improbable response to Elrohir’s 
pleasuring.  Just the thought of lying with the Elf-knight once more 
was enough to set off a volatile mix of emotions he had yet to truly 
understand.  
 
But the need in his friend’s eyes was all too compelling.  He could not 
deny the other the solace he so desperately craved in this dark time.  
Resolved, Legolas cast aside his doubts and reservations once more for 
the sake of a friendship he treasured above everything else.  He 
lowered his hands and began to undo the ties on the twin’s shirt.  
 
“Let me warm you,” he murmured.  
 
For a moment, Elrohir stared at him incredulously, but at his shy, 
acquiescing smile, the warrior drew in a steadying breath and likewise 
reached to disrobe his friend.  
 
When they were both unclothed, the twin pulled the archer onto the 
divan to lie beside him.  For a long while, they remained thus, the 
twin bestowing tender kisses upon the archer’s lips, cheeks and 
throat.  Content to simply hold his friend close, he let his hands 
remain still upon Legolas’ flank and back.  
 
The prince quickly discovered that the potency of Elrohir’s kisses had 
not diminished in all these centuries.  They were still as seductive 
and sweet and irresistible as he remembered.  Lulled by the slow, 
sensuous exploration, he opened up to the Elf-warrior; parted his lips 
and allowed the reaches of his mouth to be tenderly pillaged, lifted 
his chin to ease the passage of gently suckling lips as they followed 
the pale curve of his throat.  
 
Slowly, Legolas’ warmth penetrated the chill in Elrohir’s spirit until 
he no longer trembled from it.  The awful grief began to subside to be 
replaced by a kinder sorrow.  He still felt the sadness of his family’s 
imminent sundering but it no longer filled him with dread and despair.  
Before very long, the cold all but dissipated.  But with its abatement 
came the gradual, inevitable rise in passion.  
 
Warmth turned into heat, the gentle kisses gave way to deep, breath-
stealing caresses, the motionless hands began to roam and touch and 
feel.  Legolas gasped as Elrohir reached down between them to gently 
cup and caress him, groaned as agile fingers stroked his shaft to 
throbbing hardness, grasped convulsively at the warrior’s powerful arms 
when he pressed their groins together, bringing their hot, swollen 
members into sensuous, rapturous contact.  
 
Before he could form another thought, he found himself lying beneath 
Elrohir, quivering under the twin’s knowing hands and lips.  As before, 
he could not help the instinctive responses the warrior evoked in him.  
His throaty moans evinced the inexorable arousal of his body even as 
his mind steadily lost all grasp of lucidity.  
 
Close to a millennium had passed since they’d last lain together yet he 
felt the same wild thrill pass through his being at every evocative 
kiss and touch and whispered word.  His breath continued to quicken as 
Elrohir slowly but ardently reclaimed him, proving all too plainly how 
well he knew Legolas’ body and its needs.  
 
As Legolas’ slender frame trembled beneath him, Elrohir could only 
wonder at the blessing the Valar had bestowed upon him a second time.  
He’d never thought to touch or taste, let alone take his Greenleaf once 
more.  Despite Legolas’ assurance that he would always be there for 
him, Elrohir had not approached him again for intimacy in the close to 
nine hundred years that had followed that first time.  Much as he’d 
secretly desired to do so, he’d simply felt it unacceptable to impose 
upon his dearest friend once again.  Instead, he’d resolutely held on 
to the memories of that enchanted week in Mirkwood and resolved to 
content himself with them.  
 
Now, more than mere remembrance was within his reach and coming so 
close on the heels of his sorrow, it was all the more poignant and 
precious to him.  Once more, he committed to memory each and every 
moment of joy and rapture.  He doubted he would be so blessed again and 
therefore added them to his precious store of treasured recollections.  
 
Legolas shuddered as Elrohir drew out each and every caress.  Whether 
he was licking the pale column of his throat, sucking his now achingly 
hard nipples or enclosing the blatant evidence of his arousal in the 
moist heat of his mouth, there was a purposefulness to the twin’s every 
action that both mystified and enthralled him.  Even the moment of his 
completion was closely attended to as the warrior deliberately milked 
him dry of his seed.  
 
