#twinstarsofimladris

Thank you so much!! And I’m so happy you like my drawings of Maeglin and his mother! Here’s a kinda grumpy looking Eöl

I’ve also included how I interpret their relationship under the keep reading thingy-

TW: Discussions of abuse

When you first come into Imladris, you may be struck by how similar the twins are.  So much alike were they, the sons of Elrond, that few could tell them apart: dark-haired, grey-eyed, and their faces elven-fair, clad alike in bright mail beneath cloaks of silver-grey, or so the saying goes.  Yet once you get to know them, you realize this is not the case at all.  The twins are more like polar opposites, always needing and grounding one another, but very little alike.

Elladan, the firstborn only by the right that he drew the first breath of air outside their mother's womb, is a deeply sensitive and poetic soul who prefers art and healing over weaponry and and the need for war.  This is not to say he has no skill in weapons.  He has mastered the art of dual blades, and is rarely seen without both dual swords across his back, and twin long knives at his hip.

If you were standing speaking to Elladan, his eyes would put you in mind of molten silver with the way they tend to gleam and have a touch of blue in certain lights.  He stands at 6 feet 3 inches, but is made of lean, sleek muscle.  And often, unless he has reason to speak or you are a friend, he is the quieter of the two.

Elrohir, second born by only five minutes, was born a screaming warrior ready to take on the world.  He has rarely met a challenge he refused to face, and  was often the mastermind behind many of the schemes that got both young twins into trouble as elflings.  Determined to master all the weapons, Elrohir practiced day and night until none could disarm him.  Often going to his room exhausted and sore, only to get up hours later to do it again.

He is extremely protective of Elladan, who he knows feels things far too deeply.  He fears his twin will one day be overcome by his own senses, and his sharing of the worlds sadness, and will become lost to them all.

As Fëanaro looked at the pair, was inevitably reminded of his own twins. Such a rare occurence, and how interesting that it should happen twice in the same line...and their interactions reminded him of Ambarussa too. Two different personalities, and yet so closely bonded in understanding.

"If your father is not against it, then surely that should be good enough," he answered.

"I am grateful to him for giving me a place in his halls, when few other Noldor would. If you are anything like him, then I will speak with you happily. What can I do for you?"

honestly? SAME

Erestor startled from the document he was in the process of writing with a squeak. With a quick glance at his work to assure himself that he hadn’t spilled any ink, he turned to the young elf with a raised brow but listening attentively.

A quiet nod and Erestor was out of his seat, searching through the private collection in his small office. A book about the great artists who helped design their great valley. A book of poems of the first age - war and love and loss. A second book from a mortal woman he had met himself and received as a gift. And finally, at the top of the pile, a smaller book about archery.