“Lights went out in the house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and folk that were afield cried in terror and ran wild like hunted deer.”
Elladan’s eyebrow arched sharply. “Really, Estel,” he began mildly, “you should not tell...”
“So you see,” Aragorn interrupted unrepentantly, his eyes twinkling at his awestruck audience, “it was not only the orcs who feared the sons of Elrond. Your uncles were the terrors of an Age, striking fear into the hearts of evil-doers and concerned mothers everywhere.”
The girls, finding this first remembered meeting with the twins rather unnerving, huddled closer to their mother and stared uncertainly. But Eldarion’s eyes were enormous, his curiosity completely unfazed by Elrohir’s snort of reluctant amusement. “I know why orcs and bad men ran away from you, Uncle El’hir,” he said, “but why would Mamas be afraid of you and Uncle ‘Ladan?”
Aragorn chuckled. “Not afraid of them, but afraid for the virtue of their sons and daughters.”
“Estel!” Arwen shushed, then glanced at her son. “Come along,” she said firmly. “I believe it is time for bed.”
“That,” Eldarion confided, hugging his uncles obediently, “means this is not a fit subject for little ears.”