Canon Notes: Aragorn, or Estel, was raised in the House of Elrond, but Tolkien gives little detail as to Gilraen’s reasons for this, besides to protect him.

Thorongil is a name Aragorn takes in his youth when he ventures in Rohan and Gondor. I’m going to say that it was Arathorn’s name first and that having too many names is a genetic trait. ;)

As for Celebrian calling the twins her little otters.. well, elflings are like otters.

        - - -

Of Mothers and Thunderstorms

by Lily Frost

        - - -

        Celebrian had always loved thunderstorms. Early in their marriage, and even in their courtship, Celebrian would take Elrond by his hands and bring him outside into the storm, where they would be soaked by the rain and illuminated by lightening. She would tilt her head back as if to drink the rain, letting it spill down her face and run off. With each clap of thunder her eyes would brighten a little more and she would grow more excited, her body fairly tingling with the wonder. Elrond had to admit that the majesty of the storms would awe him as well, but he did not grow as giddy as she did, taking rather to a calm admiration. She ignored it when her feet grew muddy, or her dress clung wet to her body just so. Oh, how Elrond had liked that! She had a playful smile and her hair would curl into adorable little ringlets when it was wet.

        Even after their sons were born, thunderstorms usually meant for a night of lovemaking. At least until two frightened elflings found their way into their parents’ bed...

        “Naneth?”

        “Adar?”

        Two low voices called into the darkened chamber. Immediately Celebrian drew back from her position, above her husband, straddling his hips and leaning over to kiss his neck. She pulled her nightgown down past her knees, and up to cover her breasts, before sliding back next to Elrond who groaned. Decently covered, she called back to the elflings, “Yes, my little otters?”

        “We got scareded by the thunder.” One confessed, probably Elrohir, while the other right away climbed onto their bed and made his way, crawling, to where they slept.

        “Can we stay?” Elrohir scrambled after Elladan.

        Another bolt of lightening, flashing brightly outside the window prompted a start from the elflings.

        “Of course.” Celebrian smiled, lifting the covers. The twins climbed between their parents, Elrohir next to their father and Elladan next to their mother. She gave Elrond a wiry grin. Two very cold feet suddenly met each parent’s legs, earning cringes from each.

        “Adar,” a little voice asked, “why were you and naneth awake?”

        Elrond stuttered, not knowing how to respond.

        “The thunder was scary without you two here.” Celebrian said with a smile.

        - - -

        Another thunderstorm had struck Imladris; they seemed to come often in the autumn, sweeping over the valley without warning. Celebrian had departed a few years ago, but Elrond and his children still felt the ache, even more so when Arwen was away in Lothlorien for her annual visit there. Galadriel could teach her so much more than they could, about being a lady and simply living. It was normal, in these times, for Elladan and Elrohir to wake up in the same bed together after one or the other suffered a nightmare or simply was too cold to get back to sleep. Thunderstorms were nearly always spent together, and on this night, with the wind beating furiously against the window and the thunder muted by the rain, Elrohir had just curled himself next to his brother, shivering a little. Each had their thoughts in the same place. Both knew how much Celebrian had loved thunderstorms. It was, ironically, thundering the night they had brought her home. After the ordeal even the fury of nature could not bring her from her chamber, and she grew deader and deader to the world.

        Elrohir turned to examine his brother in the light, resting his head on one elbow. “Where do you think she is now?” He asked quietly.

        “In Valinor, obviously.” Elladan replied his mouth quirking into a grin.

        “Do you think she is waking now, where she is that is, watching the sunrise from her bed?” Elrohir asked, a wistful tone to his voice.

        “Perhaps.”

        “Is her chamber.. is it open and airy, with lots of windows, flowers and white linens?”

        “Very likely,” Elladan replied, nodding, “And she is by the sea.”

        “Oh yes, certainly by the sea.”

        There was a long pause, in which Elrohir rolled back onto his back and watched the ceiling. His voice came again, quiet beneath the roar of the rain, “Do you think that she is content.”

        “I certainly hope so.”

        “Even though she left us?”

        “Elrohir, she could not... she is better off now.”

        “I know.” Elrohir said, biting his lip. He did not mean to cause his twin to become angry, “Do you think that she is with... I mean, has she taken another.”

        “Another what?”

        “Another like father.”

        “No, naneth would not do that. Now go to sleep.”

        Reassured, Elrohir turned over and soon fell asleep, the thunderstorm fading into background noise against his brother’s steady, slow breathing.

        - - -

        So much time had passed, but Elladan and Elrohir still shared their beds during thunderstorms. It was not that they were afraid or had nightmares so much as that it was their tradition to spend the night talking quietly, reminiscing on times long past. When one becomes centuries old in age, they grow to enjoy reflecting as thus. Between Elladan and Elrohir they often could not remember which had done what, and thus the blame often shifted from one to the other.

        Now, although Arwen was away in Lothlorien for an extended stay, they had another reason to put on smiles. The human who had come to live with them, Estel, had become a great part of their lives. Besides to protect her son by secrecy, Gilraen had been a mediocre mother on her better days, but she was far too unstable to raise a child and knew this herself. She had nearly succumbed to grief a little while after arriving in Imladris, and although she obviously tried to work around it, Gilraen could not be the mother she wanted her son to have. Too often she cried, yelled, or fled from the room at inopportune moments. Grudgingly she left Imladris, occasionally returning to watch Estel’s progress. The twins did not know for certain where she went, but the had an idea that she was seeking vengeance for her husband and trying to secure the world for her son.

