Sorrow and Joy

Disclaimers: There all mine … mine I tell you … Well, only in the twisted world which is my mind. Otherwise, they belong to Tolkien, his heirs, and New Line Cinema.

Summary: Haldir bullies Elrohir one summer in Lothlorien. Angsty sappy Peredhil family fic, featuring lots of Elrond/Celebrian.

Rating: PG-13 because Elrond and Celebrian get a little frisky with each other *smirks*

A/N: Elrohir is the equivalent of about eight, Haldir is the equivalent of about thirteen. This is set before Arwen's birth, early in the Third Age.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Elrohir tried to break his tormentor's grip in his shoulders, struggling against the strong hands which pinned him to the mallorn.

"Let go of me," he spat, twisting frantically.

"Or what?" sneered Haldir. "What could you possibly do to me, little one?"

"I'm not little," Elrohir replied, fighting back tears.

The silver-haired Elf raised one sardonic eyebrow. Unfortunately for the younger elfling, Haldir was right. Elrohir was small for his age, with the delicate fragility of his mother. While Elladan ran amok outside, wrestling ferociously in the mud, Elrohir, separated from his twin, would simply curl up into a corner with a book from Elrond's extensive library. Haldir could not resist such an easy target.

He released the younger elfling with such speed that Elrohir's head cracked against the tree trunk.

Hauling himself upright, clutching at his aching head, Elrohir stuttered, "Ada s-says that brute force is never moral j-justification, and that no E-Elf should use his own st-strength to int…int … to make others do what he wants."

He stared defiantly at Haldir.

"Oh, you do know such long words, do you not, little half-wit?" Haldir laughed cruelly. "Tell me, what would you or your half-breed father know about what an elf should do?"

"Ada is an elf. He is a great elf-lord who fought alongside King Gil-galad," Elrohir answered stubbornly, lifting his chin to glare into the eyes of the older boy."

"Oh … your precious ada is a Noldor lackey, and related to Turin who married his own sister. I must repair at once to give my humble obeisance to the poor orphan whose own parents sailed West to escape him."

"They d-didn't," yelled the Peredhel, stepping forward with his hands balled into tight fists. "Anyway, he is p-powerful and good. Luthien Tinuviel was his great-grandmother."

There was no small degree of pride in his voice.

"Well, let us see if the power of the Nightingale can protect her halfling descendants."

With a fluid motion of one elegant leg, Haldir kicked out and swept the younger boy's feet out from under him.

Holding the winded child to the ground with one hand, he gripped a sensitive ear-tip between the fingers of the other. Leaning close, he whispered, "It would seem not. Now what will you do, half-breed? Will you cry to your parents? You dare not, worthless Peredhel. You know you dare not."

"What are you doing to my brother?" a shrill voice piped. Elrohir sighed with relief when Elladan's anxious face appeared over Haldir's shoulder, his cheeks smudged with mud and his braids loosened and tangled.

"We were playing a game, were we not, Elrohir?" the older boy said in a deceptively honeyed voice. Unbeknownst to Elladan, he tightened his grip on the younger boy's ear until a small trickle of blood began to flow.

The Peredhel plastered a grin across his face.

"Yes. It's been so much fun," he answered brightly, although he heard the catch of tears in his singsong lilt. As the Lorien Elf's grip relaxed, Elrohir scrambled to his feet.

Elladan looked uncertain for a fleeting instant, but then his face cleared like the sky after a summer storm.

"C'mon," he chirruped at his bruised twin. Let's go show Amme the stones I found."

Digging in the torn pockets of his over-tunic, he produced a grubby handful of assorted pebbles. Dragging Elrohir behind him, he danced off towards their quarters.

_ _ _ _ _ _

"Why do you do that?" asked Rumil, who had accompanied Elladan.

"Do what?" responded Haldir nonchalantly, scaling the mallorn to sit astride one of its branches.

"Every time that poor little shrub comes to the Golden Wood you deliberately exert yourself to ruin his enjoyment," Rumil rejoined. "I know you have no such contempt for the Lord of Imladris as you profess to his son. What reason can you have? What justice is there in so hurting an innocent child?"

