A/N

Here's another chapter! Longer than the last (I have given up with my issue with length. It's just not working), and with more information. I also wanted to tell everyone that I'll be away for four days, and I'm not sure if I will be able to get my hands on a computer during that time. That means that the next update will probably be in about 5 days. Hope that's alright with everyone!

Kaytee: Thanks for the review! Hmm...no, she is not Elrond's cousin, but don't worry, it's explained in this chapter. (But those were some close guesses...close, but not quite). Hehe, hope this chapter answers some of your questions.

Celegorm Fëanorion: Hehe, I loved your review! Yup, that is exactly why your servants left Dior's sons to die! Lol. Er...but don't kill me for not letting them die when they were expected to die. Hehe.

Disclaimer: It all belongs to JRR Tolkien...I'm sure I've said this before...?


Chapter Three: Descendent of the Kinslayers

"Elurín?" echoed Glorfindel, his light blue eyes wide as he stared at the dark-haired Elf lord. "As in…Elurín…?" Elrond sent his friend a somewhat exasperated glance.

"Aye, Glorfindel, Elurín," he confirmed. There was a brief silence in the study, as Elrond continued to gaze thoughtfully out of the window, and as Glorfindel stared ahead of him, a troubled expression on his usually fair face.

"…Díor…his Elurín…" Elrond said nothing for a while, causing his light haired friend to tilt his head to a side and send him a questioning glance. "Peredhel?"

Elrond turned to face him.

"We…do not know for certain. For all we know, it could be an Elf, by the name of Elurín, from one of the Woodland Realms. For all we know, it could be an Elf by the name of Elurín, who dwells in the Grey Havens –"

"-Aye, and for all we know it could be an Elf by the name of Elurín who was supposed to have perished, along with his brother Eluréd, when Menegroth was sacked by the sons of Fëanor," cut in Glorfindel, raising his eyebrows at the hard look the Half-Elven lord sent him. "Elrond, you cannot hide from the obvious truth; aye, I will admit, the idea that there are other Elves by the same name is plausible…but we both know that that is not the case here."

Glorfindel shook his head, not once breaking his friend's gaze. "The names Eluréd and Elurín were not given to any son of the Firstborn, after the cruel end that the sons of Díor Eluchíl met. You know this, for, you yourself had half a mind to name Elladan and Elrohir after your two deceased uncles, but decided against it for you feared your sons meeting the same…end that they did."

"That is true, but mayhap-"

"-Why is it that you are intent on refusing to believe that she is the granddaughter of Elurín?" cut in Glorfindel once more, as he pleasantly ignored the glare Elrond sent his way for interrupting him.

"I am not intent on…" Elrond's voice trailed off as he sighed. "'Tis just, mellon-nin, I…fear what this could mean. The line of Díor, the line of Thingol, has continued...and...and we did not know of this."

Glorfindel frowned.

"Peredhel, I am not sure if I understand where you are going with this..." he admitted.

"Glorfindel, how much must they have suffered? The sons of Díor? The accounts of Maedhros...describe how he had searched high and low in the forests, but could not find them, although he saw a few scraps of their clothes, along with blood, as he caught sight of one of the packs of wolves that roamed the forests after the Girdle of Melian was withdrawn."

Elrond shook his head. "He thought they were dead, Glorfindel, and left them. But...they survived. How? And...where would they have gone, for as far as the account of Maedhros tells us, the servants of Celegorm only chased Eluréd and Elurín into the wilderness; not any else of that house. Where then, would Elurín have found his...wife? How would he have found his wife?"

A hardened expression appeared on the light-haired Elf's face.

"The...accounts of Maedhros that you so...faithfully refer to," he started, the disgust barely evident in his voice, "Tell me, Peredhel, how can you be certain that they speak the truth? For all we know, Maedhros Fëanorion saw the sons of Díor in the wild, but left them to suffer anyway."

