mithril

XXVII.

Elladan reaches out and pulls me into his side. I allow the Elf, aged and calm, to wrap me in a steady embrace. It feels comforting to know that my brother will always be here. That he will always find me when I need him most.

"You have many, many years ahead of you to heal. This has been just a small part of your life. You will grow and blossom and become distracted by the great duties of being a queen."

That makes me pull back. I scowl.

"Not you too."

"Do you not desire to be a queen? Or do you not wish to marry Thorin Oakenshield?" He asks, that teasing note returning. I push his arm off of my shoulders, face twisted and sour.

"I would be happy just to be his consort. I have no desire to be a ruler of people that aren't my own. The Dwarves would never accept me, I fear."

"I think that the Dwarves will surprise you," Elladan answers ominously. He rises from the bed, holding out his hand. "Come, sister. Elrond wants you to appear at dinner. No more disappearing now that you've had your adventures. Besides, someone is here that you haven't seen in a good long while."

Elrohir greets me with a great, suffocating embrace. I wheeze as his arms wrap around me tightly and he constricts my airways. He even lifts me slightly with the force of his excitement.

The twins have always been unorthodox in the customs of the Elves, willing to hug and touch like Men, but Elrohir is the biggest culprit of that habit. So much so I had to wheeze out a slight complaint before he places me back down. He pulls back, holding me at an arm's length and studying me.

"You look like you've been trampled by a herd of Trolls," he tells me, voice scolding. I laugh, relaxing at his teasing words.

"It's nice to see you too, brother."

"Father tells me you have been through quite the adventure."

"A quest," Gandalf interrupts us as he sinks into his chair at the table, "of the greatest nature."

"You will have to tell me all about your adventures, sister," Elrohir urges. "And introduce me to your companions."

I glance at Bilbo, Bofur, and Tilda. The girl has stepped into dinner dressed in the elegant silks of Elrond's House, much like the ones I, too, wear. Her hair is pulled back into a neat set of braids. She looks every part of 'Little Cub' title Elladan has taken to calling her. Elrond, however, has a different name for Tilda, daughter of Bard Dragonslayer.

Daerñgaw is how he introduces her. Tilda Daerñgaw, the girl who is unafraid to speak her mind to those around her, even if they are of higher title. A fiery tongue for such a young girl. The one with the Great Howl. The Wolf Cub that bites with her words.

She has slotted herself into Imladris seamlessly. She has embraced its elegance, her shoulders drawn and proper as she moves through her lessons with Elrond and listens to the Elves that speak to her of the history of this place. At night she trains with my brothers, supervised by the watchful gazes of Gandalf, Elrond and I. Despite my desire, I have taken to soaking up the warmth of the fire. I find I'm unable to do much else after the sun falls.

Fighting has become difficult. Even lifting the wooden practice swords is a great, imposing task now. It both resurfaces painful memories and creates an aching soreness in my limbs. At first I hide it, trying to push through. And then it grows to be too much, and I become an aged housecat that cannot move from the hearth.

I seek Elrond's counsel, desiring some form of explanation and solution to this sudden weakness. I sit heavily next to the fire late in the night, my hand pressed to my chest. I can hardly lift my chin to watch Elladan and Tilda sparring in the courtyard below. He arrives not long after, forsaking his other guests as he senses my distress.