Drained by such edacious suckling, Legolas only woozily registered the 
pillow that was gently slipped under his hips; barely noted that his 
legs had been spread wide open.  Thus he was jolted when Elrohir 
pressed into him with his tongue, shocked that even that part of his 
body did not escape the Elf-knight’s attentions.  Elrohir’s tongue 
dipped into him repeatedly, shallowly at first, then steadily 
intensifying until the twin was delving deeply into him, evoking 
delicious sensations with every plunge, causing Legolas’ breath to 
quicken unevenly.  But the shock at being explored so intimately soon 
gave way to a fast burgeoning arousal and with it a desperate need to 
bring the delicious torment to its inevitable conclusion.  
 
By the time Elrohir slid into him, he was more than ready for it.  His 
whole body cried out for it, begged for the relief only a joining with 
the younger twin could bring.  In spite of his earlier release, he did 
not feel quite complete until he felt Elrohir sheathed deeply within 
him.  It confounded him that he should feel this way but he soon ceased 
to think about it at all when Elrohir brought his body back to full 
arousal.  
 
And then they were rocking together in a motion as ancient as love 
itself.  Unsettled by his body’s eager capitulation to Elrohir’s allure 
and skill, Legolas reached out blindly with one hand and found it 
caught in Elrohir’s reassuring grip.  A moment later, he felt the 
warrior’s other hand caressing his turgid shaft, gently and slowly at 
first, then increasing in intensity and speed until finally, finally, 
the archer sobbed out his surrender and shuddered his release between 
them.  It was but scant seconds later that he felt the warm gush of 
Elrohir’s seed within him, the sensation heightened by his instinctive 
clenching of his muscles around the twin’s proud length.  
 
They collapsed together, Elrohir resting his dark head upon Legolas’ 
chest.  For several minutes they lay quietly, waiting for their minds 
and bodies to calm down.  It was then that Legolas heard the Elf-
knight’s whispered, “Thank you.”  A pause and then a hushed and 
hesitant confession followed.  “I have missed this.”  
 
Legolas swallowed hard.  The admission was daunting to say the least, 
illustrating as it did all too clearly that Elrohir’s passion for him 
had not truly waned.  But he was not certain what unnerved him more--
his friend’s continued desire for him or his body’s readiness to 
accommodate that desire.  
 
Elrohir raised his head at his silence and espied his unease.  He bit 
his lower lip regretfully.  “I should not have let you do this,” he 
murmured.  
 
Legolas moved swiftly to blunt the other’s remorse.  “Nay, you needed 
me,” he said softly.  “You needed this.  I do not regret it and I would 
not have you do so either.”  He gently pulled the Elf-knight back down 
and stroked the midnight silk of his hair.  “I promised I would be 
there for you for as long as you need me.  You know I never break my 
promises.”  
 
He felt Elrohir shift his head to look up at him and he turned to meet 
the other’s gaze.  The twilight eyes gleamed with gratitude and 
affection.  “Then I am truly blessed,” the Elf-knight quietly said.  
 
Legolas smiled and curled his other arm around his friend.  
 
********  
Elladan reached out, trying to sense his brother.  Arwen was quieter 
now.  Yet he did not dare leave her nor did he wish to.  His sister 
felt so fragile in his arms, as if she would break if he were to 
release her.  But he was also concerned for Elrohir.  
 
Despite their twinship, it was no easy matter to connect with Elrohir 
at a distance.  Especially if his brother was unaware of the effort to 
make the connection.   Thus, it was not Elrohir’s conscious thoughts 
that Elladan gained but his overflowing emotions.  
 
The abundance and profundity of feeling that washed over the older twin 
nearly overwhelmed him.  In that instant, he knew what had just 
occurred.  He drew in a shaky breath.  
 
Arwen stirred in his arms and looked up, eyes now calm though still red 
and teary.  
 
“I am all right now, tôr iuar,” she whispered.  ‘Thank you.  Mayhap you 
should go to Elrohir.”  
 
Elladan shook his head.  “Nay, there is no need.  Legolas has more than 
adequately comforted him.”  
 
Arwen gazed at him curiously, wondering at his odd use of the past 
tense.  Not to mention the strange gleam in his stormy blue eyes. “How 
do you know--?”  
 
He placed a finger against her lips and granted her a sage smile.  
“We’re twins, remember?”  
 
She looked at him sceptically, not quite convinced that was all there 
was to it.  But Elladan hugged her close once more and she desisted 
from pressing for more.  
 
