Chapter One – Premonitions

Riding beneath the first boughs of the forest, Elrohir glanced upward.  “It feels no different than before,” he commented.  “The darkness is still far away, thank the Valar.  I had begun to fear that Lasgalen was unrecognisable.”

“But the darkness is still there,”  Elladan pointed out. “Far away, but it is there.  Do you recall how peaceful it used to be?  When we could ride out with Legolas when we were mere elflings?”

Elrohir smiled at the memories.  “Yes, when the only dangers were so-called friends with fake spiders.  Or wolf cubs with an over-protective mother.  Or the time I nearly drowned in the Luithaduin.  Or sudden blizzards that nearly froze us to death.  Or –”

Elladan laughed.  “Very well.  There were dangers of another sort then.  Especially for adventurous, reckless elflings.  But it is called ‘Mirkwood’ now for a reason.”

“Perhaps.”  Elrohir turned on his horse and looked back at his brother.  “But El, I would be careful using that term in the hearing of Legolas or Thranduil.  I think you would find danger of another sort then!  How you like our home to be given a name of such ill omen?”

Elladan shrugged.  “Ah, you are right, of course.  Lasgalen, then.”   He stared pensively at the trees.  “Yet I can still feel the darkness.  A foreboding.”

They rode on through the forest, beneath beeches and oaks and birches.  Sunlight slanted down, shining in bright patches on the forest floor and burnishing the autumn leaves to brilliant coppers, bronzes and reds.  Squirrels darted up and down the trees, gathering acorns and hazelnuts, scrabbling in the leaf mould as they buried their hoard for the winter.

As dusk fell they halted beneath an ancient oak whose branches spread protectively across the path.  The path was wider here, and the light of a half-moon shone down, casting sharp leaf-shadows on the ground.  Elladan cast their bed rolls down while Elrohir vanished into the forest to hunt for their supper.  He soon returned with two buck rabbits, and began to roast them over the fire Elladan had kindled.  They ate swiftly, and drank from their water skins, filled that morning at a spring next to the entrance to the forest.  Elladan seemed restless, and began to pace to and fro beneath the great oak.  Suddenly he turned to Elrohir.

“El, do you want to stop?  Or shall we go on?  I feel … uneasy about this place.  The sooner we reach Thranduil’s halls the happier I shall be.  There seems something wrong.”

Elrohir hesitated.  To ride on through the night would be no particular hardship, though he would prefer to rest for at least a few hours.  But they trusted one another completely, and he trusted Elladan’s instincts now, for he seemed to have inherited more than his fair share of their grandmother’s foresight.  His brother’s premonitions of danger had been proved right many times.  He nodded.  “Then we continue.  But keep alert – many of the hunters in this forest are nocturnal.  And if you are right, there may be something drawing near.”

Swiftly, they gathered together their belongings, and strapped the packs back onto the horses.  The small fire was already dying, and Elladan stamped it out before pouring a little of their water over the ashes.

They rode carefully, for the horses’ night-sight was not particularly good.  But the moonlight shining down illuminated the path well enough, and they made good progress.  The night was full of noises.  A pair of owls hooted softly to one another from adjacent trees, and the sharp, eerie cry of a fox came from the south.  There was nothing abnormal to be seen or heard, yet Elrohir found his own apprehension growing.  Some of it was the overspill of Elladan’s unease, but Elrohir could sense the oppression of the forest himself.

Towards midnight Elrohir heard the faint sound of hoof beats. He and Elladan stopped their own horses in the same instant, moving to a patch of black shadow in a curve of the path.  Elladan glanced at him.  “Two, I think,” he whispered softly.

Elrohir nodded.  “Yes.  They have stopped now as well.”  He listened intently, attention focused on the horses and their riders ahead.  All was silent now.   “What do you think – elves?”

“Yes,” Elladan agreed.  “But Thranduil’s patrols do not usually ride at night, do they?”

“No, we do not,” stated a voice above them.  Two warriors dropped soundlessly to the ground in front of them.   Elrohir cursed silently.  He had forgotten how stealthy the wood-elves could be in their own trees.  “However, times are increasingly dangerous.  We were sent to look for you.”

