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elenothar:
I keep thinking about how Newt and Theseus were ‘discovered’ to be Eluréd and Elurín.
..for some reason, I typically see the scene set in the Golden Wood, shortly after Newt and Graves’ wedding - which, as we’ve previously worldbuilt, was officiated by Radagast, and attended/witnessed by both Theseus and Arwen. …it was also subject to an orc ambush midway through, with Graves and Newt shouting out their vows mid-battle a la At World’s End. (Theseus bawled as he beheaded a charging orc.)
Newt and Graves (as well as Theseus and Arwen) subsequently traveled to Lothlorien - perhaps because even though there’s a special kind of pleasure in wandering beneath the stars, it’s really very nice to sleep in a proper bed in a lovely place where there is ABSOLUTELY NO CHANCE of being ambushed by Orcs in the middle of the night. (Also, Theseus insisted on toasting his brother and his new brother-in-law.) …which was when the rest of Elrond’s contingent caught up with them.
…apparently, leaving a letter that, paraphrased, stated ‘Newt accepted my proposal of marriage; Arwen agreed to serve as my witness. I am hereby notifying you of the fact that I am taking advantage of several centuries’ worth of accumulated vacation time to get married and go on my honeymoon’ was - not the most suitable way Graves could have employed to notify Lord Elrond of his impending marriage.
The news hit Rivendell - and, subsequently, elvish society at large - like a battering ram. It was the event of the decade; Percival Graves - orNoirëion Laicaethë, to use his ‘proper’ elvish name - got married. To a wood-elf. A Noldor, one of the vanishingly rare survivors of Gondolin, famed warrior, loyal until death and beyond, who had lived through fire, floor, and the War of Wrath - got married. To a wood-elf of no pedigree whatsoever.
It was a scandal. It was news. And some people tried very hard to object.
Not Elrond, or any of the people who really mattered to Newt and Graves - Graves, for one, was getting steadily more irate as various elves he’d never even met before kept harping on about how Graves was better then this, how he wasn’t thinking this through, how - Newt was growing even more and more quiet, practically hiding behind Graves as Theseus bristled and stepped forward to his defense -
Which was when Galadriel stepped in.
Galadriel, and her Mirror. Which, among other properties, can show ’Things that were’.
(When pressed, Galadriel will later state that she felt something, a hidden knowledge that needed to be made plain - a secret, hidden by years, unknown even to those who carried it.)
And the Mirror showed the past.
Specifically, Newt and Theseus’ past.
The accumulated elves flinched in shared memory as the Mirror showed the grim scene of the War of the Last Alliance - and there was Theseus, reckless grin on his face as he fought alongside the rest of the infantry. There was Newt, soothing horses as he joined a cavalry charge.
The Mirror swirls, and another image is shown.
There is Newt, caring for a badger in the middle of a forest. There is Theseus, a song on his lips as he guards a group of travelers making for the Grey Haven.
A ripple of water, and the scene changes.
There is Newt and Theseus - but younger, elves barely into adulthood as they march with one of the refugee bands that traced their way from lost Beleriand during the War of Wrath. And the mirror is going faster now, and Newt feels Theseus’ hand tighten upon his own as they see their own faces as children, and the faces of the elves who adopted them , and then -
Then, the faces of Men. And the encampment which was their earliest memory - and the onlookers can see them now, a pair of thin, dirty elf-children, hungrily gulping down the stew that they were offered.
“They found us in the forest.” Theseus says quietly, eyes fixed on the worn, tired faces of their human foster-parents. “Just a pair of orphans, running from the war. We didn’t remember much - too traumatized, I suppose. We couldn’t even remember even our own names - they fed us and took us in and named us.” Newt nods silently, eyes hungrily drinking down the sight of the long-dead humans who had been the first to love them.
The Mirror is swirling even as they watch, shifting to the sight of two painfully young elves - barely more then toddlers, but still recognizable as Newt and Theseus - making their way through a dark wood. And then it dips and swirls and resolves one last time -
And there is Newt and Theseus, as younglings, barely more then infants, clasped tight and secure in the arms of a pair of elves who must be their birth-parents - the resemblance is all too striking, and Newt and Theseus stare at the unfamiliar faces of their biological parents, trying their best to sear the image into memory. They do not recognize them; their features mean nothing to the twins - but a great susurration erupts from the assembled elves who do know them - and who even now are putting the pieces together.
And Galadriel lets the mirror flicker and fade into nothing, voice and face regal as she draws air to speak.
“Hail!” Cries the Lady of the Wood in a great voice. “Hail Eluréd and Elurín Diorion! Hail to the sons of Dior, son of Beren and Luthien, who return to us now beyond hope, beyond fear, beyond expectation! Hail, princes of lost Doriath, brothers to Elwing, kinsmen to the Star of High Hope! Elen sila lumenn’ omentielvo!”
…and then things get very loud indeed.
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