Warnings: Heavy sap and moderate angst with a chance of mild gore.

Even the Strongest

by Lily Frost

Our greatest glory consists not in never falling,

but in rising every time we fall. /

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

It had been a long winter’s night, and everyone was exhausted. But sleep would not come to one elf in Imlandris, holding a lonely vigil over his twin. Elrohir’s dark hair and darker lashes contrasted starkly against his pale skin, as did the crimson stains across his cheeks, decreeing his steady fever. In a nearby room Elrond’s toil had abated to cleaning and brooding. He carefully polished his instruments, set aside soiled linens and put jars of healing balms and herbs back on their shelves. The hunting trip had gone so very wrong. He sighed.

‘Why is it,’ Elrond asked himself, ‘that my sons cannot even leave their home without getting themselves into some sort of trouble, whether it be with diplomats, orcs or wargs... like this time.’

When the group returned it had caused quite a stir. Although everyone knew full well that the times were not peaceful, no one had been prepared to see the group of elves returning in such rough shape. At least half of them were wounded, and not one had escaped with less than a good bruising and scratching. Behind them was left a trail of blood in the fresh snow, and the cheer that normally came with the first snowfall was diminished by anxiety.

The ‘mighty Balrog-slayer’ Glorfindel had not escaped unscathed, and he was resting in an infirmary bed near where Elrond worked so that the healer could monitor his condition. Substantial damage to his ribs and left arm had been done while he was blocking his face, and Elrond was still uncertain on the extent of the internal damage.

In the adjacent room Elladan maintained his weary watch, berating himself for his stupidity in charging into the battle. They were not outnumbered, but wargs this time of year were vicious and they had not counted on the snow that impeded their vision and slowed their movements. ‘How could I have been so stupid,’ Elladan mulled, ‘we could have gone back and gathered enforcements. We could have attacked them from the trees. I could have prevented this.’

Two elves were wounded almost unto death, but Elrond had worked through the day and they were now stable. And here lay his brother, ill with a warg-blood induced fever and injured extensively across his chest, throat and left leg. The leg was broken, but already set, and he would not be able to walk for days. Elrond had administered a concoction to counteract the poisonous blood that had seeped into his own during the skirmish, but it would take a few hours before that, combined with his body’s own defences, would destroy it fully. Only then would the fever end. With a sigh, Elladan leaned back in his seat, nervously twisting the edge of the bed-sheet. The night was drawing late, but sleep still eluded him.

Little known to Elrond or Elladan, another was awake in the household. Estel, the ten-year-old human child who had become a part of their family, stood outside of Elrond’s working room, looking at Glorfindel with trepidation. It alarmed him to see the normally powerful, stoic elf-lord lying pale and unmoving there.

The child stared a little harder, eventually detecting a steady rise and fall of Glorfindel’s chest. That was a relief, but he still had not accounted for every member of his family being safe. In his rush, Elrond had forgotten to wish Estel a good night, and a nursemaid had done it instead. Estel had not liked that, and he had tried to sleep. Truly, he had, but even at his age he could tell that something was amiss. He could not sleep until he knew where his brothers were. If his brothers were indeed home, why would they not tell him? They were not that careless.

Elrond was going to turn around, and Estel knew that he had to get away before he was caught up past his bedtime. With a split-second of thought, Estel dashed into the nearest room as quietly as he could. He remained undetected, for Elrond was weary and his woollen socks made no noise on the gold-brown wood floor. Undetected by Elrond that is. As soon as the boy had closed the door and leaned against it with relieved sigh, Elladan looked up, expecting to see Elrond.

Estel lifted his gaze, and was met with Elladan’s own eyes, veiled with disquiet, though his expression, one eyebrow raised, questioned the boy quietly. Then Estel stumbled upon the prone form of Elrohir and he gave a soft cry. Jumping to the bedside, Estel scanned the pale face, bloodied bandages and bruised flesh. The closed eyes were the most alarming. Estel had never seen an elf sleep with their eyes closed like that. But, like Glorfindel, he breathed still, however ragged the rhythm.

“What happened?” He asked with quiet fear, keeping his tone low so that Elrond would not hear.

“We were in a fight... with wargs.”

“You lost?” Estel asked in wonder. ‘How could they loose?’ He thought, ‘Glorfindel and my brothers are unbeatable warriors.’

“Yes. We were outmatched. I-” Elladan choked, his face hardening, “I have made a grave mistake Estel.”

Estel looked at Elladan, incredulous; “You never make mistakes... you told me yourself!”

“Even I make mistakes.” Somehow telling this, even to the child, was a reassurance. He would not judge him like at adult would, but tell him the truth: that it was his fault. Because that was what he needed to hear. “...this is the result of my mistake. This is my fault.”

“S’wasn’t your fault.” Estel rushed to defend Elladan from himself “the wargs did it.”

“I led my people into a futile battle.”

“But you didn’t know.”

“Even the strongest fall, Estel.” Estel’s alarming perceptiveness surprised Elladan. He sensed the way he was being examined, “Adults and elves can just as easily misjudge as children and mortals can.” He said, “You just do it more often.”