Ada - Papa  
Nana - Mama  
gwenneth - younger twin  
gwador - sworn brother  
naneth - mother  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
tôr iaur - older brother  
 
 
Part VI: Sundering  
Viressë TA 2510  
She left as soon as passage west was possible.  So depleted was her 
blithe spirit that she did not even have the strength to await Celeborn 
and Galadriel’s reply to her husband’s missive regarding her waning.  
By the time her sorrowing parents got to read the letter, she was 
already on board the ship that bore her to the Undying Lands, away from 
all that she loved.  
 
“Will you be comfortable in Finarfin’s halls?” Elrond asked her the eve 
of her departure.  They were lying in the bed they had shared for nigh 
two and half millennia, Celebrian snuggled in the protective embrace of 
her husband.  The bouquet of reawakening vegetation wafted through the 
windows, the clean smell of new greenery refreshing the denizens of 
Rivendell.  
 
“He is my mother’s sire.  My grandsire,” she murmured, nuzzling her 
cheek against his throat, breathing in his scent, one she deemed more 
alluring than the most costly fragrances of Middle-earth.  “I will be 
well taken cared of in his home.”  
 
Elrond made no answer save to kiss the top of her silver crown.  He 
hugged her thin form closer.  The signs of fading were clearly apparent 
now.  She was closer to gaunt than slender, the veins in her throat and 
hands standing out starkly against her too white skin.  Her silver hair 
while thick and long had lost some of its wondrous luster and her 
lovely eyes were dulled by exhaustion and the constant onslaught of 
guilt.  
 
The dreams had come back in full accompanied by ever escalating bouts 
of violence against those who tried to help her when she was in such 
straits.  Her guilt over her actions however unintentional refused to 
abate.  That it was her husband and sons who most bore the brunt of her 
furies only further exacerbated her self-castigation.  Add to this the 
constant resurgence of pain from her wounds and it was a wonder that 
she had lasted this long.  
 
Elrond stroked his wife’s argent locks tenderly, pressing kisses now 
and then to her temple and cheeks.  He did not see the lessened sheen 
of her hair, or the pallid tone of her skin or the increasingly obvious 
boniness of her form.  In his eyes, she was still the fairest Elf in 
all Arda.  
 
“Would that I could go with you,” he murmured.  
 
“If only you could,” she softly agreed.  “But you still have a part to 
play in the future of these lands.”  
 
Elrond sighed.  In that moment, the weight of his exalted heritage 
seemed almost unconscionably heavy.  
 
“I pray that the years will pass swiftly that I may join you soonest,” 
he whispered.  
 
Celebrian looked up at him, her eyes limpid with devotion.  “‘Tis my 
prayer, too.”  The blue pools then darkened with foreboding.  “But do 
not hasten to my side if by doing so we should lose our children to 
your brother’s choice,” she added urgently.  “Keep them to the path, 
hervenn, I beg of you.”  
 
Elrond hesitated then nodded.  It was a never-ending source of 
apprehension for them.  If he could, he would have urged his sons and 
daughter to go with their mother and not await the day of his own 
departure.  But he knew they were not ready to forsake Middle-earth.  
His greatest fear was that they would never forsake Middle-earth at 
all.  Nevertheless, he strove to assure his wife that he would do his 
best to hold them to his path.  He would not burden her with yet 
another grief; she already bore more than she could bear.  
 
He sighed once more as her lips turned into his neck.  They had seldom 
coupled since her harrowing experience.  She’d been in too much pain 
too often for such indulgences.  But now...  
 
“Love me,” she whispered against his skin, her warm breath raising 
prickles of desire along his flesh.  “I would take the memory of this 
night with me unto the West.”  
 
“As you wish, seron vell,” he murmured.  
 
He granted her desire and more.  They did not know when they would 
enjoy the bliss of each other’s loving once more.  And so they coupled 
through the night, gently and slowly so as not to tire her past 
endurance, but thoroughly and ardently to create enough memories to 
carry them through Elbereth only knew how many lonely years.  
 
********  
Only her children, Legolas and the closest members of Elrond’s 
household gathered in the courtyard to see her off.  Gildor Inglorion 
waited with his company of Elves by the arched gate leading out into 
the valley beyond.  It had been her desire that her farewells to these 
dearest few should remain private.  She spoke to each softly, 
tenderly.  Almariel and Iorwen wept while Lindir strove not to upset 
her by breaking down in her presence.  
 
