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Erestor looked ready to fight someone, which wasn’t strictly unusual. What was unusual, to Celebrian’s mind, was that the usually-affable Glorfindel, rather than holding Erestor back, looked ready to let him, if not join in himself.
“What happened?” she asked.
Erestor snarled wordlessly.
Celebrian blinked in surprise. This was serious.
Glorfindel reined himself in and bowed politely to her. “The Lorien delegation was, perhaps, tactless,” he said carefully.
Erestor growled, “Spineless orcbait doubled down instead of shutting up when Glorfindel suggested they reevaluate themselves.”
Celebrian raised an eyebrow, aiming for her husband’s best ‘explain’ face.
Glorfindel drooped. “We came upon a discussion of which of your children would be choosing mortality and why, and when I suggested perhaps the middle of the courtyard in the home of the subject of their tasteless gossip wasn’t the moment, they told me that I should mind my business, and furthermore if Elrond hadn’t faced the question yet it was his cowardice not their problem, and further furthermore you’re all public figures and should expect to be gossipped about.”
Celebrian stared open-mouthed at the sheer rudeness.
“I told them that Arwen was a child, and that if they didn’t want the twins to render every article of clothing they owned unwearable, and every weapon they had brought with them unusable, they would limit their speculation to somewhere the family couldn’t hear.”
Erestor added, “And I told them they would be lucky if they got off that lightly, because the twins were endlessly inventive and furthermore,” he sneered, “Lord Elrond would turn a blind eye on anything the twins did, and their Lady Galadriel would probably reward the twins for whatever they did. They made themselves scarce after that.”
Celebrian nodded. “Did the twins hear?” she asked, wondering how much of a diplomatic incident she should prepare for--Erestor was right that her mother would probably reward her sons for putting rudeness in its place, but Celebrian would have to deal with it in the meanwhile.
Glorfindel shook his head. “I don’t think so, but plenty of my guardsmen did and it’ll get back to them quick enough, most likely.”
Celebrian sighed. “I wish folk were more understanding of the pressure of the Choice, instead of morbidly curious.”
“What are we morbidly curious about?” Elrond inquired, coming up. “The twins are headed for the laundry and look to be out for blood, so I assume these things are related.”
“Rude speculation among the Lorien delegation,” Glorfindel answered.
“And they’ll deserve every ruined piece of clothing,” Erestor grumbled.
Elrond’s brows raised in surprise. Erestor was impatient and brusque, but not usually mean.
“About Arwen and the twins, and the Choice,” Celebrian explained.
Elrond frowned. “I told them off just yesterday for calling Arwen Luthien reborn, and they’re still at it?”
“The twins’ll put an end to it,” Glorfindel acknowledged wryly.
“Should we attempt to stop them?” Celebrian asked.
“You can’t,” Erestor disagreed, “And I for one don’t want to. They deserve what they get for saying such things about a child.”
“What did they say? Besides that nonsense about her being Luthien,” Elrond inquired.
He had always hated it when people compared the children to his ancestors--Arwen to Luthien made him the most furious, but Elladan got many comparisons to Elros which drove Elrond to despair, and Elrohir a few to Elrond himself, which usually made Elrond laugh a little hysterically.
Glorfindel shook his head. “Not worth repeating.” He looked at Celebrian and added, “Your Lady mother might wish to know, though, that there seems to be quite a bit of disdain for Men in her folk, or at least in this group, and at least a little against the Noldor.”
“I heard the word halfbreed as we were coming up,” Erestor added.
Celebrian pressed her mouth flat; her mother would hear about that, in particular. Those were her children, and her husband being demeaned. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps the twins want help,” she growled.
Elrond laid a hand on her arm. “Let it go,” he murmured.
Celebrian leaned into him.
“If the twins are handling it, as I am sure they will, there’s no need for us to dwell,” Elrond insisted. “Glorfindel, go hit a practice dummy until you feel better. Erestor, go with him.”
Erestor scowled; he hated it when Elrond sent him to the practice fields, for though he was a perfectly acceptable swordsman and a decent archer, he despised the extended exertion of drilling. It would work off his aggression though.
“Yes my lord,” Glorfindel agreed, and towed Erestor off.
