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Fanfic100: JRR Tolkien - Elladan/Elrohir
By : nuwing
Category: -Multi-Age > General
Views: 2236 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Title: Legacy (Written for the fanfic100 challenge)
Author: Minuial Nuwing
Fandom: JRR Tolkien
Characters: Elladan Peredhil/Elrohir Peredhil
type:FPGen
Prompt: 029 – Birth
Word Count:594
Rating:PG
Summary:A chance meeting in the wilds has far-reaching implications.
Disclaimer:Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
Author's Notes: Non-graphic mention of a rather rudimentary C-section and a bit of blood
*********************
Legacy
~Eriador 1979 III~
The blade clattered loudly on the dirty stone floor of the hovel, masking Elladan’s exasperated oath. “Give me your knife, ‘Roh,” he snapped. “Quickly.”
“Let me go for Ada, tôren,” Elrohir pleaded quietly, “He can be here within the hour, and...”
“There is no time,” the elder twin hissed, shoving a bloody hand before his brother’s carefully averted eyes. “In an hour they will both be dead. Give me your blade.” Sparing a glance for the shocked faces that huddled around the edges of the room, he added, “And see to the others.”
Reluctantly handing over his boot-knife, the elf-knight began rapidly herding the onlookers outside, and most went gladly. When offering a night’s lodging to the traveler and his wife, the master of the tiny shack had never imagined such drama to follow.
In a mere moment the room’s only other occupant was a grizzled old woman, who met Elladan’s gaze calmly. “Ye will be needin’ me to hold the babe, m’lord,” she announced firmly, moving to the edge of the rumpled bed. “Yer brother is best suited for heatin’ more water.”
A weary smile flickered across the eldest twin’s face at the blunt assessment. “He is, indeed.”
“’Tis an Elvish trick, I reckon. Ye have done this before, eh?” the old mother asked, sitting down next to the laboring woman and catching the fine-boned wrists in her large, reddened hands, her grip surprisingly gentle.
“Aye,” Elladan replied, his eyes fixed on the swollen belly before him. “Once.”
“’Tis a better chance than the waiting, then, Master Elf,” she returned calmly, turning her attention to the other woman. “Be still, now, lass,” she crooned. “Yer babe will soon be here.”
“Get on with it, ‘Dan,” Elrohir said, laying a hand on his twin’s shoulder. “I have the silk and needle ready.”
And the water heated.
The teasing words brushed Elladan’s thoughts on a wave of affection, easing his suffocating anxiety. Breathing a final prayer to any interested Vala, he lowered the keen-edged blade, slicing cleanly through skin and muscle. A single agonized scream rang in the dim chamber, then the writhing form went still, mercifully unconscious.
**************
“Will you not come and meet your son?”
The jubilant voice shook the traveler from his stupor, and he stared at the grinning elf blankly. “My...my son?”
“Aye,” Elrohir answered, urging the man through the open door. “Your son.”
“My wife...she is...”
“She will be well,” Elladan broke in with a nod toward the exhausted but alert new mother. “Though if you will allow it, I would that she return with us to Imladris for a fortnight. She has lost much blood, and has quite a wound to show for her battle.”
“Imladris?” the man repeated excitedly. “’Twas indeed the hidden valley that we sought, though too late it would seem. We are wanderers, my people and I, and I wished the babe born in a safe haven.”
Elrohir looked closely at the mortal for the first time, taking in the dark hair and clear grey eyes with dawning understanding.
Elladan met his brother’s gaze for a brief moment before turning to the traveler. “Might I ask your name, my friend?”
“All I have is yours for the asking,” the man pledged soberly, gripping the elder twin’s arm. “I am called Aranarth.”
A hungry mewl from the bundle tucked tight against his chest drew a chuckle from all gathered, and he turned back the swaddling to reveal hair black as a raven’s wing and stormy grey eyes.
“And this is my son, Arahael.”
*~*~Finis~*~* (tôren – my brother)
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