"Glorfindel, you know, that of all the sons of Fëanor, Maedhros was perhaps one of the –"

"-No, Peredhel, I do not know," interrupted Glorfindel, his face dark. "I do know, however, the many scores of the Eldar who perished in the first Kinslaying; I do know how Fëanor and his sons took the ships, and then burnt them, leaving us effectively stranded. And how we suffered after that! King Turgon lost his beloved wife, and I lost many friends as well...and then, the attack on Elwing and the remnants of the people of Gondolin and Doriath. Peredhel, you should know of this better than I do..."

Elrond stared impassively at his friend for a long while.

"Aye, I do know of that particular attack," he said, his voice tight. "And I know, better than you do, Glorfindel, how kind the hearts of Maedhros and Maglor remained, despite the Oath they swore and despite all the carnage they had caused and witnessed."

His grey eyes narrowed. "If you are suggesting that Maedhros is not to be trusted, then you are also saying that I am not to be trusted-"

"-He did not raise you, Peredhel, Maglor did. And of Maglor, even though he was one of them, I...bear ill-will towards him."

"Maedhros aided his brother in raising us," said Elrond, referring, of course, to him and his brother Elros. "Both he and Maglor are more or less the same, to me. I ask you to let go of these old prejudices, Glorfindel, for they do nothing except to cloud your usually clear and accurate judgement."

Defiant light blue eyes met impassive grey, as Glorfindel raised his chin somewhat.

"You were not there, Eärendilion," he said, quietly. "You were not there..." And just like that, a haunted expression found itself into his light eyes. "There were so many casualties...so many tears..." He paused. "I lost my sister while crossing the Helcaraxë, Elrond. She had long admired Maedhros Fëanorion, and would not remain behind in Aman at my bidding. She took on the journey, for him, and met her end when he, his brethren and his father betrayed us all."

He shook his head. "Do not expect me to entertain the thought of...thinking well of the sons of Fëanor, Peredhel, for it is difficult. Their blood is cursed...and cursed also was the blood of Celebrimbor. 'Tis a relief for the Elves that there are none with the accursed blood in their veins anymore."

There was a sorrowful expression on Elrond's face as he watched his friend lower his head. He sometimes wished that the Valar had not given back the light haired Elf lord's memories. Aye, he knew that the memories were a part of the reincarnated Elf, but sometimes...sometimes he felt that they caused him more pain than was necessary.

"I am sorry," he said, lowering his grey eyes. But there will come a time, mellon-nin, when you will have to choose between holding onto your...hate, and letting it go. I only pray that you choose wisely.


"My good lords! What do you think you are doing?" exclaimed Meluial, as she entered the healing wing to see the twin sons of Elrond, rather comically, making their way towards the bed by the large window.

"Lady Meluial," said Elladan, smoothly, once he and his brother had spun around in surprise. "What a wonderfully bright and cheery day it is today, do you not think? The birds are chirping, the sun is shining-"

"-and the wind is blowing and the grass is swaying and flowers are blooming," cut in Meluial, placing her hands on her hips. "You have not answered my question, Elrondion."

Elrohir sighed.

"We merely wished to see how...she was faring," he said, gesturing towards the prone figure on the bed. "We wished to see if she was awake yet..."

Meluial's fierce expression softened somewhat, as she glanced at the younger twin.

"She regained consciousness last night," she said, smiling inwardly as the brothers' eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

"Why were we not informed of this?"

"You might want to ask your father about that, my lords," she said. "He saw to her last night. She has not woken since then." By now, she had reached the bed and the twins, and, moving over so that she was standing at the other side of the bed, she sighed as she stared down at the slumbering Elf. "She must have been through a terrible ordeal..."

Elrohir nodded.

"Aye," he agreed, distantly, as he remembered watching what the Men did to her, before they had intervened. "I shudder to think how long she would have been in their...care."

"Her eyes are closed..." mused Elladan. "How long will she sleep in this manner?" Meluial shrugged.

"Until she has regained her full strength," she said, reaching out and brushing a few strands of hair from the sleeping Elf's face. "She is...quite pretty, is she not?"

The twins nodded.