        At first Estel had a nursemaid, but he was twelve now and too old for that. Between Erestor and Glorfindel his education was cared for; Glorfindel taught him how to wield weaponry and do battle without it, while Erestor tutored him in arithmetic, grammar, lore and other matters of the mind. The twins, being nearer to his age, served as mentors which he could speak to and work through his problems. They taught him a few things which Elrond did not approve of, such as pranks, and he looked up to their battle skills almost as much as Glorfindel’s. Besides, they made him laugh.

        Elrond, on the other hand, was his ada. Not his real father, he knew that much, but his ada none-the-less. He was there to tell him to get changed out of his dirty clothes before dinner, and punish him when he’d done wrong. He would put salves on his knees when he scrapped them and carry him about when he was ill, soothing him with quiet words. Although Elrond would open his bed to Estel in an instant, if he came, this night he did not want to go there. Elrond always made him talk about his nightmares, and Estel felt silly after talking about his fears. The twins though would listen only to what he felt like talking about, and he would not feel silly because they were young enough to admit (to Estel at least) to being afraid themselves.

        “‘Dan? ‘Ro?”

        “The thunder scared you?” Elrohir asked.

        “Yes...” he admitted, “and I had a nightmare.”

        “Come in then.” Elladan smiled at his twin in the dark, lifting the covers and allowing cold air to come between them. The cold air was replaced with a small, also cold body, clutching a stuffed rabbit. Lightening illuminated the room for a moment, spilling light across the bed.

        “Estel, I thought you claimed to be too old for such toys.” Elladan gestured to the stuffed rabbit.

        “Gil-Galad was scared of the thunder.” The twelve-year-old said softly.

        “And I suppose it was his idea to come here?” Elrohir asked, mirth colouring his voice.

        Estel nodded in the dark, but neither twin could see this. They snickered quietly, but the rain drowned this out. Gil-Galad, it seemed, had been most inappropriately named. If only the great king were able to witness his name’s use now. Immediately, the child wedges his feet between Elrohir’s knees and his hands into the folds of Elladan’s nightshirt, earning silent curses. Didn’t the child realize how cold he was? Though that, Elrohir rationalized, was probably his reason for bothering them thusly.

        With a drowsy sigh, Estel cuddled between his brothers, Gil-Galad tightly in his arms, and began to fall asleep. But sleep he would not let claim him just yet. “Dan, Ro, in my dream I saw my parents. My real ones...”

        “You can remember your father?” Elladan was surprised.

        “No...” His voice wavered, “well, it must have been my father. He was with my mum, hugging her and touching her face.”

        In another bolt of lightening Elladan and Elrohir shared a look and a thought. Had Gilraen, perhaps, taken another lover that Estel had seen? She had visited a little while before, seeming content for once, though distant. Estel would have been far too young to remember Arathorn.

        “Is he maybe not my father?”

        Elrohir held his breath. What could the child know of romantic affairs? “It is possible.”

        Elladan glared at his brother. Estel was too young to be talking about such things! They all lapsed into silence for several minutes, listening to the storm rage outside, thrashing against the window. Yet the window held fast, and eventually the silence was broken.

        “She still loves you,” Elrohir said, “if that is what you are afraid of.”

        “Then why is she not here?” Estel demanded, his voice sharpening and his grip growing stronger.

        Elrohir was dizzy now, trying to think of an answer. How could he say that she wanted to protect him from herself?

        It was Elladan, though, who solved that question, “She needed time to overcome her grief over your father’s death.

        Estel frowned in the dark, “My father. You have not told me much about him... what was he like?”

        “He was a great man, Estel,” Elrohir sighed, “he was very noble and remarkable in battle.”

        “What was his name?”

        This was a harder question. How could they give him Arathorn’s name without having him say it somewhere else, revealing his heritage. This was dangerous.

        “Thorongil.” Elladan supplied. This was a name the elves had given Arathorn, meaning ‘The Eagle of the Star’.

        “Thorongil.” Estel rolled the name on his tongue, exploring the sound of it. “How did he die?”

        Too delicate of a question for Elladan, he left it to Elrohir to respond. Elladan did not want to give the details of the bloody battle Memories came flooding back: finding the arrow protruding from Arathorn’s eye, his lifeless form, Gilraen’s sudden screams in the midst of battle.

        “He was defending your mother and was shot by an orc.”

        “Oh.” The child went silent, fatigued but too awake now to fall back asleep. The thoughts that ran through his head were enough though to make sleep seem very tempting, for they were grim and confusing.

        “And the other man that I saw?”

        Elladan knew well that Gilraen would take another lover for comfort, but none to replace Arathorn. Still... a child would not understand the meaning of contact in this case.

        “It was a dream, perhaps, you saw your parents together in it.” Elrohir knew this was not possible, for the age at which Estel had been when Arathorn had died. He knew, too, that there had been nights when Gilraen had been in Imladris with a man, another ranger.

        “Oh, that probably was it then.” Estel said, yawning and turning over. The answer seemed to satisfy him, and the twins breathed sighs of relief. There were some things that would be best left unanswered until Estel was older. With those restless thoughts set aside, the three brothers curled against each other into a mess of limbs, nightshirts and dark hair to sleep away their uncertainties. Meanwhile, outside the closed walls, the storm continued to thrash futilely against the windows, but the rains and thunder could not bring them from their rest.

        - - -

        fin