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Throughout the Fourth Age, the twin sons of Lord Elrond; Elladan and Elrohir, had dwelt in Imladris in relative solitude after the departure of the Ringbearers, and eventually their grandfather, Lord Celeborn, had joined them after the abandonment of Lothlórien. Together, and with a few servants of both realms, they lived quietly in the Hidden Valley, only travelling abroad to meet old friends and family.
It was then just before the centenary of Sauron’s downfall did they abandon Imladris utterly and settle instead within Mithlond, living out their remaining time in Middle-Earth in peace. Yet not all their servants had wished to sail into the West, and some had instead travelled further East to serve under King Thranduil.
Eventually, the time came when the last ship was due to set sail from the Grey Havens, and the brothers journeyed one last time toward Annúminas to meet their sister and her family.
Sorrowful words were passed between the siblings, a bittersweet parting of both losing a sister and to see her heart full as she stayed behind with her husband and children. Both Elladan and Elrohir made promises to give messages to family with whom they would rekindle in Aman, and in turn they gave all their blessings to their beloved Arwen, wishing her a long, happy, and fruitful life in the Reunited Kingdom amongst the Edain. Then the inevitable conversation came between the twin lords and King Elessar, once simply little Estel who had caused just as much mischief as they in The Last Homely House, but again there were few words that they could pass that would not cause some level of grief and loss between the Houses of Elrond and of Telcontar; that were now both connected and also torn asunder.
Turning finally to their full-grown nephew Prince Eldarion, who would one day come to inherit the throne and title of King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor; Elladan then gifted Eldarion his finest piece of craft to date: a handsome sword of fine workmanship, strong and light and a new heirloom of the house of Telcontar, while Elrohir had bequeathed all the books and scriptures that were not to be taken into the West. Tomes of lore, Elvish magic, and things that Men were yet to understand were to be taken to both Annúminas and Minas Tirith.
Bountiful advice and final farewells had been spoken before the twins returned to Mithlond, to the last vessel bound for the Uttermost West across the wide sea. Two years the shipbuilding had taken, but in the spring of the Fourth Age year one hundred, when the time of Man had come into full fruition, did the last ship leave the docks of the Grey Havens, and begin the long journey over the deep ocean, the likes of which the twins had never experienced.
Only twelve sailed. Lords Elladan and Elrohir, who did what they could to aid in the sailing of the vessel, Lord Celeborn, Círdan the Shipwright, and eight servants from both Imladris and Lothlórien.
Elladan found he had no stomach for the sea and spent much of his time below deck while most of the others were wary of the waters, knowing tales of those who had drowned in Ulmo’s realm. Yet late one morning, when the sea mist was unwilling to rise, Lord Celeborn was sure he could see a distant light, one familiar in the depths of his memory, and though both he and Círdan knew of the perils of the Enchanted Isles, the Valar had been kind in allowing the ship to pass cautiously by, and the mists cleared as if a hand unseen had swept them aside. Clear skies and green lands lay ahead past the towering mountains that dropped down steeply into the sea. Celeborn climbed so swiftly to the bow he almost toppled overboard.
“Valinor and the light of Ingwë’s Tower!” he called, the servants then suddenly standing tall and turning their heads.
Elrohir had sped to rouse Elladan and within mere moments the twins both stepped on deck. As rocky spikes holding up the sky, the Pelóri Mountains rose from the sea and Calacirya gave way to the shining city of Tirion beyond. The twins gazed silently with wonder. Tales and memories they had heard plenty, but to see such a sight with their own eyes made the fine hair upon their arms stand on end. They had made it.
“A ship! A ship is coming!” the cry was heard. First by a few, but then taken up by many voices.
Lady Galadriel had smiled to herself upon hearing the shouts rise through her window. Her foresight still aided her greatly, and though she had told no others yet, she knew who was borne upon the ship. Softly she gathered her daughter and son-in-law and bade them join her.
Many had gathered at the docks edge in Alqualondë in wonder who may have been so late to sail. King Thranduil’s name had been spoken by those who had known him and even some of the lesser lord’s titles had been whispered upon so many lips. Lord Celeborn’s return had been speculated, as was natural, and his definite form as the ship pulled to dock caused a cheer to rise from the crowd. The sailors of the Teleri together with Lord Círdan and the servants onboard roped the ship secure before any disembarked. Lord Celeborn was first, his smile broad as he descended the gangplank toward the awaiting crowd, and the servants eagerly awaited the twin Lords to depart the ship before unloading their goods.
Whispers and glances passed about as Elladan and Elrohir disembarked; their forms were familiar to those of Alqualondë but they said nothing to the Lord’s faces, and soon enough the travellers were on their way once more. Quietly, Celeborn was excited at the prospect of returning to his home, yet the twins were silent, awe-struck and simply followed instructions as they were given.
Lady Galadriel awaited the travellers upon the white crystal stairs of Tirion, watching them approach in the afternoon sun, and while many others were in attendance, they dared not disturb the precious reunion. The first to step forth was Lord Celeborn, and Lady Galadriel smiled warmly as her husband gladly embraced her, with quiet, private words spoken between the pair.
