But these were his sons...
He remembered when he first held the tiny bundles in his arms as Celebrian looked on with a tired, yet incandescent smile. He remembered questing little fingers, clumsily reaching for his knotted braids. He remembered hearing the fast pitter-patter of small feet running through the halls. He remembered kissing fresh scrapes as he made it all ' better'. He remembered holding their tear-wracked bodies after they brought to him the still form of a fallen bird, and he had to explain to them the concept of death. He remembered the shining look in their eyes the first time they hit a bullseye in the archery range, the first time they presented him with treasured gifts made by their own hands, the first time they told him they loved him...
The Lord closed the door with a nearly inaudible click, his memories overwhelming his heart. He felt a sudden and acute need for the distraction of friendly banter and so he turned his steps towards the chambers of his golden-haired seneschal.
He had just brought his hand up to knock on the ornately carved door, when he heard a loud wail of pleasure come from within. One eyebrow shot clear up to his hairline and he shook his head ruefully, perhaps a little enviously, at this auditory display from the latest elf to be the lucky recipient of the Balrog Slayer's famed sexual prowess.
As he turned away from the door and continued down the hall, Elrond could not help but to keenly feel the absence of his beloved Celebrian. He had learned, over the last centuries, to live with the constant ache from their forced separation. He had even found a few treasured moments of joy. The one thing he had not done, was to lay with another. Even though his Lady had bid him to seek the conforts of a lover to ease his pain after their parting.
But he was the Lord of Imladris. The bearer of Vilya. A figure held upon the highest pedestal of respect by all of elven and human kind. He was the ruler, the healer, the comforter. He was the one others came to when trouble arose. Only one had ever seen him at his weakest. Only one had ever held him when he cried, when he doubted, when he needed...
Celebrian.
Her very name was a sigh of deepest longing in his heart. Even his two closest friends had never seen him come completely undone. Not when her battered body had been brought before him. Not even when they stood beside him as he watched her sail away. The mantel of leadership and destiny had ever lain heavy upon his shoulders. He was the Lord of Imladris, and his footsteps whispered the echo of his loneliness down the deserted halls...
Those footsteps brought him to his Lady's garden. A garden that he had continued to lovingly tend after her departure from Arda. Their shared bed he had put in storage, unable to bear the thought of sleeping in it alone. So it was in this place, that he found the last remnant of their marital connection.
He sat down on her favorite bench, the myriad of flowers around him gifting their scent as they sought to lift his troubled spirit. For a long time he sat thus, hearing the echo of her sparkling laughter in the soft rustle of the leaves.
How she had loved to laugh, his Lady... And so much of her laughter had been heard within this garden. Many times, she had come into his study with a picnic basket dangling from her arm, her eyes twinkling merrily as she insisted he take a break from his labors and come join her in repast. Then she would bring him to this place, this special hideaway, her light banter offering a welcomed contrast to his stately duties.
So it was to this garden that she had brought him one night, her eyes shining with a different purpose. She had walked to the very center of it, before turning to look at him as she let her gossamer gown fall to puddle at her feet. She had stood there, bathed by the full light of Ithil, her hair cascading like molten silver all around her.
// " I would have your seed quicken within my belly this night. Come, my Lord. Come and fill me."// She had said, opening her arms to him
And he had...Oh! he had...
That had been the magical night of the twin's conception.
A soft smile graced Elrond's lips as he slowly rose from the bench, taking one last look around the garden.
" Hannon lle, melamin." He whispered.
Then he went back into the house.
The first thing he noticed as he neared his next destination, was that the guard assigned to Erestor's door was gone.
In the next instant, the Lord's ears picked up on the muffled sound of groaning coming from inside one of the utility closets to his left. He unlatched the door, to find the guard groggily struggling to his feet. Elrond helped him stand, concern creasing his face.
" What happened?." He asked
It took a few seconds for the guard's eyes to fully focus on his Lord.
" I...I do not know, my Lord. I was standing by the door to Lord Erestor's quarters..and then.. I was waking up in this closet."
Elrond quickly looked him over, finding no sign of injury or concussion.
" Can you walk?."
" Aye, my Lord." The guard straightened as he nodded in affirmative.
" Give me your sword." Elrond ordered " Go to Lord Glorfindel's chambers, tell him to come to Erestor's rooms and then get yourself to the healing house."
" Aye, my Lord."
The guard ran, somewhat still unsteady, to do his Lord's bidding. Elrond went to the door of Erestor's chamber, throwing it open as he rushed in with sword at the ready.
Only to have it clatter down onto the polished floor a moment later...
TBC...