Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own LOTR that belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

AN: Gosh…what can I say? I did lose some files in a terrible computer crash. But mostly it was just the LAZY I was fighting against. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! Hopefully you're still interested in this story!

Chapter 8

Elladan swallowed a curse as he toiled in the sun.

The last few days had been devoted to guests. He and Elrohir were roped into entertaining the young prince—who hadn't been quite as bad as he'd feared. Not that the prince had much competition, Arwen was intolerable and Elrohir was still sulking from their excursion into the woods.

Elladan was glad for some variety in his company.

He'd known beforehand that Legolas was younger than him. Naturally, such a difference lent particular difficulties in what conversations they may have and games they could play.

Surprisingly, the former was hardly a problem at all. Legolas was exceptionally bright, able to follow Dan's train of thought easily—which was quite impressive—since Dan tended to hop from topic to topic like a sparrow flitting between perches.

However, the age difference put a definite limit on what games they could play. Larger, stronger, and heavier than then the prince, the twins had an unfair advantage in feats of strength and speed.

Thus, "playing" largely involved games of cards, marbles, sticks, and puzzles. The novelty wore off quickly and soon they were left to conversation again.

Elladan supposed that what disappointed him in the whole exchange was that while Legolas was intelligent…he wasn't cunning (in words or intentions).

Not that Elladan was complaining mind you. It made Dan seem even cleverer by comparison. Legolas seemed to really admire the quality and made a point of repeatedly commending him for his quick wit. Something Dan did appreciate, since his home now expected it of him.

It must be nice having someone who could make you laugh.

When the Mirkwood company had settled in, Adar reasoned now was a good time to start Elladan's punishment. Moving crates from inside the barn to a pile outside. Supposedly, some tradesmen from a nearby village were coming to fetch them.

It was a task usually done by ellons a few decades older than him: youths who were too old to play, too young for patrol, too old for minders, and too inexperienced for hunting expeditions.

Elladan felt even worse off. He was too young to be useful and old enough to be a nuisance.

Watching them work, he'd keenly felt the weakness of his age. He was so slow compared to them. They'd already finished their allotment for the day when he completed half.

Sweat dripped down his back and arms—dampening those uncomfortable places behind his neck and along his waist. Resigned, he continued moving crates, until it became a mechanical motion.

The ache in his back, in his forearms, in his feet became an accepted reality. His body could not escape the task. His mind, however, wandered free—along the breeze down to the trees ringing their land.

There. Past the trees, past the river, far….FAR away…a whole world existed. And there he'd be free, free, free.

It was a delicious thought; even more delightful for the forbidden taste of it.

It was, perhaps, a daydream that fluttered through his mind since he first toddled; his heart's desire to chase the sun and stars to the edge of the sky.

It was usually a passing whimsy that left him as his schedule filled with tasks needing immediate attention.

Lately though, it'd been setting roots—haunting him in the quiet moments of his day.

Last night had inspired an actual ache in him that nothing seemed to relieve.

He, Legolas, and Elrohir were fitting puzzles together while the adults busied themselves with talk and wine.

Elladan and Elrohir had just drawn back, allowing Legolas the glory of finishing the image. Aran Thranduil was full of praise for their swiftness. Adar and Naneth gave obligatory comments on the image. Glorfindel and Erestor both nodded their assent (They hadn't complimented such trivialities since the twins were very young).

It was then Dan noticed one left over piece that didn't seem to belong anywhere. Legolas had followed his sight and inquired about it. Everyone fussed over it for a moment trying to place which box it might belong to, but gradually the concern faded and conversation moved to other more pleasant things.

He set the next crate down more carelessly; a loud crack of wood on wood resulted.

He could probably make it out there too. If he borrowed a few maps and drew them in his notebook. He'd need food and supplies for the first few days, while he put effort into getting far enough away. Then he'd provide for himself through the land.

It'd been a while since Adar and Glorfindel took them hunting. Even then, the adults had twisted the ropes for the traps. Elladan would need instruction on that. Perhaps, the library or old Thurolowe could enlighten him. The old elf didn't like Dan per se, but he didn't mind him either.