“Hey!”

“'Tis true.” It was bittersweet and fleeting, this moment of amusement.

The child considered this for a moment, then he stomped his foot. “Well. No one died, did they?”

“Nay.”

“Then you got everyone back safely.”

“For a moment I thought I had not... we were lucky.”

“But everyone’s alive.”

“Yes... they will all be okay.” Elladan’s hand found it’s way to Elrohir’s prone, over-warm hand and he gave it a squeeze.

“Then what are you upset about?”

“They could have died. Elrohir could have died...” Gently, he pushed the stray strands of his twin’s dark hair behind the delicate, tapered ears.

“But they didn’t. ‘Ro’s still here.”

“I suppose.” Elladan agreed quietly, watching his brother intently. Warm arms being flung round his body woke Elladan from his meditation and he looked down to see Estel wrapped around him, hugging him with all the strength a ten-year-old could muster. A smile rose upon Elladan’s lips, the lower split in battle, and he returned the hug, running a hand affectionately through Estel’s hair and muttering a soft, “Thank you.”

They pulled away, Estel seeming shy for a moment, dragging himself back onto the bed. “I still don’t know how you lost.”

Elladan gave a laugh, “Just because we are immortal does not mean that we can do anything.”

“I know.” Estel said, disappointment evident in his voice.

“But they do like to think so, especially Elladan,” voiced a mirth-laden Elrond from the door. Elrond smiled wanly. He bore a tray with four steaming mugs upon it.

“Ada!” Both cried at once, Estel’s eyes wide with alarm. He had been caught!

“I knew I heard voices.” Elrond came into the room and set the tray on the low table. Then he sat upon Elrohir’s bed, opposite Estel, and touched his son’s forehead, gauging his temperature and murmuring to himself about it. “As I thought. This needs to be broken.”

“Elrohir, awake.” He said firmly, one hand still resting on Elrohir’s fevered brow. Confidently, Elrond reached towards his son’s mind, calling him forth from his dreams with the ability of elves.

Estel watched with rapt fascination as Elrohir’s glazed eyes sluggishly opened, coming to rest on Elrond. “Ada?” He croaked.

“I am here my son. I need you to sit up for a moment, and drink something for me. It will help you rid yourself of the last of the poison by raising your temperature, but it will not last long.”

Elrohir nodded, but he was too weary to protest. Elladan helped him sit up, and held him upright while Elrond held up the mug, encouraging him to drink it. “All of it.” He amended when Elrohir turned his face away.

Reluctant, Elrohir finished the potion as he was asked before he sunk back down onto his pillow and closed his eyes again, pain apparent in his face.

“You shall be well by the morrow.” Elrond said, touching one side of his face with tenderness not often seen from him by the rest of Imlandris.

A slight nod was all the proof that he received that Elrohir had heard him, but that was enough. Elladan clasped his brother’s hand again, feeling the temperature rise already. While a slow burn had been going on for hours, now it was rising to almost a dangerous degree. But he trusted his father’s abilities enough, and he knew that the slow burn would exhaust Elrohir to the point where he could no longer fight the poison, while a sudden increase would purge it from his blood stream.

“Here.” A mug of what appeared to be tea was pressed into his hands, and Elladan looked up to see his father smiling at him and Estel holding his own mug.

Elladan raised an eyebrow; well aware of Elrond’s delight in drugging anyone he thought to be overly weary. Elrond took a sip to prove to his son that it was safe, and Estel grinned, “It is sweet.”

Convinced, Elladan drank from his own mug, one hand still in his brother’s. He nodded. The tea was, indeed, quite sweet, and it created a growing warm sensation in his chest. Moments later, he heard soft snores from Estel who had lain himself next to Elrohir.

A glare at Elrond, who was looking quite smug, was all Elladan could manage before he too laid his head next to Elrohir, and drifted into his elven dreams.

Elrond draped a thick quilt on top of each of his sons, and fetched a chair so that he could sit next to Elrohir, laving his forehead in cool water. The sweat that beaded upon it was good sign, for it meant that soon the fever would break and by morning he would indeed be on the mend.

Watching his sons with a smile, Elrond thought quietly, ‘Even the strongest need to rest sometimes too.’

fin

Epilogue

        Poking through sloppily closed drapes; shafts of early morning light fell on the clean brick-red tiled floor. The golden beams illuminated lazy dust motes that floated down like snow, falling invisibly on everything. A hard, smallish bed sighed under the weight of three sleeping brothers - even if only brothers by name. Already a chair that had been occupied slept in even, most of the night was emptied, it’s occupant tending to a dear friend.

        As always, Glorfindel had awoken with the dawn, despite his injuries and the strong herbs Elrond had used on him the night before. Now he lay on his back, allowing the elf-lord to again clean and rebind his wounds. Elrond was relieved to have found no internal injuries besides a lot of (painful) bruising, but he cautioned Glorfindel in getting up at any time soon.

