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Elrond never saw the resemblance between himself and his son that so many insisted was there, until one day, he did.
He found Elladan in the library, dark head bent over an old scroll, forefinger perched along his upper lip as Elrond himself found himself doing when deep in thought.
Elladan was calm, and studious, and caring. He valued learning and knowledge, as Elrond himself did. He was protective of his mother, and looked out for his brother. Yes, Elrond could see how Elladan had taken after him.
And, if Elladan resembled his father, then…
He found Elrohir amidst a group of elves in close conversation and, because they were well and truly wrapped up in each other, he had the luxury of standing to the side in the shadows and observing his son without being noticed himself.
Elros was there, in the tilt of his son’s head, in his smile that was more often a smirk, in the way he moved his hands while he talked.
And then, then Elrohir pushed his hair back in an exact parody of Elros’ own habitual gesture, and Elrond felt his breath catch in his throat.
In that moment, it was as though his brother still lived.
When Elrohir broke from the group and left, Elrond followed. He caught up with his son in the corridor, gathered him into his arms as though he were a child again, much to Elrohir’s surprise.
“Father - ?”
“Elros” Elrond breathed, against his will.
He felt Elrohir exhale, “Oh, father, no.”
“I know, my son, but I have seen him in you today. Forgive me my sorrow.”
And Elrohir did, of course, and afterwards went to seek out his own brother.
Their choice was still ahead of them, and Elrond would not see the twins parted from each other. He would spend the next centuries trying to ensure that, whatever choice they made, they made the same one.