"Lord Elrond? Could I speak with you a moment?" Erestor stuck his head in side Elrond's chambers. Elrond, along with much of the Imladris household, was busy packing for a trip. Arwen and Aragorn were to be wed in only a few months and the family was on their way to join the couple in the White City.
"What's wrong?" Elrond raised an eyebrow in alarm. His seneschal was normally as placid and unfathomable as still pond. His cheeks were flushed and he looked distracted.
"Elladan is ill," Erestor wrung his
hands. "I cannot think what is ailing him, my lord, but his is unable
to keep his breakfast on his stomach and he is an unhealthy shade of green."
Elrond's gray eyes widened slightly. Elves did not get ill. They never got ill. There was no precedence for Elladan's illness. He'd seemed tired and out of sorts lately, certainly, but that was easily dismissed due the horror's of war. Only recently had Sauron's forces been defeated and many, both Elves and Men, suffered ill effects from the strenuous fighting that had claimed so many. "I will get my medicines and join you in his room." Elrond quickly left his bedroom for his laboratory, where he brewed potions to heal and to aid in sleep and to aid in love. He thought that Elladan might suffer ill effects of the poison pouring from Sauron's stronghold and took a bottle down from the shelf that would cleanse the body of ill humors.
Erestor, meanwhile, had returned to Elladan's rooms to find the young Elf flat on his back in his bed. He'd placed a cold wet cloth over his forehead and had his eyes closed. The window was pulled wide open, admitting a soft breeze that refreshed the senses. He studied Elladan for a moment before announcing his presence. The long hair was braided simply, as if he'd not had the energy for a more elaborate hairstyle. His lips were pale as was his face. His breathing was shallow and slow. Every once in a while he moaned softly. Erestor could smell where Elladan had been ill.
"I've sent for your father," Erestor announced as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.
Elladan sat up, his gray eyes flying open, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise and dismay. "You did what?" He blinked and slowly sank back on to his bed. "Erestor, how could you?"
Erestor's brows drew close in a frown. "How could I what, Elladan? You are obviously ill and need a healer. Your father will soon know what to do for you."
"I know what ails me, Erestor, and I don't need my father to diagnose me." Elladan snapped, eyes still closed, hand resting lightly on his stomach.
"Enlighten me, my son," Elrond entered the room. "Tell me what ails you so that I may help you."
Elladan's eyes cracked open and he went even paler than before. "Something was tainted at breakfast."
Elrond turned to Erestor questioningly. "Has anyone else been ill?"
"Not that I am aware, my lord," the seneschal answered. "None have mentioned it to me. I feel fine. You look well enough." He was still musing aloud when he heard a loud groan and moved just in time to avoid being splattered as Elladan rolled to his side and heaved up his fruit juice. Erestor crinkled his nose. "I shall leave the healing of your son to you. I have …duties." He scuttled past Elrond and closed the door behind him.
Elrond took Erestor's place on the bed and felt his son's clammy forehead. He studied the pulse beating in the slender throat. He watched curiously as Elladan curled around his arms. In the fetal position. Swallowed convulsively. Elrond's mouth slowly opened and then closed, dismissing the errant thought that flitted through his head. He rose from the bed and went to the door. He leaned out and asked a passing servant to bring towels to clean up the mess Elladan made. He also requested lembas. When the servant gave Elrond a puzzled frown, Elrond merely shrugged and closed the door.
He took the cloth from Elladan's head and used it to wipe his mouth. "Relax, my son, and breath slowly." He said nothing else, taking the time to collect his thoughts and to think of other possibilities for his son's illness. There had to be another excuse. There had to be.
A servant came with a bucket and cloths and cleaned up after Elladan. Another brought a thin wafer of lembas, the Elven way bread. Still another came in with a basin of warm water and towels for Elladan. Elrond accepted them all graciously and ushered the concerned servants from the room. He wanted to be alone with Elladan.
He moved to help Elladan strip, but his son displayed unusual attack of shyness around his father. "I can dress myself, father."
Elrond bowed and retreated to the far side of the room while his son worked himself out of the bed and, after much blushing and coughing, out of his robes. He took up the fresh towels and wiped down his slender body, all the while keeping his back to his father. There was no mistaking the embarrassed flush staining his cheeks and the back of his neck. Elrond held his hands in front of him and said nothing. When Elladan was dressed and back atop the bed, Elrond finally approached, breaking off a thin piece of lembas.
