Author's note: I wrote this around midnight when the idea randomly came to me. I have always liked the idea of Elladan having this certain talent and I thought it might be nice to write a father-son moment centered around it. Translations for the small amount of Elvish I added are at the bottom. Please leave a review and let me know what you think :) ONE SHOT. However I plan to use this character trait in many of my other stories, especially if it is taken to well. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

-Jetta

Elladan stared long and hard at his father from where he sat in the window seat of Lord Elrond's study. His quill pen was poised above the thick book – which he had received as a gift from his parents - in his other hand and his face held an expression of concentration. He would periodically look back down and scribble furiously. Then his gray eyes would once again lock on the lord of Imladris.

Elrond occasionally glanced over at his young son, curious about the activity and the obvious attentiveness of the dark haired elf. But he said nothing each time and simply returned his attention back to his paper work. However, he was more intrigued by Elladan than his own work, making it hard to focus.

"Ion-nín," Elrond finally called to the figure hunched over his book at the other side of the room. His inquisitiveness had won out.

Elladan lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow. His long, dark brown hair fell about his young – yet defined – features. "Yes, Ada?"

Elrond could hear Celebrían's voice in the back of his mind. "They bear such a resemblance to you."

To this he had replied. "Ah, I must agree with you, meleth-nín. I hope they don't get into as much mischief as I did."

Celebrían had chuckled. "They will. They are your sons, after all."

Elrond snickered a bit. This earned him a confused look from his eldest son. "Ada?"

The elder of the two regained his serious composure. "Might I inquire as to what you are writing about which requires so much application?"

An amused smile played on Elladan's lips. "I'm not writing, Ada. I am drawing," he explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

Elrond smiled. Drawing. The word played over in his mind. "And what, might I ask, are you drawing?"

"You," Elladan answered. He suddenly realized that this might be rude and added, "Do you mind it?"

"No," Elrond answered quickly. "I feel privileged to be the subject of your art. May I see it?"

Elladan shook his head swiftly, pulled his book close to his chest, and crossed his arms protectively over it. "No, not until it is finished."

Elrond sighed. Such a stubborn young elf… "Should I pose for you then?"

Elladan turned this over in his mind for a moment. Then he made an accepting gesture. "Yes." He hopped off his seat, leaving his sketchbook behind, and walked over to his father. Without delay he began to rearrange the items on his father's unkempt desk, the furniture and books in the surrounding area, and then his father.

"Place your hand over your work like so," he commanded, moving Elrond's hand to where he wanted it to be, "and look down as if you are absorbed in your current task."

Elrond obliged, glad to be distracted from the monotonous mission he had set out on. "Like this?" He furrowed his brown and narrowed his eyes.

Elladan made a disapproving face. "No. Soften your expression a bit. This is work, not torment." Elrond looked unconvinced at the last sentence but did as the artist commanded. "Better."

Elladan made his way back to his seat and returned to his pattern of sketching, looking up, looking down, and making a few more strokes. He would occasionally blow on the paper or wipe the page with his hand – which was becoming rather black from the ink – before returning to his work.

"Nearly finished, ion-nín?" Elrond asked after what seemed to be hours. How long could it possibly take an elfling to scrawl a simple portrait? Yes, he was enjoying himself, but he was beginning to acquire itches and whenever he reached to scratch them he would receive an ill glare from his new master.

"Nearly. Remain still," Elladan snipped. He pulled off the artist façade well.

"Nearly?" Elrond repeated. Nearly, to a child, could mean any lapse of time. He could be stuck in the position for another few hours. The itch behind his tapered ear was beginning to worsen…

"Nearly. I am finishing right now."

Finishing, much like nearly, could mean anything. Thankfully Elladan had a good sense of what finishing meant and he was correct when he said it. After only a minute or so he announced, with a wide grin, that he was indeed finished.

Elrond, more relieved than ever, dove to assuage his irritations. "Thank Ilúvatar…" he muttered under his breath, quiet enough that Elladan's keen hearing wouldn't pick up on the quiet statement. He raised his voice. "May I see my portrait now?"

Elladan nodded, got to the floor, and brought the open book to his father. His stomach fluttered from nerves. Would he like it? "Careful," he warned as he handed over the hardback sketch diary, "The ink is still damp."

What Elrond's eyes were met with was not at all what he had expected. The picture, though not perfect, was extraordinary. Almost every proportion was correct and the likeness was uncanny. Elrond gasped in sheer awe.

Elladan wasn't satisfied with his work. "I couldn't get your eyes quite right, nor your hands," he explained. "I didn't do a very good job on the feet either."

Elrond shook his head. He managed to choke a few words through his astonishment. "No, no, this is amazing. Where did you learn to draw like this?"

Elladan shrugged his shoulders up and then down. "I carefully study other pictures and practice often."

It was then that Elrond noticed that he was not looking at the first page in the book, but at one towards the middle. He ran his fingers along the edge of the stack of parchment and then looked into his son's curious gray eyes. "May I?"

Elladan instantly knew what he was being asked and gave a silent nod of the head in answer. He watched his father riffle through the many pages of scribblings, sketches, and even paintings.

The works began with simple things, such as basic flowers, cutlery, simple insects, and leaves. Many of the subjects had been repeated, each one better than the last save a couple items. The focus of the art slowly became more complex and detailed. Each of these was repeated as well, much like the simpler works. This format continued until Elrond finally came to the most recent picture.

"Elladan," breathed the lord of Imladris, "you have a true gift."

Elvish Translations

Ion-nín

My son

Meleth-nín
My love