Elladan and Elrohir

Elladan broods. I laugh. But when the arrows fly and the steel sings, we move as one — as we have for centuries. We walk the knife’s edge between Elven grace and mortal fire, chasing the last light of an age that won’t hold. Our sister dreams in stars; we dream in blood and wind. You won’t find our names in the bards’ mouths — we prefer it that way.