        “I do not think that I could if I wanted to.” Glorfindel laughed weakly.

        Elrond smiled, dropping the soiled linens into a wicker basket, “Is there anything you care for my friend, some food perhaps?”

        Glorfindel turned slightly green at the thought and shook his head, “Some water will do.”

        “Fair enough.” Elrond picked up the pitcher and filled a mug, holding it carefully to the other elf-lord who was yet too weak to lift it. As much pride as Glorfindel lay claim to, he knew when he needed help, unlike certain others.

        Pushing through layers of consciousness, grey eyes opened sluggishly and blinked a few times. Elrohir slowly shifted his head, finding himself looking straight at his mirror image, eyes glazed in elven sleep and lips, one split, parted slightly. He could feel his twin’s warm breath issuing forth against his skin and another’s on his neck. The soft, familiar snoring behind him confirmed that this belonged to Estel, his human foster-brother.

        “Ell-adan.. ” Elrohir whispered, the broken word falling on deaf ears. Pain quickly made itself known above the haze and he hissed, clenching his eyes tightly closed and allowing himself to sink deeper into the pillow. His chest hurt sharply, and he soon found it difficult to draw air. Slowly he reached a hand up to touch the bandages at his throat, feeling the warm blood seeping through them and the tenderness of the area. Instinctively, that was the area the wargs would try to attack first. Elrohir knew he was fortunate to have survived, and thinking back he knew that there had been a moment when he was not certain that he would live if it were not for his twin.

        There were six glittering, yellow eyes upon him and three muzzles open to reveal pearly white teeth. These teeth were equisite in their curved form and perfect design; they were designed to kill, and easily could have. Elrohir bore his blade high in front of him, ready to use it should the need arise. With an intelligence that exceeded normal beasts, the wargs went into a formation. They surrounded Elrohir from three sides, each snarling for his attention.

        The warg to his left hunched into a pre-pounce stance, snarling and Elrohir faced it for several seconds as it made to jump him. But the warg faked the jump; instead leaping to the left while its pack-mates used the turned back to their advantage and hurdled themselves onto Elrohir. He cried out as one wrapped its muzzle about his leg, falling to the ground with a final cry of, “Elladan!”

        Hearing a distress call, Elladan turned about from where he was fighting and rushed to his brother’s side. Elladan charged the warg that was upon Elrohir’s chest and imbedded his blade into the beasts back, driving it almost straight through. Then he quickly snatched up Elrohir’s sword and assailed the other two wargs with it, driving them away. Praying softly that Elrohir was alive, Elladan picked him up into his arms and checked all his vital signs. He sighed in relief and held his brother near his chest protectively, noting the blood he was loosing and worryingly closed eyes. ‘He is simply unconscious.’ Elladan told himself, signalling for the retreat as the battle was obviously being lost.

        There was a throbbing sensation in his leg, and Elrohir sat up abruptly to look upon it. But he could not sit up for long before he suddenly felt faint and tumbled back, crying out in pain. A ripping sound arose with his cry, signalling that he had torn his stitches. Again he could feel warm blood gushing from the wounds and he sighed.

        Elrond rushed into his the room where his sons lay, and took one look at Elrohir before shaking his head and preparing to re-stitch his wounds. Elladan blinked sleepily at Elrohir; glad that his brother was awake, “How do you feel?”

        “How do you think I feel?” Elrohir asked, his voice rough.

        “Like you just lost to wargs.”

        Elrohir smirked, but said not more as he allowed Elladan to remove himself from the bed and Elrond to remove the bloodied bandages. Elladan pressed his lips to his brother’s brow in a kiss, letting him know how relieved he was. Beside him, the human child snored loudly.

        “Estel sleeps like the dead,” Elladan commented, “but louder.”

        At this Elrohir snorted with laughter and attempted to repress his giggles, for they hurt his chest immensely.

        Now Elrond came and began to re-stitch the wounds, not offering Elrohir any pain relievers besides his brother’s humour - though this was enough. Elladan helped rebind the wounds while Elrond went to find some food. He returned with a tray of boiled egg slices, biscuits and berry spread which he set on the table. Elladan fed Elrohir first, grinning as his brother clumsily spilt the red berry juice on his face. The smell quickly woke Estel, and Elladan swore that the child was part hobbit. Estel questioned what a hobbit was, leading to a story on Elladan’s part with the occasional weak interjection from Elrohir about how the story was supposed to go. Eventually the conversation died down.

        “You were foolish to try to get up so soon my son.” Elrond said, stroking Elrohir’s hair.

        “Just because you are an elf does not mean that you can do anything.” Estel said, trying very hard to look wise.

        Immediately Elladan burst out laughing, and even Elrond grinned at the overly serious expression on the ten-year-old’s face. Elladan could remember himself saying those same words the night before.

        Elrohir blinked in confusion, staring at Elladan as if he had gone mad, “I shall not ask.”

        With a soft sigh Elrohir laid his head back and closed his eyes lightly, “Thank you.”

        fin