"She looks somewhat like Arwen..." added Elrohir.

"Aye," Meluial paused. "Somewhat." She looked up at the twins. "Do you know her name?" Elladan and Elrohir shook their heads.

"Nay, when we finally saved her, she was in no condition to...carry on a conversation," said Elladan, quietly. Meluial nodded.

"'Tis a cruel Age that we live in..." she murmured, before dropping her hand to her side. "I trust that you two will behave in a responsible manner?"

"Meluial-" started Elladan, an indignant expression on his face.

"-You will not try to wake her before she is ready...?"

"-Do we look like we would-"

"-Lord Elrohir?" Elrohir shook his head, a smile forming on his face as he watched his brother's indignant face.

"Nay, Meluial, we will not. She will not even know we are here." Nodding, the brunette healer moved away.

"If she wakes, send word to your father. He will be familiar to her, and it will...calm her down, somewhat." With a last warning look in the twins' direction, she left the healing wing.

"Does she really think we would cause trouble in the healing wing?" questioned Elladan, looking surprised. Elrohir shrugged, as his eyes caught sight of the dark stain on the left sleeve of the robe that the sleeping Elf wore.

"Her wounds...seem to be bleeding freely," he commented, frowning slightly.

"You are surprised?" Elladan shook his head. "They were untreated and continually reopened, Elrohir, it will take some time for them to stop bleeding freely."

Elrohir said nothing in reply, as he gingerly reached out to place his arm over the blood-stained area.

"But her bandages should be changed, and the wound cleaned, lest infection-" He stopped, startled, as he found himself staring at a pair of unfocused grey eyes. "You are awake," he said, a small smile forming on his face. "How do you feel?"

The grey eyes took a while to refocus, and when they did, they found themselves staring at a...somewhat familiar Elf.

"...Sore..." she whispered, hoarsely. Elrohir nodded.

"Aye, you will continue to feel that way until you are healed, I am afraid," he said, almost apologetically, as his brother filled a goblet with water from the pitcher and handed it to him. "Do you feel up to drinking this? Just a few quick sips to soothe you throat."

"Master E...lrond?" Elladan shook his head, smiling.

"Nay, he is not here at the moment," he said, watching as a fearful expression found itself on the Elf's pale face. "But we can get him for you if you would-"

He caught the goblet as it was slapped out of Elrohir's hands, although he could not catch it properly, and as a result was drenched with the water in it. "-What in the world-?"

"Get...away...f-from me..." she hissed, although there was no real malice in her tone. She tried to curl herself up into a ball, but Elrohir reached out to stop her.

"No," he said, feeling her tense under his touch. "No, you must not do that...it will only serve to aggravate your-"

"-Please, leave...me alone. Have...have you not done enough...?" Elladan and Elrohir exchanged confused glances.

"We have done nothing to harm you, my lady," said Elladan. "We only-"

"-I...am no lady," gasped the dark-haired Elf, even as a pained haze entered her grey eyes. "You know this..."

"My lady-"

"-Elrohir, stay here. I am going to get Adar," cut in Elladan, a concerned expression on his face. "Do not do anything to...surprise her; no sudden actions or anything of the sort. I am guessing that she thinks we are the slave traders, and we intend to harm her."

"But that is preposterous!"

"Aye, but...she does not know it. I will be back soon." With that, he dashed out of the healing wing, hoping against hope that his father would be in his study, as usual.

Elrohir turned back to the clearly frightened Elf.

"My lady, I do not intend to harm you..." he said, as soothingly as he could. "You are injured, and I do not want you to reopen your wounds. Please-"

"-I know what...you want. Have you not done enough...?" The Elf stared vulnerably at him. "Lómënár, you...did something to him..." Her voice trembled as she mentioned the name. "A-and you killed Lómëlin..."

Elrohir shook his head slowly, even as he pondered on the names.

"Nay, my lady, I am...sorry, but I do not know what you are-"

"-And Naneth too...p-please, leave me alone..."

