Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all characters herein that are made mention of in any of Tolkien's writings are not mine. The character Cólalph alone belongs to me, and please no taking him, for I have my own plans for his character. (Not that anyone would want to take him though...At least not yet ;))

Rating/Warnings: K. Come one come all, whether you be child or grandmother. Warnings? Adorableness ahead.

Time frame: Arwen is the equivalent of five (or thereabouts). Elves generally master their speech and their dance very early in life (the first two or so years), so she's likely actually closer to three years old...but hey. Just think of her as five. No longer a toddler, with full motor control, and speaking clearly.

A/N: Truly, this gave me far more grief than it should have. Well...honestly, that probably just comes down to me not having time or entirely reliable internet of late, as well as the fact that my beta has also been extraordinarily busy and we haven't had the time to even talk much...But hey, this is finally completed, and that's what matters, no? Many huge and wondrous thanks to Mirnava, my beautiful and talented beta, for putting up with me and all of my really confusing similes and metaphors that make no sense (until she gets her hands on them). I would love to hear what you think of it...but most importantly, I hope that you enjoy (and get some warm fuzzies besides).

Dedication: for oceanredwhite. Congrats, and the best of luck to you out there in the big and scary "Real World."

Translations:

Ada: Dad/Daddy

~Dance With Me~

"Ada, Ada, Ada!" Arwen's voice rang through the hallway, accompanying the pattering of her feet as she dashed toward her father's study. She paused barely long enough to reach up and, with no small degree of difficulty, press down the latch and push open the door wide enough for her to slip into the room beyond. "Ada!" she panted, trotting toward the desk behind which her father sat.

Elrond looked up from the reports he had been skimming over, his silver-gray eyes immediately latching onto the form of his youngest child as she hurried toward him, tiny wisps of hair that had pulled free of her braids drifting around her face haphazardly.

"Arwen, dear one, are you well?" Elrond asked, his father's innate worry instantly flickering to life. He slid out of his chair to kneel on the floor and held out his arms to his daughter.

Arwen beamed at him, the perfect picture of childlike innocence and joy in her sparkling silver eyes, which were so much like her father's, and in her wide smile. "Yes Ada," Arwen reassured her father quickly, "I am well." And then without hesitation she slipped her hands into her father's, wrapping her fingers around his thumbs, and then endeavored to tug him to his feet.

"Arwen," Elrond began sternly, although not entirely unkindly, refusing to stand despite his daughter's most valiant efforts. He did not remove his fingers from her grasp, however, and he went on in the same stern tone, "I have told you before that you are to knock unless it is an emergency, have I not?"

This caused Arwen to still, and she looked up at her father – for although he was kneeling, he was still taller than her – and her face fell almost instantaneously, losing the excitement and taking on a serious half-frown. Her forehead wrinkled ever so slightly as she drew her eyebrows down, and then she nodded slowly.

"Yes Ada, you have," she finally admitted, "And I am sorry that I forgot. It will not happen again," she promised earnestly.

"See that it does not," Elrond said. But then he smiled and asked warmly, "Now, what was it that you so desperately wanted to tell me, dear one?"

"Well…" Arwen began slowly, suddenly abashed, "I finally have finished learning the steps to the dance Cólalph has been teaching me. It's the first dance I've learned in full," she added hurriedly.

"I know," Elrond said, nodding encouragingly. "You are growing into such a beautiful and graceful young lady." He squeezed her hands, and Arwen smiled and giggled. Elrond smiled gently in return, urging her to go on.

"I was…well, I was hoping that you would dance it with me," Arwen finally admitted, looking up at her father. "Cólalph said that you would know the steps," she added hopefully. "Please?"

Elrond smiled then, one of his rare, full smiles, and it seemed to transform him entirely, from elf lord laden down with the cares and burdens of office, to a father, young and strong and whose only trouble was keeping his children out of mischief and ensuring that they felt loved.

"Of course I will dance with you," Elrond promised.

Elrond stood, Arwen's hands still clasped in his, and took a step closer to his daughter. She turned her face up, her eyes meeting his, a radiant smile that could have shamed the brightest of stars lighting her face.