He held it out to his son. "Here. This should settle your stomach. You need to keep up your strength." He sat close to Elladan and studied him while the wafer disappeared in to the delicate mouth. "Who is he?"
"Who is who?" Crumbs clustered on Elladan's dry lips and his pink tongue snaked out to catch them.
Elrond sighed. "Fine, Elladan, keep your secrets. I will send servants to help you pack."
"Pack? Father, surely you do not mean I should go to Minas Tirith? I cannot sit a horse."
Elrond turned at the door and looked back at
his son. "Then I shall order you a liter." Elrond smiled grimly
as he heard his son's despondent wail from behind the closed door. He located
Erestor and made arrangements for a liter and had a servant sent to help Elladan.
Erestor made no comment concerning Elrond's request. He had figured out Elladan's problem when the Elf missed vomiting on his boots by inches.
Minas Tirith was alive with races from all over Middle Earth. The city of Gondor hosted more peoples than they ever knew existed. Even Halflings, those creatures of legend, appeared strolling through their streets. The Lady and Lord of the Golden Wood put in an appearance, along with a full contingent of Guardians. Lord Elrond and his people were present. Gandalf the White. Men of the Rohirrim. Thranduil of Mirkwood and his sons came for the celebration. Even one Gimli of Gloin came and represented his people, the Dwarves. A festival was in progress as, not only was Middle Earth finally free of the evil that had begun creeping in from the East, but their King had returned to them. The white tree flowered at last.
Elladan looked terrible. He felt terrible. To make matters worse his brother teased him unmercifully. Elrohir constantly sneaked up on his twin and jiggled his gently curving belly. He frequently stooped low, at the most inappropriate times, and yelled hello to his niece or nephew. When the actions attracted startled stares, Elrohir only laughed and claimed it was a unique providence of Elves. The situation was the providence of Elves, for certain. Though male Elves did not regularly bear children, it did sometimes happen. Never was the Elfling considered anything but a precious gift. And throughout it all, Elladan had to endure endless rounds of questions that began with: "Do you want a boy or a girl?" And ended with: "Who is the lucky father?"
The first was met with a casual shrug. Elladan did not really think about his preference. The latter he met with compressed lips and flashing gray eyes. Not even Arwen had discovered his secret. Gods only knew she had tried. Only Elrohir knew, and he'd been sworn to secrecy.
"You are the talk of Gondor." Legolas bowed politely before Elladan, his hand placed to his heart. "May I congratulate you?"
"Congratulate yourself, Greenleaf," Elladan hissed.
"What?" Legolas straightened, his features a perfect blend of confusion, fear, and nausea.
"Don't 'what' me, Legolas Greenleaf. You know damned well what I mean. I've been good and kept my mouth shut, but don't you think for one minute I'm going through this alone."
Legolas went paler than Elladan. "You and I have never.."
"Oh yes we have, my beauty. That wasn't Elrohir that night on the battlefield. He was with Orophin. I took his place."
Legolas watched as Elladan's normally flawless complexion turned from white to mottled pink to green. "You switched places? You tricked me?" He thought back to that night, when all the armies of Men and Elves had gathered and stood before the Black Gates. There had been much tension in the air and many had taken lovers to their beds, fearing that come morn, they would be dead. Legolas, too, had taken a lover to his bed, one whom he'd admired for a long time and thought never to possess. Only, now he discovered that Elrohir was not Elrohir, but Elladan.
"Look on the bright side, Legolas. You get the last laugh." Elladan managed to say just before he vomited all over the Prince's shiny boots.
Legolas stared down at his shoes in disgust. "Do I?" He mused.
Thranduil stood below the tree and gazed sternly into the branches overhead. "Legolas Greenleaf, get down here, now!"
"No," came the serene reply.
"If I have to come up and get you, you will regret it." Thranduil placed one foot on the tree. "You cannot spend your wedding day in a tree."
*~*
One year later, Legolas bounced his sleeping son in his arms. He'd finally gotten used to living in Rivendell with Elrond and Elladan. He'd even gotten over being tricked by Elladan in to believing he was making love to Elrohir. He'd even managed to forgive Elrohir.
The bright blue-gray eyes of his son made up for what was, in truth, only a youthful prank.
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