"I did not...my lady, I do not-" Elrohir was caught off guard as the Elf struggled, apparently trying to get as far away from him as she could. "My lady!" he exclaimed, now extremely worried. "Please, your wounds –you will only-" A stinging slap to the side of his face stopped him, and he gaped at the frightened Elf, who looked just as stunned as he did.

It was at that moment that Elrond hurried into the room, Elladan and Glorfindel at his heels.

"Elrohir what-" the Half-Elven stopped short as he took in the scene before him; his son holding his cheek in surprise, and the Elf, looking frazzled and frightened holding the hand she had slapped him with.

"I am sorry...I am so sorry..." cried the Elf, as she tried to move further away from the stunned Elrohir, only to find that she was already at the edge of the bed. "M-Master...I did not mean...please, do not h-hurt me..."

Elrond was by her side in a flash, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and not moving away as she flinched. Her head whipped around, and grey eyes met an almost identical pair. "M...Master Elrond...?"

"Yes, little one," said Elrond, calmly.

"Master I...did not mean to-" she broke off, gesturing at Elrohir. "-Please, please do not let him hurt me...please...?"

Glorfindel, standing beside Elladan, drew in a quick, sharp breath as he watched and listened to the dark-haired Elf-maiden. The fear in her eyes and in her voice was all too clear, and it stung him.

"My child, he will not hurt you," said Elrond, comfortingly. "He would never hurt you." But the Elf would not be reassured.

"He...he said that the...the last time, but...but he...they still...continued..." Glorfindel found that he could not watch the scene, for it pained him so. Glancing at Elladan, he found the same torn expression on the dark-haired Elf's face. "Then...when Lómëlin tried to...to help me, they...they killed him..." A lone tear trailed down her pale cheek. "And...Lómënár was...was taken away..."

Glorfindel shook his head. No one should have had to been through what she had been through, and then be reduced to...this. It was not right.

"Little one, look at me," ordered Elrond, firmly yet gently. It took a moment, but the Elf found herself doing as he asked. "Do you remember who I am?"

"Master Elrond."

The Half-Elven lord winced at the use of the word 'Master', but said nothing.

"Do you remember where you are?"

"...I...with Elves?" Elrond nodded encouragingly.

"Aye, in the Elven refuge of Imladris," he said, reminding her of what he had told her the night before. "And what did I tell you about your safety?"

The Elf frowned.

"...I am...under your protection...?"

"Aye," said Elrond, relieved. "If you are under my protection, will I, or any other of my House, allow any harm to come to you?" The Elf shook her head, looking very much like a vulnerable child. "Would my sons hurt you?"

"...No..." Elrond nodded at Elrohir.

"That, little one, is my second son, Elrohir," he said, glad when Elrohir merely offered her a smile, instead of moving towards her, lest he frighten her. He directed her attention to the foot of the bed. "And that is my eldest son, Elladan."

"...They...look-"

"-Alike?" Elrond smiled. "They are twins, my child."

"Like Lómënár and Lómëlin..." Elrond said nothing to that, although he had a hunch as to who she was referring to.

"And that is my dear friend, Glorfindel," he said, nodding at the light-haired Elf, who did not offer the Elf-maiden a smile. Elrond did not fail to notice how she stared at Glorfindel a touch longer than she had stared at his sons.

"Pretty..." As Elrond's brows furrowed in puzzlement, Elladan and Elrohir –realizing what she had meant- found wide grins forming on their faces.

And Glorfindel fought the colour that threatened to spread across his face.

"Pretty?" echoed Elrond turning to the Elf and noting the childlike fascinated expression on her face. The Elf lifted a shaky arm to point at Glorfindel, who was mortified when he saw the amused expression flash across the Half-Elven lord's face. "Ah," he said, eloquently. "Glorfindel, come here will you?"

The light-haired Elf stood where he was, his eyes widening slightly as he silently pleaded with Elrond. "Glorfindel," said Elrond, sending him a pointed glare. He had an actual purpose in asking Glorfindel to step forward, not just to embarrass him.