Erestor forgot all about restraint and dignity when she lovingly 
embraced him and he hugged her back fiercely, tears streaming down his 
cheeks.  She had always been so kind to him, never treating him as 
anything less than a member of the family.  She turned to Glorfindel, 
whispered a few words of gratitude and counsel to him.  When she hugged 
him after, the Balrog slayer was seen to shudder with the effort not to 
weep.  
 
Legolas swallowed hard when she came to him.  As always, she regarded 
him with maternal affection.  The prince near came to tears himself.  
Ever had she been like a second mother to him since the passing of 
Ithilwen.  He pridefully held them back, bit his lower lip lest it 
quivered.  He sighed sadly as she drew him into her warm arms, stroking 
his fair hair as she would one of her own children.  She drew away and 
took his capable archer’s hands into hers.  
 
“Be strong for my children,” she softly implored.  
 
“I will, my lady,” he promised.  Their regard drifted for a spell to 
the twins and Arwen who awaited their turn with their mother.  Legolas’ 
eyes met Elrohir’s and the prince unexpectedly blushed.  
 
Celebrian noted the exchange; her gaze lingered a moment on her younger 
son, reading his demeanor with unerring comprehension.  With this 
sudden insight into her younger son’s heart, she also beheld something 
of the future as the foresight of her line came upon her.  She turned 
back to the archer, pinning him with a look that both heartened and 
warned.  “What you share with Elrohir is beyond compare, Legolas,” she 
gently counselled.  “Hearken to your heart if you would see it 
prosper.”  At his startled stare, she added,  “Your fate--and his--are 
one and the same.”  
 
“What--what do you mean?” he asked in confusion.  
 
“You will understand when the time comes,” she replied.  She pressed a 
parting kiss to his cheek then walked to her family.  Legolas could 
only stare at her, perplexed, a frown furrowing his brow.  
 
She opened her arms to her children, embracing each in turn.  Elladan 
openly wept as did Arwen.  Only Elrohir remained dry-eyed though his 
expression was no less sorrowful.  Their mother spoke to each of them, 
gazing at their faces as if to memorize each and every line and curve 
of their features.  
 
“My ever dependable Elladan,” she said to her firstborn.  “Do not 
burden yourself with duty to the exclusion of your desires, gweniaur.  
I would see you happy with your heart’s choice.”  
 
Elladan smiled faintly at her.  “I will keep my eyes open, Nana,” he 
murmured.  
 
“Eyes and arms,” she teased gently and caressed his crimsoned cheek.  
“Whoever you may choose, he or she will be most welcome into our 
family.  Always remember that, ion.”  
 
“I will, Nana.”  
 
She looked at Elrohir.  Her eyes softened in understanding when he 
unthinkingly glanced in Legolas’ direction.  
 
“And you, Elf-knight?” she crooned.  “Have you found what you seek?”  
 
Elrohir started then gazed at her in wonder.  “Mayhap.”  He looked at 
her a little anxiously and lowered his voice that only she might hear 
him.  “I would that you did not mention this to Ada.”  
 
“You would keep this from him?”  He nodded somberly.  “And Elladan?  
Does he know?”  
 
“I think he suspects.”  
 
“Why, ion nîn?  Why such reticence?”  
 
Elrohir sighed.  “Because I know not if it will ever come to fruition.  
I do not desire anyone’s pity, not even Ada’s or Elladan’s.”  Again he 
beseeched her.  “Please say nothing, Nana.”  
 
After a pause, she nodded and hugged him close.  “Keep faith, 
gwenneth,” she whispered into his ear.  “Never lose hope that your 
desire will be granted.”  
 
When at last she turned to her only daughter, her eyes suddenly widened 
and she grew even whiter than anyone thought possible.  
 
“Nana!” Arwen exclaimed, catching her in her arms.  “Are you ill?”  
Elrond and the brethren came closer and flanked them.  
 
Celebrian shook her head then looked up at the Elf-maid.  To her 
family’s alarm, her eyes shone bright with frightened tears.  
 
“‘Tis just that I--I had the strangest feeling that I would never see 
you again, iell nîn,” she gasped.  
 
Arwen stared at her.  “That is absurd, Nana!” she insisted.  “We will 
be together again.”  
 
“I hope so,” Celebrian faintly said.  
 
Elrond softly said: “We will always be together in our hearts, meleth.  
No matter where our paths lead us.”  
 
