Chapter Text
Elladan thought, as his hands aided with the tasks of preparing a camp, tasks he could do with his eyes shut. It was a good time for thinking. Today he pondered Aragorn's vision, of the woman and the children and the tree. And wondered, about the man beside the woman whom he had not quite been able to see. He did not think that Aragorn had seen him, but the unseen man had shared Aragorn's height, and something about his manner as well. Halbarad, Aragorn's cousin who had died just days ago at the Battle of the Pelennor, was much in Elladan's mind.
*Finduilas of Dol Amroth was an interesting child.* Elladan told his brother that night, in the silent language they had shared since their youngest years, *I met her, once, in Lothlorien. She studied with Daernaneth Galadriel.*
*Her second son is also interesting. The black breath should have killed him once, and the despair again. And yet he lived, though his allergy to the poppy juice the human healers gave him 'ere we arrived should have killed him yet a third time.* Elrohir mused, his fingers flicking to convey the depth of his confusion. The twins knew that their sister and their foster-brother believed that the gestures were necessary to the twins' language. They were not. The gestures and motions gave it added emphasis, and they convinced anyone who watched that it was something that could be prevented, this silent communication between the twins. But in truth, it could not. If they were within several miles of one another, the twins could speak to one another.
*Halbarad shared Aragorn's allergy to poppy. Even though it is rare, amongst their people.* Elladan mused.
"Rare, amongst any people. And often deadly.* Agreed Elrohir.
*Halbarad, like Aragorn, is descended of Firiel of Gondor. From her son's daughter and not her son's son, but after Aragorn, his would have been the best claim to Isildur's legacy. And Halbarad was in Gondor with Aragorn. Aragorn said that there was a woman, whom Halbarad loved. One whom he kept a secret.* Elladan theorized.
*Halbarad would not have slept with a married woman.* Elrohir disagreed. After a pause, he added, *Or at least not lightly. Perhaps, with the wife of a man who would burn his own son to death. Perhaps with such a man's wife. I do not know.*
*You heard what Aragorn told us, what he saw. You know what it means, even though he does not seem to realize. This land responded to the child Faramir of the House of Hurin as if he was of the line of its rightful King.* Elladan pointed out.
Elrohir thought for a moment. *Perhaps Aragorn's decision to leave a will naming Faramir as the next King, should he fall, was a better one even than we might have thought. If we do not return, Faramir will have that legacy to aid him, as well. If we do return...*
Elladan considered that, *If we do return, we should be sure, 'ere we say anything. But it bears thinking on, either way. And...it is good, that 'contingency plan Arwen' might have an Heir of Isildur of its own. Arwen would like Faramir, I think.*
*And will, should we return. If we could prove Halbarad's parentage, it might relieve the pressure on her, a bit.*
*Perhaps. But, for beings who do not always hold procreation as sacred to marriage, humans are surprisingly touchy about children born out of wedlock. We must be careful.*
The twins were in agreement, on that.
Elladan mused on it again the next day, as he watched his baby brother herd men. Mused on what it might mean, having a spare heir. A child with Mithrellas' bloodline and many-times over Elros's. Another card to play, certainly, if they fell, and Middle Earth would then find itself reliant on Arwen for hope of salvation, even though she did not yet know it.
"What is on your mind, Elladan Elrondion?" Asked Gandalf, the Grey Wanderer. Mithrandir the Wizard, who was in truth Olorin, the Maia. Elladan's father's friend, Elladan's grandmother's one-time mentor, and her friend as well. Elladan's old and dearly loved friend, though that friendship had been strained, from time to time.
"Poison." Replied Elladan softly, after a few moments had passed, thinking of stealthy, dangerous trips he'd undertaken for the Wizard, trying to learn the source and stop the spread of the odd rash of deaths which had afflicted Gondor's great lords beginning just over two centuries ago.
"Ah." Gandalf sat down beside him. Gandalf the White, now, who moved with speed and surety. He was still an old man, but he was a being of power cloaked in the visage of an old man, and that light and that power shone through. Purer, with Gandalf, than they ever had with Saruman. There had always been a shadow inside of Saruman, Elladan though, even if in the beginning it had been nothing more than the shadow of his own fear.