Haldir swung one leg laconically, regarding his elder brother with an arrogance beyond his years.

"I respect Lord Elrond because he is a great warrior and a true leader among both Men and Elves. He has bought the respect of the Elves of the Golden Wood with his blood," he drawled softly. "I intend my barbed arrows not for the father but for the son."

He paused, his haughty sapphire eyes losing their focus. When he returned his attention to Rumil, they were as cold as the Grinding Ice, bitter and sorrowful.

"My brother, you are older than I, yet you do not see with the clarity which is my curse," he snapped. "Much blood has been spilt to protect these lands, and in times to come it will be our own which flows freely into the soil. That is why I have no mercy for the Peredhel brat: in these scarred lands he deserves none."

Rumil's brow furrowed.

"I fail to understand your mode of thinking, dearest little brother," he remarked sarcastically.

Haldir's eyes flashed with impatience.

"Elrohir," he spat, venom dripping from the single word, "is weak … puny … useless. You see how he is, how he shies away from arms and battle, how he cannot even lift a sword. All his life he will hide behind book-learning while we defend our people against the darkness. His cowardice will be paid for with our lives. He deserves compassion neither from me nor from you. I give him none; I suggest you do likewise."

Rumil scrutinised his younger brother's face for some time before shaking his head briskly in bafflement.

"It is you who do not see, Haldir," he sighed. There are many ways to be strong. The hand which wields the sword may be ill-equipped to craft the treaty. The Peredhel may surprise you yet."

Haldir snorted in disbelief, but he sprang lightly from the tree. Linking arms with his bemused brother, the pair strolled away.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Elrond glanced up from the book before him as a small dark head peered round the door.

"Come here," he said affectionately, stretching out one hand, and his youngest son, attired for sleep, slipped into the room. Elrond set the book aside.

The elfling crawled into his father's lap, snuggling gratefully into the warm folds of velvet. Gazing down at the child, Elrond noticed the dark circles under the hollow eyes and the traces of tears on the pale cheeks. Cradling the tiny body close, he realised how thin his child had become. A shock coursed through him.

"What is wrong, my little star?" he asked, trying to suppress the panic which rose up in him.

Elrohir made no reply, only burrowing deeper into his father's shoulder.

"What is wrong, my little Peredhel?"

Elrohir stiffened, and a faint sob escaped him.

"Don't call me that."

Tilting the babyish face up, Elrond looked into the swimming eyes.

"Why not?" he questioned gently. The name had always elicited a smile from the twins, usually accompanied by a fascinated request to hear the tale of Luthien and Beren, or of Tuor and the fall of Gondolin. Never before had either child trembled.

Elrohir twisted his face away, burying it in the heavy cloth, before replying in a muffled voice.

"He… he says that the Peredhil are filthy, that they are lower than elves. I d-don't want to be lower."

The last word ended on with a damp wail.

The older elf felt deadly rage suffuse him, but there was, mixed with it, something darker and deeper … old fear. Bile rose in his throat at the memory of taunts he could never forget, no matter how many Ages passed. The scars ran too deep.

"Who is 'he'?" Elrond inquired, trying to keep the taut fury out of his voice.

Elrohir shook his head mutely.

"Elrohir," his father warned. "Who is 'he'?"

The child tipped his head slightly, opening one grey eye cautiously, and mumbled, "I shan't tell you. It would be w-weakness."

Elrond sighed, accepting the futility of demanding answers, and hugged Elrohir tenderly. Softly, he began to sing to the huddled child in a melodic voice.

When the last note of the tale of the Elder Days faded away, the younger Peredhel raised his head and favoured his father with a watery smile.

"I don't like it here," he whispered. "I want to go home. I like Imladris. People are nicer there."

Elrond wiped away his son's tears with the ball of his thumb.

"I'll see what I can do."

Glancing up, his eyes met those of Celebrian, who stood in the doorway watching them.

"Now, I think it's bedtime for brave warriors, hmm?"

