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Elrond stood behind his wife, placing a gentle kiss on her neck
before sliding his hands downwards, slowing over the gentle swell of
her breasts, to rest against the flatness of her stomach, feeling the
new life within.
“I cannot believe it,” he murmured. “To think that we have been
twice blessed by the lady Yavanna.”
She turned within the circle of his arms, returning the kiss, unable to
quench the joyous smile that had lit her face since that night.
“Aye,” she agreed. “Twice blessed. Two
sons. Twins.”
“Twins,” he repeated incredulously, with a pang of remembered
sorrow. “Twins.”
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