The dark-haired Elf had not seemed frightened of Glorfindel, like she had been of Elrohir –he winced as he saw the bright red mark on his son's face- or Elladan. Surely that was a good thing?

Heaving a defeated sigh, Glorfindel stepped up beside Elrohir, sending Elrond a glare over the top of the Elf-maiden's head.

"I do not think-" Glorfindel stopped, surprised, as he watched an unsteady arm reach out towards him. A moment later, the Elf-maiden held onto a fistful of his hair, staring unblinkingly at it. "...My lady, what-"

"It...shines..." said the Elf, solemnly.

"...It shines?" Glorfindel sighed as he felt Elrond's glare on him. "Aye," he said, adopting a conversational tone. Let us stay here all day discussing my 'pretty' and 'shiny' hair, shall we? "It does."

Elrohir was surprised to find a pair of wary grey eyes focusing on him, as Glorfindel's hair was released from the Elf's grip.

"I am sorry..." He shook his head.

"Nay, there is no need to be sorry," he said, smiling gently at her. "You were frightened; I can understand that."

"Elladan and Elrohir saved you from your captors, little one," added Elrond, watching as she stared at Elladan and then at Elrohir, with her brows furrowed.

"...Thank you..." There was a relieved expression on Elladan's face as he shook his head.

"There is no need to thank us, my lady," he said. "And you need not worry about the Men; they will never trouble you again."

Elrond did a quick run through of the Elf's body as her eyes were on his sons, and was not surprised to see that quite a few of her wounds had opened up; again. But they did not look too bad; he could clean them up later, preferably when she was asleep and would not feel much.

He pulled her rumpled sheets up and placed them around her shoulders, knowing how chilly it could get at that time of the year. He heard the voices as his fingers came into contact with her skin.

"No! You must leave here, at once. He will be here soon, I can feel it. You must leave, with the children, before he comes."

"I will not leave you to die! Why...why can we not remain here? Surely you will be able to defend-"

"-We cannot be certain. His wrath is great; he will destroy everything in his part until he lays his hands on the three Elven Rings."

"But they are not here!"

"Aye, and his wrath will be greater when he finds that I have sent them away already. Please, Fíriel Eluríniel...I would not ask this of you any other time. Our children, they are the last of my line. Let there at least be three of the blood of Fëanor, who are not corrupted and troubled by the lust for greed and action that consumed their ancestors. For the blood of Tinúviel runs within them, and she did not fall prey to lust of the Silmaril. Please."

"Celebrimbor-"

"-Do it! Take Lómënár, Lómëlin and Lómëriel with you. Especially Lómëriel, for I shudder to think what they would do to her, as she grows older in captivity. I sense a different destiny in store for the great-great-granddaughter of Lúthien. Go, Fíriel!"

As the voices died out, Elrond found four pairs of eyes staring at him, different emotions within them as they took in the heavily-breathing Half-Elven lord.

Elrond brushed aside his sons' and Glorfindel's concerned queries, and turned his grey eyes instead on the wary Elf maiden.

"Lómënár and Lómëlin," he started, making sure he had control over his voice. "They are...your brothers?" The Elf nodded, a pained expression swiftly crossing her face.

"They...were my brothers...yes."

"Lómëriel..." The Elf's grey eyes widened as she stared at Elrond.

"How...how did you...?" Elrond did not answer her.

"Who was your sire, Lómëriel?" he questioned, an urgent note entering his voice. She averted her gaze.

"Naneth...told me never to speak of him..."

"Did she tell you why?"

"She...did not get the chance..." Elrond's face was a peculiar shade of...white.

"Was your father Celebrimbor?" He sensed the tense silence in the room at the mention of the name. "Lómëriel, was your father Celebrimbor?"

"I...know that my father was called...Celebrimbor," whispered the dark-haired Elf. "Celebrimbor Curufinion." There was two, barely audible gasps as Elladan and Elrohir stared from the Elf to their father, their brows furrowed.