If Dan really put his mind to it, he could prepare in a matter of weeks. Not that he'd really go through with it of course. But it would be good to learn trap-setting. And familiarizing himself with maps would just give him more material to write about in his essays. And learning how much food ellons took on patrols would just prepare him for the future. He planned to be a captain of a squad someday, knowledge was always useful.

"Do you see something? A deer perhaps?" Celebrian inquired as she gently rocked Arwen in her arms. Her eldest had been staring out the window for some time.

After dinner they'd all retired to a side room where they might rest and enjoy one another's company before bed. Her husband and cousin were currently discussing (arguing) about their methods of dealing with traders. The clash was to be expected from two leaders who themselves as adept in all matters.

Erestor, Glorfindel, and Kaendir (Thranduil's head guard) were sharing anecdotes involving hornets. Legolas and Elrohir were stacking cards in various, precarious designs.

Elladan was alone at the other end of the room, as far away from her as possible…staring out the window into the darkened world outside.

All day, she'd been rather anxious for Elladan. Even knowing her husband was well within his rights to discipline him, she'd worried that Elrond had chosen too hard a task. Throughout dinner Elladan had seemed rather…subdued. If her son was to be quiet, it should be out of respect or contemplation, not exhaustion.

Worse still, she knew full well that "insolence" her husband despised, sprang from her own blood. Galadriel's temperament had surfaced in her descendent. Elladan was proud. And while his nana and ada would always seek to curb that trait. She'd never dare try to uproot it altogether.

A gurgle distracted her from her thoughts; at least Arwen was content to be cuddled by her Naneth. Whatever response Elladan gave was lost.

Celebrian carefully tucked the swaddling cloth around her baby as she readjusted her hold. Much to her disappointment (because she was trying so hard to open her heart to the child) Legolas had shown about as much interest in Arwen as her own boys had: none.

She risked another glance at her first-born. He'd been less than impressed with the whole ordeal. On the day she'd presented their new sibling, Dan had pierced her heart with "Oh. A sister."

Elrohir's expression seemed to mirror his twin's thoughts, even if he was wise enough not to voice them.

When Arwen was older, she assured herself, when she was bigger they'd play together. They'd all be better for their adventures. She was sure. Valar, she hoped.

"I fear I didn't catch your response" Thranduil commented, moving away from Elrond and towards the windows. "Pray tell, what fascinating observation have you made, Dan?"

"I saw a tree" Dan quipped dryly.

Celebrian frowned. Unsure, who was being teased in this exchange—particularly since Thranduil's dark green eyes had lit on her for one sharp moment. And she'd flushed a bit guiltily, had Dan answered her inquiry sincerely the first time?

"Did you pick a favorite?" Legolas asked from his spot on the floor, arranging cards into a flower-like pattern.

Had anyone else said it, it might have been sarcasm, but Legolas didn't joke about trees.

Elladan stared at him for a moment, lips twitching. "I have."

"What attributes did this tree possess to infatuate you so?" Thranduil inquired; face perfectly composed—though his tone was a bit too merry.

Dan smiled in spite of himself and turned to meet the elf-king's amused eyes. Dan did his best to seem perfectly serious.

"It was tall. And wide. With branches" he answered, moving closer to the blond elf.

"Leaves too I presume" the king countered, just as solemnly—chin on his fist as though deeply contemplating the matter.

"Indeed milord" Dan wasn't quite able to keep the chuckle out of his voice.

"Sounds like a fine specimen."

That set Dan's laughter free.

When the child had settled into softer giggles, he asked good-naturedly, "Are you planning to climb it?"

Thranduil's green eyes promised all sorts of secret wood-elf know-how—of tips and tricks that valley-dwellers just wouldn't know.

"No he is not" Elrond answered succinctly. "It borders the forest and is off limits…to everyone."

The king turned to the elfling beside him, "Well Dan, did you catch that? Everyone. Even elf-kings."

Elladan dissolved into another fit of giggles, pitching into the older elf as his mirth stole his breath and left him unsteady. Thranduil gently pulled him upright, chuckling as well.

"I think that's for the best Aran nin" Kaendir asserted, just smug enough that Thranduil couldn't help laughing. His guard was no doubt remembering certain incidents best left unknown…at least until Legolas was old enough to have had his own misadventures. Love of wine and love of woods weren't passions that went well together.