"Go on, Ada," Arwen said, "You are supposed to start."

Elrond chuckled quietly. "Are you ready then?" he asked. Arwen nodded emphatically.

Holding her hands just a little tighter, Elrond took the first step back, toe just barely touching the wood floor. Arwen mirrored him, stepping forward toe-first, and then bringing her right foot to her ankle where it hovered before matching Elrond as he stepped sideways.

As the dance continued, the steps came faster and faster, until father and daughter were twirling through his study, as graceful and as beautiful as two swans in flight. Her hands remained safely in his, even when she faltered or hesitated on a step, even when she was forced to skip or double-step to make a correction. All the while, her father kept her steady and safe, and later she would have sworn that she could feel his love all around her, filling her, and smiling down on her.

The dance was meant to end with the lady twisting into her partner's arms, but at just the last second Elrond scooped Arwen up into his arms and spun, holding her close to his chest. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and then laid her head against his shoulder, her dark hair mingling with his.

Elrond came to a standstill and hugged Arwen tightly, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She turned so she could look up at her father, then reached up and kissed his cheek, arms still locked about his neck.

"Thank you Ada," she murmured, smiling joyously.

"It was my pleasure, my Undómiel," Elrond replied, setting her down and then bowing deeply. Arwen giggled again and curtsied. "You are a beautiful dancer."

"But…I messed up," Arwen admitted, her smile suddenly fading.

Elrond knelt down before her and, taking both of her hands in one of his, looked her in the eye. "Messing up matters little," Elrond said reassuringly. "All that matters is how you react to your failings – whether you give up, or whether you get back on your feet and try again. No one is perfect the first time that they try something – not least of all dancing – and it is often not even close to perfection the second or even third time. In fact, the first time that I ever attempted that dance in full, I tripped over my own feet and fell down," he confided. Arwen looked at him, shock in her wide silver eyes, and her mouth was open in disbelief. "Never fear, my child," Elrond soothed, going on, "Soon you will be able to do the steps flawlessly, and you shall be more beautiful than even a butterfly in flight."

"Now, however, I think it is time for dinner," Elrond announced.

Arwen darted forward and hugged her father again just before he stood up, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you Ada," she said quickly, but before he could respond she had pulled away and had skipped over to the door.

Elrond stood and followed his daughter. Opening the door wide enough for them both to pass through, he held it while Arwen darted out into the hall, and then turning, he closed it behind him. The latch settled into place with a click, and then Elrond turned to follow his daughter, who was already skipping gaily toward the stairwell, certain that her father would catch up soon.

Elrond began to walk after her, his long legs closing the distance easily, but then a niggling compulsion wormed its way into his thoughts. He gave in after only a second's hesitation and, dropping all sense of propriety, took off down the hall in a dead sprint.

Arwen shrieked in surprise as she felt herself hauled off of her feet and lifted high in the air. Her cry turned into laughed an instant later as her father neatly tossed her, and with that he settled her on his broad shoulders, his hands holding her feet to keep her from falling off. Arwen, for her part, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her father's head.

"Are you ready?" Elrond called up.

"Yes," Arwen answered. And with that Elrond was running again, nimbly leaping down the stairs to the main floor and then out into the corridor beyond.

The elves in the corridor turned in surprise as their lord dodged past, the youngest of his children perched jauntily on his shoulders. She was laughing delightedly, her voice as cheerful as chiming bells. Those who looked quickly enough saw that their lord was grinning as well, a roguish, mischievous grin that had so rarely been seen since the Last Alliance. And they who saw that smiled and laughed as well, rejoicing with their lord at both his and his daughter's joy.

Elrond slid to a stop just outside the door to the Dining Hall, through which tantalizingly delicious smells were wafting and carefully detangled Arwen's fingers from his hair before lifting her down. Setting her on the floor, he offered his hand which she promptly took, and then lead her through the door and into the Dining Room.

And as they walked in, Elrond leaned down to whisper into Arwen's ear.

"Not a word of this to your mother."