"We saved many, Elladan." Gandalf pointed out gently. "I know that you mourn your fallen comrades. I mourn them too. But we won time, Elladan. At least a generation more than we would have had. And a generation's breathing room. It was not worthless." With a quiet nod towards where Aragorn stood with Prince Imrahil and Eomer-King, calmly listening to them and leading them, Gandalf continued, "You would not say, anymore, that the father was better suited to this endeavor than the son."
"I would not."
"Nor would I." Agreed Elrohir, walking out of the mist as if he'd been merely water vapor himself a few moments before. He fortunately hadn't heard the whole conversation, or he'd be demanding answers of Elladan.
Elladan decided to distract his brother and simultaneously get information from Mithrandir. "Gandalf, was...Lady Finduilas' marriage to Lord Denethor, a happy one?"
Gandalf puffed on his pipe. "That is, Master Elrondion, none of your business."
"I am one of his surviving son's healers." Elladan contradicted levelly, "If we all survive this, I will be one of the healers helping Lord Faramir to recover from the damage done to him, by the Enemy and by...others."
"Hmm." Mithrandir considered. Elladan did not press him, and even Elrohir remained unaccustomedly silent.
At the last, Gandalf decided to answer. "I do not know, Elladan. Denethor loved her, I am sure. That Finduilas loved him, I am less sure. She liked him, and...I think that she at least she believed herself to be in love with him. That love was tested, later, by her illness. And by his own unfairness to his younger son."
Elladan nodded, having rather suspected that. "I like your Lord Faramir, Mithrandir. I've liked most of your students, over the years."
Gandalf snorted. "Liked! Ha, stolen, you mean!"
Elladan smiled primly. "Well, if they would prefer to work with me in Imladris than in dusty libraries with you, that is just further proof of the intelligence which first attracted you to them to begin with."
"He is a different, though." Elrohir interrupted, "Faramir. More sensitive. Almost a Seer."
"He always has been." Gandalf agreed solemnly.
Elladan and Elrohir communicated wordlessly for a moment, deciding between themselves to send Arwen word that Faramir was worth trusting, should all go poorly.
"What are you thinking, Elrondionnath?" Asked Gandalf, slightly exasperated with them both.
Elladan smiled cheekily. "Contingency plans."
"Oh?" Gandalf was intrigued. "Your father's, eh?"
"Plans it's best not to talk about." Elrohir corrected sternly. "They're in place, but the less we know..."
Elladan wept on the inside for his sister, for what would happen to her if they all failed. He thought of Arwen, of the power of her love and her faith. Of Arwen as war leader, during the dark days after the fall of Arthedain, and her great fury and mercy. He thought of the love and the power and the fury of Arwen, and how the death of Aragorn, of all of them, how a loss that great could cause a terrible pain, terrible enough to unlock great power.
While Elladan worried, Gandalf had reluctantly conceded that it was best if he knew nothing.
"Just know." Elladan interrupted, "That if you fall with us, but you can come back yet again, as Gandalf the Gleaming, or what have you. Know that there may well be something to come back to." For Elladan could believe that Arwen, and Faramir, with the help of Elrond and Galadriel and Thranduil, and these enterprising young humans who served Faramir, could somehow snatch something back from the jaws of disaster.
And the Valar help Sauron, facing Arwen's wrath after the death of Aragorn. Arwen had never truly chosen a path for herself, preferring to flit from one thing to another, learning many different skills and trades, but each of them just long enough to do it well before moving on. But when Arwen really wanted something, she was almost unstoppable. And Arwen loved Aragorn.
"I will keep that in mind, Elladan, Elrohir." Gandalf agreed, and Elladan knew, just knew, that the Wizard thought the twins had been speaking of Galadriel. But it wasn't Galdadriel. It was Arwen. If Aragorn wasn't Sauron's doom, then his beloved very well might be.
But Elladan would hope, against hope, that the valiant ringbearer would succeed. And even if Frodo did not, there was a bright side, for, 'Soon, very soon,' Elladan thought to himself, hiding a fierce smile, 'My brother and I will have many orcs to slay again.'
Elrohir grinned toothily at him from across the fire. Ever since the death of their sister Andreth and the torture of their mother and sister at the hands of orcs, the twins had dedicated their lives to sending the foul creatures to the afterlife.
*Soon.*