Elrohir tossed restlessly on his bed. He could scarcely believe it. He never pictured himself as the petty type and to yield to such an ugly thing so swiftly…he growled and turned again. Off-hand, he could only remember one similar occurrence a few summers ago.

Someone in their training lessons had received new archer's gloves with intricate designs of vines and leaves spiraled about the leather. The feeling had dissipated when he'd mentioned his desire for such a pair of gloves to Elladan. His brother agreed they were pretty…too pretty for archery. Sure enough, within weeks the designs began wearing out. Practicality ruled over vanity and Elrohir deemed himself cured.

This…was different. If he was honest with himself he'd admit that such an ache would be understandable was it on someone else: like Arwen, because everyone loved her and she needn't exert any effort at all. Or Legolas, because he was so sincere and amiable, he won all sorts of friends and admirers. Or any of his agemates whose lives seemed so enviably simpler than his own.

But no, no, no. He was jealous of someone he couldn't even begin to compare with. Someone he'd barely known for a week! One that he shouldn't feel competitive with at all. And for such a stupid reason!

It made him burn inside—melting his innards and making his mouth taste like ash.

He ought to have felt grateful to King Thranduil, whose wry sense of humor incited laughter so easily from Elladan.

Elladan certainly deserved amusement. All too often, he provided it for others…and received nothing back. Perhaps, it was dim of him, but Ro had thought Dan simply lacked the disposition to be reduced to snickering. Like Erestor. Or their Daeradar (who seemed to grimace more often than not). Elladan had read somewhere that he'd taken an arrow in battle. He often asserted that they must have had to leave it in. Whenever Lord Celeborn scowled, Elladan would whisper a bit too innocently "it must be hurting him."

Tongue 'n' cheek phrases eluded him; well-timed interjections slipped right by, verbal sparring and trap-setting were far beyond his skill.

It was an art he couldn't master. He cared too much about sparing other's feelings and presenting facts without exaggeration—he never knew how to play sport with circumstances.

It didn't usually trouble him. In fact, there'd been many instances where he was profoundly glad NOT to have such a sharp tongue. It often led his brother into all sorts of conflict.

Except…Elladan had laughed. It wasn't a common sound. And it wasn't for him.

Valar it made him feel so petty. He played with elflings after lessons—training and tussling and talking. Their nanas shared treats with him and he'd always bring home half, to the point where they'd started giving him two. Maybe he's looking to apologize for the fact that the other elflings don't understand him and aren't willing to give more chances (ones Dan would squander with careless comments anyway).

Yet, those sweets never reach their recipient. Instead they crumble in their wrappings as his hands fist whenever he finds them together: Elladan and Legolas and Thranduil discussing battle strategies or examining maps or arguing on historical figures and their degree of importance.

It's the sort of moment that they should have with Adar. And it feels like betrayal whenever Ro enjoys the elf-king's company.

Because he DOES like Aran Thranduil. He's strong, and bold, and admirable and everything that Dan has ever aspired to be. One day Elladan will be as great as him. They both seem to know it. And where does that leave Elrohir? Maybe Elrohir will one day wind up as Lord of Imladris and what will that be worth? When Elladan will be some famed, glorious champion welcome in every hall for his deeds? When he's the favorite of kings? Far far away…

The closer Elladan got to Thranduil. The farther he went from Elrohir.

In a week! A week! And Thranduil might well be deeper in Dan's confidences than Ro had ever been.

It was so confusing and painful. He often felt a lot of his troubles stemmed from Elladan—that he'd feel a strong desire to stand free of him. So why did being apart hurt so much more now?

Elrohir had friends besides his brother. Surely Elladan deserved the same! So why couldn't he relinquish his hold?

Half the boxes of puzzles have an assortment of bent shapes now, from when his jealousy spiked and his fingers clenched. He'd never envisioned himself being so…mean-spirited. But then…no one's ever tried to steal Dan before. Everyone left Dan to his own devices and Elrohir could always drift back to him whenever melancholy struck—because honestly six hours was about as long as Ro could take being away.

It was so unfair of him—being content with that arrangement. It made him feel sick.

The only thing that made him feel worse was his matter of contention with Thranduil. Goodness, what would he say if the King guessed it? That elf was perilously sharp.

How horrible it would be to say aloud:

You made my brother happy when I couldn't.

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