“The twins are off wreaking havoc,” Elrond observed, “And Arwen’s primary tutor is off to the practice fields to work off his fury. Where is our youngest?”
“In the family courtyard, last I saw her,” Celebrian answered. “With all her blocks and figures.”
Elrond led the way. “I wonder what she’s building today,” he murmured. They stopped in the archway leading from the house to the courtyard and watched their small daughter flit among her toys.
Arwen had more blocks than any one elfling really ever should possibly need. And yet she used them all, frequently. They were no simple shapes--the pieces had been hand carved, some by Glorfindel, some by Celeborn, some by various tradesmen in the village, and they came in a broad assortment of shapes. Archways, corners, fountains, spires, aqueducts, columns, pavers, roofs, buttresses, anything needed to build a castle, a city, a fortress, or a house. There was a set of trees and talans, a set clearly inspired by Gondolin, and a set of arches and roofs clearly based on Imladris itself.
And Arwen used all of them. She also had a collection of little figures that fit with the blocks--elves and men both, in a handful of set poses, some in armor, some robes, and some in work clothes.
Today in the courtyard there was a sprawling city, centered around a palace and surrounded on two sides by a stonework wall. One side had a wooden palisade (apparently built by Arwen of fallen twigs from the trees) and the other the fall of Arwen’s cloak, probably intended to be a water course of some kind, given the blue interior of the cloak was turned up.
“Dad!” Arwen cried, bounding over to him, careful not to knock over any of her creation. “Come see! I need your advice as to where the sewers should drain!” As she towed him by the hand to her creation, she added, “There are fields downriver so I don’t want to drain them into the water, but I can’t think where else they would go.”
Elrond shot Celebrian a dry look. “Well in such fantastically flat terrain,” he told their daughter, since the courtyard was paved perfectly evenly. “I don’t know where else it would go either.”
Arwen frowned. “It’s true,” she said thoughtfully, “That the courtyard doesn’t make a very good landscape. But the foundation blocks wobble when I put them in the dirt.”
Elrond knelt carefully near the edge of Arwen’s creation. “Do you know how we solved that problem in the actual buildings?”
Arwen nodded eagerly. “Erestor’s been showing me drawings! You dig down and then fill the hole with sand, and pack it flat!” She grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t think Mum would want me to dig up and fill the garden with sand.”
“No,” Celebrian agreed dryly. “I don’t want you to do that.”
“But we could make some hills and valleys in the courtyard,” Elrond said thoughtfully.
“How?” Arwen cried, bouncing hopefully.
“Well I think it would depend on what kind of terrain we were talking about,” Elrond said. “But the cushions from the loungers would make excellent hills, and some picnic blankets might put some texture in your fields. Your cloak is already a river; it shouldn’t disrupt the aesthetic too much.”
Arwen looked pleading. “Oh, may I?” she begged.
“Go,” Elrond encouraged. “Ask the housekeeper where the picnic blankets are, and bring back the cushions you want on your way.”
“Thank you!” Arwen cried, hugged him quickly, and darted off in a flurry of dark hair.
Elrond grinned up at Celebrian, and her heart swelled with love. “Where the sewer drains,” he muttered to himself, chuckling.
Celebrian laughed. “Certainly not a question I would have asked at her age.”
“I get so angry,” Elrond said quietly, “When people say that she is Luthien--as if being beautiful and loving someone are some kind of doom.”
Celebrian wrapped an arm around his shoulders where he still knelt at her side. “She is beautiful, and she will love someday,” she observed neutrally, just to see what he would say.
“And it will be a blessing, not a doom,” Elrond replied. “And if she is anyone reborn, it is my brother, who would expire from jealousy even as an adult were he here today to see this block set. All he wanted was to build, too.”
That made Celebrian laugh. Every time Elrond spoke of Elros she wished she could’ve met her law-brother. If he were like Arwen, she would’ve liked him very well indeed.
“And of course,” Elrond continued, “If Arwen is like Elros, Elladan certainly cannot be like him.”