Standing, he scooped the sleepy child up. Celebrian followed him from the room, her hand warm on the small of his back. Together, they tucked the elfling into the bed next to Elladan's, and, when his breathing quieted, left the twins to their dreams.

"Did you hear?"

"Aye, I did. I stood there for some time watching you."

"I do not know what to do. I cannot help him if he hides from me," Elrond said in a heartbroken voice. "He is my son and yet I cannot protect him from this … this … little orc."

Celebrian sank onto their shared bed, observing his wild strides as he paced the room. The flailing hem of his robe caught a vase of flowers, sending it hurtling to the floor. Guilt-stricken, Elrond bent over the debris picking up the wickedly pointed shards. He cursed vigorously as the glass lacerated his fingers.

"Leave that, meleth nin," Celebrian called, patting the bed beside her. "Come and sit with me before my mother demands your head for destroying Caras Galadhon."

Wearily Elrond struggled from his outer robe and, discarding his boots, settled beside her in his breeches and tunic, still holding his dripping hand aloft.

The silver-haired elf took it in both her own, examining the shallow wounds.

"Foolish clumsy Peredhel," she murmured lovingly before suckling the wounded digit.

"Celebrian," growled Elrond.

His wife released his finger, and looked up at him tantalisingly through her lashes.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I was simply trying to quench the flow of blood."

"I fear that you might accomplish the opposite if you mistreat my hand so."

Moving with lightning reflexes, he captured her hand, and, locking eyes with her, drew it to his mouth. He expertly teased the pad of her finger with his tongue, grazing the knuckle with his teeth. Celebrian whimpered, stirring against him, but he released her reluctantly.

"However, I fear that this is not the time for such delightful diversions."

"And I had been so looking forward to diverting you," she grinned.

With a sigh, Elrond lay backwards until his head was pillowed in Celebrian's lap. She began to smooth his ebony locks, unravelling the intricate braids which framed his noble face. He was lost in thought, lulled by her comforting hands, until she remarked, "Elrohir, of the pair, most reminds me of you."

After a moment's reflection, he chuckled.

"Yes. There was one time in Lindon when Elros hit my tormentor so hard that he broke the child's nose. When Gil-galad found both of us cheering he was so displeased at our delight that Elros and I had to clean the stables for a month," he paused, "but the other child had to scrub barnacles off the boats for two months."

His fine lips quirked, but as he continued his grey eyes became clouded.

"It hurts that he must undergo the same trials, while I must watch him accumulate the same scars on his soul. I wish I could stop it."

Celebrian caressed his forehead, tracing one arched eyebrow with the tips of her fingers.

"Although I do not have your memories," she pondered, "it hurts to see him stop believing. It hurts to see him stop eating, to see him withdraw even from Elladan. And it hurts to see how ill you take it."

Elrond bit his lip, feeling the sting of salt tears in his eyes.

"Do you still fear to cry in my presence, melethron?" she murmured. "After all these years can you doubt that I do not already know what is in your heart?"

Elrond shook his head and, pressing her hand to his feverish lips, let the tears slide freely down his face.

"Would you be unable to forgive me if we went home … to Imladris?"

"Only if you went without me."

"Could I ever be parted from you for long?" he sighed. "What would happen to me without you?"

"You would become Elrond One-Handed from folly when confronted with broken glass, and my mother would set companies of archers on your tail," she said tartly. "It is well that I am here."

"It is," he murmured. "I love you, my silver queen."

"And I love you," she replied. Tugging a lock of his unbraided hair, she urged him upright. Tipping his head towards hers, she breathed, "Tomorrow we will tell the twins. But tonight…"

Eagerly he closed the distance between their mouths. Almost hesitantly, he nudged her lips apart, and their tongues met in a practised dance of desire. Hurriedly, they shed their remaining garments.

As Celebrian nibbled his lower lip, Elrond trailed his hands along the newly exposed skin to cup her head.

In the morning there would be at least one very happy elfling, but for the rest of the night Elrond and Celebrian could lose themselves in each other, their mutual love balming their souls.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ada – dad

Amme – mum

Meleth nin – my beloved [I think]

Melethron – (male) lover.

Peredhel – half-elven

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