His wife looked at him, her eyes swimming.  And then she bit her lip 
and embraced Arwen.  “Whatever happens, I want you to be happy, 
dearest,” she said.  “Let nothing deter you, Arwen, not even us.”  
 
For once, Arwen could not find the words to say and in lieu of speech, 
she conveyed all her love and sorrow in their tight embrace.  They 
parted most reluctantly, Celebrian letting her gaze linger on her 
daughter’s countenance for the longest time.  
 
Gildor Inglorion now approached them.  
 
“It is time,” he quietly said.  
 
Elrond nodded and placed a hand on his wife’s arm.  Celebrian looked at 
her children one last time then let her husband lift her onto their 
steed.  Elrond mounted behind her and, with a grave nod to his sons, 
turned the horse towards the gate, his wife secure in the curve of his 
arm.  
 
She did not look back.  She could not.  It would have been too much to 
bear to upon her grieving children as she departed from their home.  
And their lives  
 
Viressë - Quenya for April  
meleth - love  
hervenn - husband  
seron vell - dear lover (beloved)  
gweniaur - older twin  
Nana - Mama  
gwenneth - younger twin  
ion, ion nîn - son, my son  
Ada - Papa  
iell nîn - my daughter  
 
 
Part VII: Intentions  
Cermië TA 2510  
The gardens of Elrond’s house were bathed in golden light this fine 
afternoon in July.  Out by the summerhouse, the Lord of Rivendell 
watched in amusement as his sons and their Mirkwood friend labored 
amongst the exquisite roses that had been Celebrian’s pride and joy.  
Overseeing their efforts was Arwen who at the moment displayed all the 
authority of her mother and none of her gentle persuasiveness.  
 
“She is still a little raw around the edges.”  
 
Elrond glanced with a chuckle at Glorfindel who sat by his side on the 
soft, velvety grass.  He and Erestor had joined him for a short while.  
Erestor, his head cradled in the golden captain’s lap, dozed lightly.  
 
“Aye, but she will learn quickly now that she has put her head to it,” 
Elrond said.  “She will make a proper Lady of the Valley and do her 
mother proud.”  
 
“If she can school her over-tart tongue first,” Erestor sleepily put 
in, roused by their chatter.  
 
The other two Elves laughed softly.  Elrond returned his regard to the 
trio of would-be gardeners and their graceful taskmistress.  It was 
good that his children had taken it upon themselves to care for their 
mother’s roses.  In preserving that which she had so enjoyed they were 
keeping her memory close to them.  
 
His eyes drifted to the summerhouse by the rose garden.  It, too, 
evoked recollections of a time long past when the twins and Arwen had 
been but Elflings innocent of the world beyond and their family had 
been whole and happy.  He wondered if his children would care to use it 
for their leisure.  He knew he would not.  It had been his gift to 
Celebrian after she’d given birth to the twins.  He’d known she would 
delight in a place she could retire to in times of needed solitude or 
respite.  As such, it would only remind him of their life together and 
that was much too painful to bear now that she was gone.  
 
He put his pensive thoughts aside when the young quartet finally lay 
down their tools and came to join him.  He grinned as Elladan 
scowlingly wiped a smidgen of earth from his cheek, which Elrohir so 
graciously pointed out to him.  
 
“Will they do?” he inquired of his daughter.  
 
“Well enough,” she smiled impishly.  
 
“Well enough?” Elladan growled.  “Is that all you have to say after 
making us toil so hardily?”  
 
“Considering that Nana’s roses may well have expired from your 
questionable ministrations, I think my words high praise as it is,” she 
retorted.  
 
Elladan cast her a look so black, it drew renewed laughter from their 
elders.  
 
“Peace, my children,” Elrond grinned.  “I would have quiet and 
tranquility about me this lovely day.”  
 
Elrohir glanced at him curiously.  “Arwen says you are thinking of 
visiting Lorien this autumn,” he said.  
 
“I am considering it,” Elrond admitted.  “Celeborn and Galadriel were 
grieved not to have been able to see your mother before she left.  I 
would bring comfort to them if I can.”  He nodded in Arwen’s direction 
and added: “Your sister wishes to come and I would counsel you to join 
us as well.”  
 
“Why, Ada?” the Elf-knight asked.  
 
“You and Elladan have expressed a desire to continue with your 
questing,” Elrond said gravely.  “I will not stop you if ‘tis your 
wish.  But I do think it prudent for you to think your reasons over 
before you go.  Lorien will afford you the chance as Imladris and all 
its memories cannot.”  
 