This, too, made Celebrian chuckle. Elladan and Arwen were quite entirely different, and thick as thieves. Arwen wanted to build, and solve puzzles, and leave her mark; Elladan mostly just seemed to want to be with the people he loved. “No, that I believe,” she agreed softly. “Who is Elladan, then?” she asked gently. She’d never asked this before--Elrond always seemed too upset, in the aftermath of those confrontations, for her to want to ask. But here today, in front of Arwen’s little city, he seemed more melancholy than furious, and she thought talking about it might actually help.
“Maedhros,” Elrond replied, to her surprise.
She knew how Elrond had loved his foster-fathers, of course, though it wasn’t spoken of but rarely in their house. But everything she knew about the eldest son of Feanor seemed quite contradictory to her playful, happy eldest. “Really?” she asked, letting him see her shock.
Elrond nodded firmly, though. “Really. Maedhros at home was nothing like the stories. He loved his brothers more than life, even when he thought they were stupid, and he wanted nothing more than to be at peace with them. He was charismatic, and incredibly sarcastic, and constantly undersold himself.”
That, actually, sounded quite a bit like Elladan. Celebrian nodded. “And Elrohir? Since he’s not you.”
Elrond grinned up at her. “Elrohir? Is you.”
Celebrian blinked. Then she considered that. Elrohir was perhaps the most like the mistake people made--he had all Elrond’s quiet seriousness and all his sense of duty, but he was naturally warmer than his father, who tended to need to get to know people first, and considerably more prone to melancholy. He did, in fact, have her tendency to brood over problems instead of talking them out, and also her creative streak--he was the craftsman of the siblings, and he picked up new crafts whenever possible, just as she did. “Okay, fair.”
The sound of their children coming was unmistakable. Apparently Arwen had found and commandeered her brothers to help carry things. Elladan came through the arch first, laden with cushions. Elrohir followed, his arms full of blankets and Arwen on his shoulders.
Scratch that, backwards, Celebrian realized once Elrohir lifted his face from the cushions (he’d been using his chin to resettle the pile). Elladan, meanwhile, was asking his sister, perched above him, “Wait, what are we building with all these blankets?”
“Fields,” Arwen said with all the exasperation of a small child repeating herself to a grownup who had failed to listen the first time. “And some hills for the city to be in.”
“That’s quite an undertaking,” Elrohir said, giving up on keeping hold of all six cushions he was trying to carry now that he’d made it into the courtyard. He left a trail of them from the arch to the cityscape.
Elladan tripped over one of the cushions, dropped the blankets, and stumbled to his knees.
Elrond caught Arwen before she could fall from her brother’s shoulders, and set her on her feet. “We’ll help,” he said. “What are our marching orders, Queen Arwen?”
Arwen beamed up at them, and started issuing commands.
Celebrian sat on the fountain and watched her husband and sons follow the orders of their tiny queen, strewing the courtyard with blankets and cushions, moving buildings, and rearranging the city into something that looked, oddly enough, more real now that it was strung amongst checked, floral, or brightly colored fabric.
Elladan eventually begged off the project, and shed his clothes to climb into the fountain. Celebrian scritched his ears when he floated near enough, and sang quietly as the city came to life.
“You know,” Elrohir observed. “At this scale,” he said, gesturing at the size of the figures and blocks, “Elladan is about the same size as a dragon.”
Elladan’s head popped over the edge of the fountain. He chirruped a question.
Arwen giggled. “And we’ll never know if the defenses are any good unless they’re tested in battle!”
Elrond, laughing, retreated to join Celebrian on the lip of the fountain. “He’s a water monster instead of a fire one, though,” he offered.
Elladan surged out of the fountain in a mighty leap, fur wet and dripping on the stones (and the gingham blanket that was the embankment the city walls had been built on). He reared back onto his hind paws and squeaked a noise that was probably supposed to be a fearsome roar but was really just an adorable chirp.
Celebrian buried her face in Elrond’s shoulder to muffle her laughter.
Elladan made an indignant squeal.
“It’s all right,” Elrond told the children over her head. “Your mother is just frightened of the fearsome beast.”
“Our archers will protect her,” Arwen promised very seriously.
“I know,” Celebrian replied, and then had to hide her face again as Elladan attempted, once more, and failed, once more, to be intimidating.
Elrond muffled his own chuckles into her hair.
Arwen directed the battle and Elrohir heckled his brother, the water monster, and Celebrian and Elrond sat, deeply contented, and let their children play.