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"Will we bother sending word to Elboron and Eruthia?"

"Not in this weather. They'll find out tomorrow - if - there is anything to find out."

Aragorn, High King of Gondor and Arnor, sat straight-backed in a couch by the window and looked out into the night. Rain pattered in an endless torrent against the window and wind howled like a shrieking wolf. He could only make out glimpses of street lamps, tiny pinpricks of light in the streets of Minas Tirith far below. He sat still as a statue, his only movement a regular folding and unfolding of his hand resting on the windowsill.

Elfwine, King of Rohan, stood up rather abruptly and winced as blood rushed to his legs. He tossed a log into the flickering fire and sat back down again, folding a leg over his knee, watching his wife.

Almárëa sat cross-legged on the soft rug before the warm hearth, hair long and unbound, glowing almost red-brown in the firelight. She held her arms out, and tiny fingers clasped her hands. Elfred, the crown Prince of Rohan, the Breaking of the Curse, as many of the reverent Rohirrim called him proudly, and a complete darling, as his grandmother Lothíriel was known to call him, stood proudly before the hearth, beaming all over his round baby face. He took a shaky step - and promptly sat down on his little behind. An expression of comical surprise crossed his face, before he grabbed hold of his mother's steady hands again and fought his way up again.

The only sound in the room was Almárëa's quiet laughter and whispers of endearments and encouragement in a range of languages.

Soft footsteps sounded down the corridor, and everyone sat straight and pricked up their ears.

The door slid open, well oiled against any creaks. It was Arwen, her shining black hair hurriedly twisted into a long plait down her back. Loose threads hung down her face, and the faintest hint of silver at her temples shone in the flickering candle- and firelight.

"All is well," she confirmed, sitting down next to her husband and leaning back in a way she only would among family.

"And? How is she?" Almárëa demanded, lowering her hands. Elfred squawked in protest. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Arwen smiled, a twinkle in her age-old eyes. "Galieth is well. We were worried to begin with - it's a few weeks before the due date, after all. She's tired out though - Eldarion and her mother are with her now. And the babe -"

All three leaned forward.

"Well, I'll leave Eldarion to tell you all about them."

Almárëa laughed first, relieved. She'd been rather anxious these last few months - one night she would see a pretty little girl at Eldarion's knee, the image woven in with blurry dreams- the next, a tall boy laughing with Galieth. Twins - of course! That was an explanation she hadn't considered. The sound broke the tension in the room like a knife slicing through butter, and suddenly they were all laughing, exclaiming in surprise and delight. 

"Twins," Eldarion confirmed, appearing in the door-frame. As though still in shock, as though thoroughly tired out, he ran a hand through sweat-soaked hair and rubbed his eyes. With his other arm he supported a small bundle, holding it tightly to his chest like a priceless vase. The bundle was emitting a series of high, unsteady wails.

"Ai Eldarion, let us have a look! Tbe Valar themselves must have had a hand in our coinciding political agendas or we'd never have been here in time to meet this precious little thing. Which is this?" Almárëa practically bouncing to her feet.

"This is Elandil, my son," Eldarion grinned, tapping the baby's nose fondly. He passed the bundle to Almárëa, already cooing sweet baby words to the new prince. "Come with me. Galieth is half asleep and had to practically beg her mother before she would go and get a few hours of rest - I'll stay with her tonight - but she wants to see you all first."

"I like Elandil," Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, putting his arm around his wife as they watched their son, his face changed forever with the night he'd endured.

A memory flitted through his mind - of a wooden cabin in the northern forest in Fornost. The fire roared in an open pit, as opposed to a carefully tended fireplace, and the room was filled with pipe-smoke and plainly dressed, good hearted people. He didn't recall whose baby he held in his arms - as Chieftain, he was well used to them. But this child he now held, his grandson - that impossibly soft curl of black hair, those bright eyes - so huge and dark, blue-grey, bright red cheeks, reminded him of simple times in the North. A continuation of tradition, a lineage that went back to the time of Númenor of old.

He'd felt this way before - in his own son, Eldarion, the day he was born.

"What about the little maid? What's her name?" Elfwine wanted to know as they filed their way quietly into Galieth's room.

"Well..." Eldarion shifted uncomfortably. "We didn't consider twins," he confessed.