Elrond's shoulders slumped, as he recalled the image he had seen of Celebrimbor with two young sons, staring down at his wife and the bundle in her arms.

Ai, this is interesting indeed; the daughter of Elurín marrying the nephew of the ones who...destroyed her father's home and family?

The Silmaril...'twas her holding the Silmaril, I am certain. Ai, 'tis not a good omen; if the blood of Fëanor runs in her veins, will she be bound to the oath that his sons made to him?

Will she...be as doomed as the sons of Fëanor were?

His grey eyes widened slightly as he remembered the conversation that he had had, earlier that morning, with his golden-haired friend. Turning to him, the Half-Elven lord's face fell as he saw his friend's face.

Glorfindel's light blue eyes were cold and were narrowed as they focused on the dark-haired Elf-maiden, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Glorfindel," he started. "We cannot –"

"-Accursed blood of Fëanor," said Glorfindel icily as the Elf turned to look at him, "what more torment do you intend to put us through? What more carnage do you intend to cause?"

"Glorfindel-"

The golden-haired Elf shook his head.

"Just what the last of the Elves in Middle Earth needed," he hissed. "A remembrance of the one who caused the doom to be laid upon us; a descendant of the Kinslayers." He turned on his heel and strode briskly out of the room, leaving behind a pair of startled twins, a drowsily confused Elf-maiden and a troubled Half-Elven lord.

Ai, Elbereth! What else does Fate have in store for us?


In Lothloríen:

"Grandmother?" questioned Arwen, gently, as she saw the faraway, somewhat troubled expression on the golden-haired Elf's face. "Grandmother...? What is it?"

Galadríel snapped out of her...reverie when Arwen lightly touched her arm, and it took her a few moments to focus her light eyes on her granddaughter.

"Undomiel...I am sorry," she said, after a tense moment. She smiled. "I...was thinking."

"I could see that, grandmother," said Arwen, deep blue eyes twinkling as she looked at the Lady of Loríen. "Is everything alright?"

Galadríel did not answer right away.

"My dear, why don't you go to Haldir and see if the Imladris scouts left anything with him as they passed him and his troop? Mayhap your father...or even your brothers have sent you something?"

Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond, stared impassively at her grandmother for a long moment, noting instantly how she avoided her question.

"I do not think they would have sent me anything, not when I am expected to return to Imladris soon," she said, after a while. "But...I will check, in case."

Galadríel nodded, fighting to keep the smile on her face as her granddaughter bowed her head towards her and walked away. The moment she was out of sight, the smile disappeared from the golden-haired Elf's face, just as her face paled.

"Morgoth Bauglir..." she whispered, as a hand rose to her chest. "Nay, it...cannot be." Her light eyes were unfocused once more. "It was foretold that he would return at the end of the world, and the battle waged against him will permanently mar the world...In that battle shall fight Eärendil, and he will avenge what was done to him...but Bauglir...he will be dealt with by Túrin Turambar, for him he caused immeasurable grief. The world shall then be destroyed and made anew by Ilúvatar, and the Firstborn shall inhabit it once more..."

She stopped. "That was what was foretold...in the Circle of Doom, many, many years ago." As the troubled expression darkened on her face, Galadríel could not help but wonder. "I know not when the 'end of the world' will be, but...I can safely say it will not be now; it will take place after the Dominion of Men has faded –if it is established at all."

She glanced down at the Elven ring on her finger. "Then why...did I see the return of Morgoth in such detail? If it is not to happen until centuries have passed...why have I seen it now?"


A/N

The end of another (longer) chapter! I hope that this is not getting too tiresome to read, or anything, but I have to first establish the OC; I have to get her introduced to people, and, of course, get her to stop being frightened of the Elves around her.

Hope 'The Silmarillion' lore hasn't confused anybody! The reason why I put this fic in the 'Lord of the Rings' category was because it takes place in the Third (and later in the Fourth) Age(s), and that would not fit in the 'Silmarillion' category.

Oh well, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I will see you in a few days!

Till next time!

Siriusgirl1