Elladan and Elrohir soon followed and a graceful, yet wily welcome was made to the twins by their grandmother who had, unbeknownst to them, made some clandestine plans beforehand. Taking them by their arms, Lady Galadriel allowed her grandsons to escort her up into the city and to the Citadel where further meetings would be made.
“My daughters' sons, my heart delights in seeing once more your fair faces,” Galadriel said with a delicate smile, “Many tales have been spoken in the Citadel of your exploits, and there are numerous people who are eager to meet with you.”
“You praise us too highly,” Elrohir grinned, his heart racing fast with anticipation, “We have not achieved such status as some of the great men and women of history.”
“You fought during the War of the Ring bravely and of your own volition, that is more than any can ask for.”
Elrohir lightly touched his grandmother’s hand that rested on his arm as she, along with her husband, escorted them into a private hall. The twins had barely stepped over the threshold when their breaths caught in their throat and suddenly they sped across the room with tears in their eyes, and making no attempt to slow down, they nearly crashed into hastily embracing their mother.
The hall was a mess. Celebrían clung to her sons who, sobbing, held her tightly in return, while Elrond attempted to embrace them all, his heart happy in finally seeing his sons reunited with their mother. Celeborn clutched his daughter, after eventually encountering her since she sailed West, and he kissed her hair as Galadriel smiled to herself. Three generations of family wept tears of both joy and of sorrow, for both who they had regained, and for who they had lost. Endless affection was shared between the six and they spoke long into the night of all manners and subjects. Eventually, the topics became warm and reminiscent, sharing memories of happier times and they looked forward to creating many more memories now they had all come to reside within Aman.
The next morning as a swift sun rose over the sea, Lady Galadriel went to rouse her grandsons, as more meetings were due within the Citadel.
“Elladan, Elrohir,” she called lightly as she entered their shared temporary living quarters, where two bedrooms off-shot the seating area.
Arrangements had yet to be made for the twins as to where their permanent residences would be, but for now they were welcome to stay as long as they wished.
One door opened, and an immaculately dressed brother stepped out of a bedroom, adjusting his tunic and smiling gracefully at his grandmother. Sometimes it was so hard to tell them apart.
“ Suil ,” he said, smiling broadly, “Elrohir is finishing his braids and shouldn’t be long; naneth said we had some meetings to attend today?”
“You have, sell-iôn. Today I want to introduce you to my parents, King Finarfin and Queen Eärwen.”
Elladan faltered a little, meet King Finarfin and Queen Eärwen? He looked down at the attire he had recently dressed in, which was nothing offensive and was lordly in itself, fashioned in the Sindar styles of Middle-Earth, but Elladan certainly did not feel it to be befitting of such an encounter.
“I think I should perhaps change,” he said a little forlorn.
“You need not change anything about yourself for anybody,” she said, carefully picking up a tendril of soft hair from his shoulder, “I have someone else I would like you to meet first, and if you both wish, they may accompany you to the presentation before the King and Queen.”
“Who?”
Galadriel said nothing, but gently let the dark lock slip through her fingers before she pressed a hand onto his chest, then raised her eyes to meet his and slowly smiled at him. It was then that Elladan knew.
“She’s here?” he asked, a lump quickly forming in his throat and tears threatening to well in his eyes as he nervously began to thumb the silver ring he wore.
“Elrohir and I will be here when you return; she is in the courtyard outside by the fountain. Do you remember the way?”
Elladan nodded. She’s here. She waited. He could hardly believe it, and everything suddenly felt numb, distant somehow. But what if she had a change of heart? What if she had wed another? He could hardly bear it and departing from the room he could scarcely breathe as his feet drummed each highly polished stone step, descending to the warm flower-laden courtyard below. And it was there he saw her, unchanged, still as beautiful as the day she left. Her pale fingers skimmed the crystal waters of the fountain as she sat on its edge, perhaps also nervously awaiting the meeting. Her long red hair fell in waves and framed her slender, pretty face and she wore a handsomely embroidered teal dress with matching slippers.
“Tia,” he whispered and forced his legs to carry him forward. She was real, she wasn’t a dream any longer.
Lady Tiatania, the only daughter of King Alagos and Queen Erugalad, Princess of Silmataurea, the Neverwinter Woods, turned her head quickly and upon seeing Elladan for the first time since she left Middle-Earth, she at once rose to her feet.
Elladan’s slow and formally constrained walk had rapidly devolved into a sprint and upon reaching Tia he immediately dropped to his knees and clung to her skirts, wrapping his arms fiercely about her knees and crying, his hot tears staining the fabric of her dress.
The meeting between the pair had been emotional, but Elladan kept the promise he made to himself. The promise that he had at first struggled with understanding, but had kept perfectly since her departure when he had harshly chastised himself for not being of a stronger disposition.
He looked into her eyes, eyes of sparking emerald, eyes of a thousand tales, of unspoken emotions and of endless poetry. “Tia, will you marry me?” he asked, and the pair shared a kiss, both now of the same heart, and both could hardly wait to finally embrace one another as husband and wife.