"Nobody does," Elfwine shrugged, swinging Elfred onto his shoulders. The baby shrieked with glee, grabbing his father's hair like the reins on a horse. "What would you have called Elandil if he was a girl, then?"

"Elandel."

Almárëa and Elfwine rolled their eyes simultaneously.

Galieth was propped onto two pillows. The bed was freshly made up and she wore a clean nightgown, her hair loose and tumbling over the fresh cotton - Almárëa thought privately it was the first time she'd ever seen Galieth this vulnerable. The love and pain shining through her face made her forget all thought of her appearance in the presence of her king and queen. It would take her a long while to  entirely forget all self-consciousness - but as she gazed at the small being in her arms, everything and everyone was forgotten.

"This is little Elandel, then," Almárëa grinned, sitting down carefully at the foot of the bed.

"No," Galieth grumbled, eyes glazed with tiredness. "I don't want to be reminded of the extent of my imagination when with child."

Eldarion took her hand, the one that rested on their daughter's sleeping head. "She can't be 'the girl' forever, my love."

He smiled into her eyes. It was so rare that Eldarion and Galieth displayed any sort of affection when in the presence of others, other than friendly banter, that even this simple gesture was so moving that all present glanced away. Aragorn took her hand and squeezed it in a comforting fashion.

"Mother -" Galieth began.

"Shall I get -?" Arwen half-turned to the door when Galieth's next words had her frozen to the spot.

"No - no - naneth -"

Arwen hesitated, then sat at the edge of the bed opposite her son. "What is it, iel-nin?"

"The girl." Galieth shivered, and Eldarion tightened his grip on her hand. "She hasn't cried yet. Why isn't she crying?"

Arwen was still frozen, a single tear clinging to an eyelash. Eldarion instead held out his hands, asking silent permission. Galieth allowed him to take the baby, suddenly near tears herself. "Why isn't she crying? Is something the matter"

"You've had a long day. Sleep, my love, you've earned it." Eldarion kissed his wife's forehead.

He put the baby on his lap, and looked at her with the same deep grey eyes. She was awake, unlike little Elandil, who had fallen asleep in the meantime and even Elfred was nodding on his father's shoulders. She looked almost identical to her brother, other than she was perceptibly smaller and her dark eyelashes a fraction longer. There was silence in the room, broken only by the sounds of the raging storm outside.

Then the baby smiled at her father. Her tiny eyes crinkled, her mouth pursed and opened with pure, innocent delight. Eldarion laughed with delight, reverting suddenly to nonsensical baby-talk, kissing the soft forehead.

"Are you smiling at me, little girlie? Are you smiling, darling? Do you smile for ada?"

Then the unthinkable happened.

The little baby - barely an hour old, fingernails so tiny they were barely there and the hair on her head like duck down, so small and fragile - laughed.

The sound was unmistakable. Hale and loud like the cry of a babe of six weeks, yet filled with sweet mirth. Her funny smile widened, if it were possible.

It was in fact so infectious that everyone in the room laughed along with her, Galieth wincing as the movement ached. She opted for a sleepy smile instead. Eldarion stood up, hugging the baby close with delight.

"No question about her name, then," Arwen said triumphantly, a little shakily, and cleared her throat. "This little lady will be a creature of laughter, bright and merry all her life, her brother a sure and steady rock to her cheery wind. Elbereth Gilthoniel, Lady of Stars, bless them both - Elandil and Lalaith, Prince and Princess of the reunited realms of Gondor and Arnor."

"Elbereth bless them," rang through the room.

"Now give me my babies back," Galieth mumbled, eyes already closed.

Eldarion laughed, as he took the twins to snuggle into their mother's chest with a protective arm around them.

Elfwine and Almárëa left first, their little golden-haired princeling fast asleep in his father's arms. Aragorn and Arwen slipped away last, arms tight about one another, leaving their son alone with his family.

•●•●•●•

A/N
I wrote this whole thing in one sitting in two hours, and I think now I can officially say the writer's block has been lifted! It will probably take a while for me to revert back to writing as regularly as I used to, but I have many chapters of Silver and Stars planned and some more oneshots that are hopefully longer than this one. Good night! (Or good morning, good afternoon, whenever you read this.)

-yavanna