They were, perhaps, to be considered mere ghosts of their former selves. Long had been the years of which were spent in silent solitude, existing beyond the boarders of men's vision, and the passage of time had dulled the light of life that once shone clear in their starry gaze. The days of the elves were gone, having faded from the memory of man the day the last of the Undómiel's progeny passed from life. There was little to give them purpose, few reasons to take simple pleasure from life. They walked as if in a dream.
Until the fateful day passed in which the brothers stumbled upon the babe within the wilderness.
Given to the forest by unknown parents, a life sacrificed, she had made little sound when the elder of the twins nearly stepped upon her tiny, frail limbs- her tiny body already exceedingly weak and succumbing to the call of death. Elladan had gently gathered the child to his breast, delicately mindful of her feeble mewling cry, and had called for his brother. Like him, Elrohir had needed no urging to decide upon a course of action. The child should be rescued from her fate of death.
They took the deathly hushed girl-child to their father's home and presented her to their grandsire, Celeborn, who dwelt with them in the Last Homely House. He too immediately felt compassion for the small babe and with his learned healing skill; the child was soon nursed healthy.
They called her Ronan, meaning
in the languages of men; for indeed, in her infancy and toddling years she squirmed and twisted impatiently from their grasp only to play eagerly with unrestrained zeal in the cool summer springs and warm nightly bathwater. In the absence of purpose, she became their world, their reason for taking pleasure once more from daily life. She was their salvation from an eternity of solitude.
And thus, the light of life was restored within the walls of Rivendell.
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