Title: Children of Heroes
Title, author and link to original story: “Line of Heroes” by Rhyselle http://www.lotrgfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=59
Author's Notes: I had three different ideas for this story before settling on this one! Gah, muses, can’t live with them, can’t live without them! LOL!
Summary: Eärendil, Elwing, and Melian watch over their young grandsons as they prepare a surprise for the Lord of Imladris.
Word Count: 1242 without header.
"See how happy thy children are, my daughter." Lord Irmo gestured to the pool in the center of Estë's Island, smooth as glass, and as Melian knelt beside it, the pool seemed like a mirror, yet reflected not the trees above, but a scene in faraway Ennorath, slowly coming into view as the reflections faded and the water cleared. It was a nursery; two elflings whispered together in the room, sharing excited glances. She watched as the laughter of the elflings, the long-sons of her only daughter, echoed through the room, and a faint smile of remembrance graced her lips as she thought of her lost grandsons. They ran off hand-in-hand, pausing only when an older ellon asked where they were going. The elflings grabbed his hands and pulled him along, and Melian watched with great amusement.
These were not the sons of Dior and Nimloth, but they too were twins. These were the great-nephews of Eluréd and Elurín, and judging by their bright, mischievous smiles, they had a shared secret. Leading the older ellon by the hand, they giggled and bounced, hushing their captive and each other at intervals. Melian’s eyes brightened as she watched the antics unfold. The three, for it was obvious their elder was now their co-conspirator, were planning something. If only Melian had seen what had come before…
She returned her gaze to the pool, and her smile brightened, as did the Light surrounding her. The elflings had entered a great library, and were busily covering a central table with scribing supplies and books. A roll of parchment draped over the table almost like a dining cloth, and she silently laughed as they dived to stop the end from crashing to the floor. A chair supported the roll now, and the older ellon sat down at a table, a heavy book on his lap. Propping the book open, he kept a vigilant watch on his charges.
“Easy now, you two; you do not want to tear your atar’s gift,” he chided. Twin raven-dark heads shook vehemently.
“We’ll be careful Ressor, we promise!” one piped up. ‘Ressor’ smiled indulgently.
“I am sure you will, Elladan. Now, you have done very well drawing the tree, so here are the roots, where you two shall go…” Indignant faces turned to look at him. “We know where we go Ressor, and there are Ada, and Nana!” the other boy huffed.
“So I see, Elrohir,” he said soothingly, as a tutor would to calm a frustrated pupil. A tutor, yes…a tutor, Melian decided, and doubtless a master of lore, though he was more patient with elflings than some she had known.
"There is Daerada Celeborn, and Daernana Galadriel," Elladan added, writing them in while Elrohir wrote in their father's parents. Underneath their paternal grandfather's name, he wrote meticulously: the Mariner, Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope. Erestor smiled faintly at that. It was very true.
Elladan frowned slightly when he saw what his twin had done. What if Ada didn't like that? He shrugged. Prince of Doriath that was, Lord of Lórien, he labeled Celeborn, and Galadriel, Lady of Lórien. Above them came Celeborn's father Galadhon, and his mother; then Galadriel's parents. Arafinwë Noldóran, he wrote, and Eärwen Noldotári. Celeborn's grandparents came next, Elladan paying special attention to Lord Elmo brother of Elu Thingol. Then he added Galadriel's grandparents; Finwe Noldoran and Indis of the Vanyar. Olwë Lindaran... Writing in Olwë's queen, he sat back and sighed. Connecting Lord Elmo and Olwë Lindaran as brothers, he checked his twin's progress.
Elrohir had decided to tackle Elwing first. Dior the Beloved, Aran Iathrim. Nimloth, Bereth Iathrim. And Nimloth was the niece of Celeborn through his brother Galathil. Dior was the son of Beren One-hand, and Lúthien Tinuviel. She was the daughter of Melian the Maia, and Elu Thingol, eldest brother of Olwë Lindaran and Lord Elmo...
Beren was the son of Barahir, the son of Bregor, the son of Boromir, the son of Baran, the son of Beor the Old...
Elladan watched as Elrohir switched over to Eärendil’s line. Idril, the daughter of Turgon and Elenwë of the Vanyar. Turgon was the son of Ñolofinwë, brother of Arafinwë. Idril had married the Man Tuor, son of Huor. Galdor. Malach Aradan. Marach… He followed the last of the Mortal lines. Hareth. Halmir. Haldan. Haldar. Haldad… Elladan frowned slightly. For all his name meant "Elf-Man", he had never thought so very much about his Mortal blood. It was something to consider.
Melian watched, too, and read her young descendant's thoughts. It was, indeed, something to consider. She smiled proudly at the twins as they finished their gift, though of course they did not see, could not see. They had the chance their father did not; a chance to grow into fine young elves knowing their father was there to watch over them. Oh, their grandfather watched over his remaining son, too, but it was not the same.
She heard light footsteps behind her, and knew who it was without turning. "Greetings, Child," she said. "Hast thou brought Vingilot in so soon?" The Mariner bent his head in respect as she turned to face him, and she smiled upon the son of Tuor and Idril.
"Yes, Lady," he responded, "for I need not sail her for eternity now our Lords hath set their sign in the heavens to replace me, as is well known here. I merely wished to see my son."
"As is thy right, child," Melian said soothingly. "Be not afraid. I have been looking upon thy grandsons. Perhaps thou wilt watch with me?" Eärendil’s eyes brightened and a smile lit his features. His fëa glowed like the jewel he wore on his brow.
"If thou wilt have me, Lady, it would be my honour."
"Then sit, Child, and we shall watch together," Melian directed the flaxen-haired heir of Turgon. Eärendil did so. It was not long before a shape that had the seeming of a large white bird landed near them. Shedding her avian shape, Elwing of Doriath gave her obeisance to the Maia and the Vala who still stood nearby. The dark-haired, grey-eyed Lady smiled at her foremother. Melian rose and kissed her great-granddaughter fondly before inviting her to be seated as well. Lord Irmo preferred not to intrude on the couple and Melian, so the three watched together as the scene in the pool shifted.
They saw a scene not dissimilar to the one Melian had viewed earlier; the two elflings leading a grown ellon into the room. However, this time, the ellon was clearly their father Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing. Elwing looked on their son longingly while Eärendil embraced her, and the couple watched as their son, blindfolded, waited impatiently. The twins were shuffling papers around, until the folded sheaf of parchment was settled again.
"You can open your eyes now, Ada," they chorused, untying the blindfold. Elrond was quick to do so, and he gasped in surprise, tears pooling in his eyes. Tears of joy, love and pride, his parents knew, for they were experiencing the same emotions as they watched. They watched their grandsons repeat every name in their family history...every single one, mortal and immortal.
"They even wrote in Eru Ilúvatar," Elwing said, commenting on what Melian supposed must have been a later addition. Melian laughed. "Why not, my child? He is mine Atar, after all, and both of thine, and theirs..." A rush of joy filled the Maia Queen. The elflings had verily remembered everyone...even the One.
As Elrond embraced his sons and thanked them for the wonderful gift, Eärendil and Elwing embraced each other, and whispered prayers that one day, when they were reunited with Elrond again, they would also have their grandsons and be able to tell them of the heroes they descended from…a noble line indeed.