Dedication: To Arómenë, because without her, there are no stories.  Happy birthday, mellon nin.

AN: This hit me in the middle of chapter 20 of Altariel's "A Game Of Chess" (which I cannot recommend enough), and I wrote it walking to school, in class and while sitting in various forms of public transport.  It was that kind of trip people, and I am not sure there's a light at the end of the tunnel.  Consider yourself warned. 

Also, there will be some departures from canon.  For various logistical reasons, Celebrían  is getting attacked on the way home from Lorien, not to, and I have compressed the time line in some places, namely the part between her wounded and her passing.  Furthermore, despite the fact that they are just shy of two and a half thousand years old, the twins have had not real life experiences, and are thus treated accordingly.  They have about 400 years before they join the Rangers. My apologies to the purists.

Disclaimer: My last name is not Tolkien, and I own nothing except (multiple) copies of the books, hence the term "fan fiction".

Summary: When Celebrían is wounded, many changes come to Rivendell, and some of that which was forgotten is relearned.

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~Premonition~

It was one of those perfect mornings.  Such a thing was not uncommon in Imladris, but this morning seemed different from the endless procession of perfect mornings that had preceded it.  An air of expectation hung in the air, for the Lady of Rivendell was returning.  She was expected to arrive in the evening, and the whole house, indeed the valley itself, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of her coming.

It had been some time since Celebrían had departed for one of her frequent journeys to the Golden Wood. Though she loved her husband, home and children, part of her still held that ageless yearning for Caras Galadhon, and the paths she had walked as a child and maiden.  Still, she was dearly loved by those who dwelt at Imladris, and there was always great joy in her returns there.

One never would have guessed that, however, upon observing the scene which unfolded in one of the gardens, marring that so perfect morning.

"Really, Elrohir, look at this bowstring! You have cared so poorly for it that it will snap the moment you try to do anything with it."

Elrohir rolled his eyes and snapped the sinew as he attempted to draw the bowstring.  He withdrew both of his stinging hands, leaving the bow to clatter to the ground.

Elladan, who had been observing the exchange, drew his bow in one smooth motion,

nocked an arrow and released it. The arrow flew through the air in a perfect arc and buried itself into the approximate centre of the target, which stood some fair distance away. Elrohir muttered something highly unbecoming of a  young Elven-lord and bent to pick up his fallen bow.

Lord Elrond had, however, beaten him to it. Holding the bow elegantly in his hands, Elrond ran his fingers over the intricate designs. The bow had once belonged to Elros, even as the bow Elladan carried had once belonged to Elrond himself. Elros had not needed weapons for an age, and Elrond had long ago decided he would never fight again. It was right, he thought, that his sons use them for sport.

"You need to practice my son." Elrond said patiently, sounding, though he did not realize it, quite patronizing. "There is more to the hunt than fast riding and keen eye sight."

"Yes Ada," Elrohir said complacently, though all three knew that the rebuke had stung worse than the bowstring.

Elrohir reached out his hand to take the bow back from his father's extended grasp. Suddenly, the Elven-lord tensed, drawing the bow of his long dead brother towards him. He turned his face to the south east, looking more panicked than either of his sons thought possible.

Elrond dropped the bow and it fell hard upon the ground, chipping away some of the fine gold filigree.

"Ada?" said Elladan, sounding as frightened as he had when Glorfindel had told the twins of his battle with the Balrog during an ill fated child-minding episode many decades previous. "Ada?"

But their father was already gone. With a heedless haste customarily not exhibited by elfkind, Elrond ran towards the house. Before he reached the threshold, Lord Glorfindel

appeared there, his face shadowed in concern.

"My lord Elrond," the elder elf began, but was cut off almost immediately.

"Something has happened," exclaimed Elrond, unmindful of his watching children. "In the mountains. Something has happened to. . ."

He checked himself abruptly and looked back over his shoulder at the twins who stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces identically aghast. With obvious effort, Elrond gained hold of himself and spoke again.

"Have our horses made ready, my lord Glorfindel. We must ride out at once."

Glorfindel sped away to the stables. Elrond walked sedately back to his sons, but the lines around his eyes belied his calm demeanour.

"My sons, Lord Glorfindel and I must ride out. I have sensed a great disquiet in the hills."

"It's Amm isn't it." Elladan did not phrase it as a question. Elrond didn't answer. "You forget, Ada, that other members of this family are gifted with long sight."

"We too will ride forth." Elrohir proclaimed.

"No!" Elrond said sharply. He modified his tone. "My sons, you shall stay here so that, if I am wrong, your mother will not return to an empty house."

It was a weak defense.  Elladan was about to point that out, when Glorfindel emerged from the stable with the horses.

"Be good, my sons." Lord Elrond never pleaded, but this was close to it. "We shall return home."

He swung himself up and the two great lords rode away. Before they had even reached the gate, Elladan felt his twin turn and walk away.  Elladan did not have to look to know that Elrohir was headed for the stables.   Elladan bent and picked up the bow. He searched the bottom of his quiver for another string. He had just finished his knots when Elrohir returned with the horses.

"Have you your knife?" Elladan asked.

"Aye," Elrohir nodded. "And I brought extra arrows.  We are better with the bow than at knife work."

"That was well thought, toron nin."

They swung up and rode out of Rivendell together, taking care to choose the opposite path from their father.

The hunt had begun.

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AN: The story "Candle Light" was inspired by Elladan's line about the Balrog.  Read it if you need cheering up.  That's why I wrote it.