Elrohir exchanged a look with his brother.  Consultation and agreement 
passed between them swiftly and silently.  
 
“Very well, Ada, we will join you,” Elrohir said.  He turned his eyes 
on Legolas.  “Calenlass?  You have oft said you would like to visit the 
Golden Wood.  Mayhap you could come with us?”  
 
Legolas sighed and shook his head.  He looked toward the far end of the 
gardens where the Imladrin warriors, Daurin and Enedrion, conversed 
with several Mirkwood soldiers.  The Wood-elves had arrived in the 
valley just two days past bearing Thranduil’s summons to his youngest 
son.  For the Elvenking to send an escort to fetch him was a clear 
indication of his father’s desire for him to return home soonest.  
 
“I dare not disobey my father,” he said.  “He would not demand my 
presence were it not necessary.  Troubles hound our borders without 
cease and my brothers are hard-pressed to hold the line.  I am needed 
at home.”  
 
Elrohir nodded and said no more on the matter.  But the prince could 
not fail to espy the disappointment in his eyes.  
 
“When shall we leave, Ada?” Arwen eagerly inquired.  
 
“You are keen to go,” Elladan commented.  
 
“I miss our grandparents,” she said.  “And I have a wager to settle 
from so many years ago.  ‘Twould be an opportune time to do it.”  
 
“What wager is this, thel neth?” Elrohir queried.  
 
“One of grandfather’s border guards bet that I couldn’t shoot an arrow 
straight to save my life,” she huffed.  “I intend to prove him wrong 
and have him on his knees before me begging forgiveness for demeaning 
my skills.”  
 
“Poor fellow,” Elladan chuckled.  “He will rue the day he offered so 
misguided an opinion.”  
 
After a while, Glorfindel and Erestor rose and returned to the house.  
It had been a pleasant interlude but they had duties to attend to.   
Elrond soon followed with Elladan and Arwen.  But Elrohir and Legolas 
remained behind.  Though the younger twin had risen to his feet as 
well, he stood still for several minutes gazing impassively at the 
summerhouse and rose garden.  He did not seem in the least troubled and 
in fact appeared remarkably composed.  But Legolas suspected otherwise.  
 
He regarded his friend with ill-concealed anxiety.  Elladan had claimed 
that Elrohir’s calm was deceptive and the prince was inclined to 
believe him.  Beneath the surface of the Elf-knight’s quiet demeanor 
still lay hurt and anger and some of the coldness of spirit that had so 
overcome him the day they learned of Celebrian’s fate.  But he was 
slowly burying his simmering emotions beneath layer upon layer of 
feigned serenity.  Soon they would be so skillfully hidden that even 
his own twin would be hard-pressed to know truth from pretense.  
 
The prince wished he did not have to leave on the morrow.  More than 
ever Elrohir needed his company.  But he could not ignore his duties to 
the Woodland Realm.  He’d already stayed away far longer than he’d 
asked leave for.  Still, he longed to do something before he departed. 
Something that would help keep Elrohir anchored in hope and optimism 
and hold overbearing bitterness and despair at bay.  Something that 
would be of deep-felt comfort even when he was no longer there in 
person to offer it.  
 
*I have missed this.*  
 
Elrohir’s confession to him in the wake of their unexpected coupling 
suddenly came to mind.  He shivered as the memory of bewitching kisses 
and beguiling caresses edged into his consciousness; warm color swiftly 
suffused his cheeks.  He was surprised to have even thought of it but 
now that the idea had presented itself he found himself inclined 
towards it.  He was not certain if it was a wise course to follow but 
the Elf-knight’s need for whatever consolation he could give outweighed 
everything else and he firmly put wisdom and all other considerations 
aside.  If there was more to his decision than his concern and 
affection for a beloved friend, he chose not to examine it at present.  
Mayhap another time.  
 
Taking a deep breath, he took Elrohir’s hand and gently pulled him 
towards the house.  The twin looked at him questioningly as they walked 
back.  
 
Legolas simply said: “Let me warm you.”  
 
Elrohir gazed at him in surprised wonderment.  His twilight eyes 
glittered darkly.  And then a faint, grateful smile curved his lips and 
he nodded.  
Arm in arm, they entered the Last Homely House east of the sea.  
 
Nana - Mama  
Ada - Papa  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
thel neth - younger sister  
 
The end