Elrohir glanced at his brother as they walked with the two warriors to where the other horses waited.  “You were sent?  Who sent you?”

“Prince Legolas.”  The guards mounted,  then the first turned back to them as they rode on.  “I am Amandil; my companion is Nólimon.  Several large groups of spiders were seen yesterday, moving north towards the path.  They must be seeking territory to establish new breeding grounds.  Legolas has taken a patrol after them, and  asked us to warn you.  Come.  We will cross the river, then halt until morning.”

A short way further on they reached the Luithaduin.  A narrow bridge crossed the water, and they would only be able to ride in single file.  Amandil turned to them again.  “This is the Luithaduin.  Be wary in crossing it – the waters carry enchantment,” he warned.  “It will cause deep sleep and forgetfulness if you were to set foot in it.”

Elladan nodded gravely.  “We will take care.  Remember that, El – do not fall in!”

Nólimon laughed, speaking for the first time.  “Have you never heard the tale, Amandil?  One of these two fell in once, long, long ago, when the rope swing broke!  Which of you was it?”

“Me,” Elrohir admitted over Amandil’s laughter.  He smiled.  “I fear I recall little of the event myself.  I am glad the tale still amuses you, though.”

Elladan scowled.  “It was not funny at the time,” he snapped.  “Elrohir nearly died.  And he never has regained his memories of that day.  You must find it most amusing!”  He lapsed into silence and rode across the bridge, as the others stared after him in surprise. 

They made camp for what remained of the night a little further on.  Elrohir drew his brother aside as they unloaded their horses again.   “El?  What is the matter?”  he asked quietly.  “That was not like you.  You have told the tale yourself – at my expense – many times.  So what is wrong now?”

Elladan gave a deep sigh.  He rubbed at the back of his neck, twisting his head slightly.  “I feel tense,” he admitted.  “Something still feels wrong.  Their arrival,” – he gestured at Amandil and Nólimon – “has made it worse.”

“What have you seen?  What do you fear will happen?”  Elrohir asked.  “Do not try to hide anything this time, El, in an attempt to spare my feelings!”

His brother nodded.  “I cannot see anything clearly.  But there are spiders – very many of them.  A battle – I think we will have our spider hunt at last!”  he added with an attempt at humour.  “I see the two of us tending someone who has fallen to the spiders – but I cannot see who it is!” he ended in frustration.

“Do you know when?”

Elladan shook his head.  “No.  Nothing is ever clear; you know that.  If it was, I would try to prevent things before they happened – despite grandmother’s warnings about doing that.  But with the warning they brought about the spiders – soon, I think.  And someone is going to be hurt.”

Amandil and Nólimon insisted on sharing the watch between them.  As there were only a few hours until dawn, there seemed little point in arguing, so Elladan and Elrohir settled on their bed rolls, wrapped in their cloaks.  Looking up at the trees, Elrohir pondered what Elladan had said.  He had had these visions and premonitions before, but they could be unreliable.  How much importance should they place on it this time?  As he drifted into sleep, he wished he could ease Elladan’s burden, but was immensely grateful that he did not share this so-called ‘gift’.

Some time later, Elrohir snapped awake, his senses warning him of some danger.  He saw Elladan looking straight at him, awaked in the same instant.  Simultaneously, Amandil gave a cry of warning.  “Spiders!”  Elrohir threw his cloak aside and leaped to his feet, snatching up the weapons which lay at his side. 

Spiders came swarming through the trees, very many of them.  As they came to the break in the trees that marked the path, they began to drop to the ground, descending on long, thick strands of spider-silk.  Elrohir sheathed his sword and drew his bow.  If he could kill these creatures at a safe distance, so much the better.  The air sang with the hum of bowstrings and soft whisper of arrows, then soft thuds as the arrows struck home.  The spiders had been silent as they approached, but now began an odd hissing and clicking as they attacked.

They moved incredibly quickly, and with an odd, jerky gait that made it very difficult to strike them square on.  Elrohir was used to enemies that rushed straight at him, when he knew where they were, where they were going, and how long he had to kill them.   Some of the spiders made straight for him, but others scuttled sideways, or backwards, or if still attached to their threads would suddenly drift upwards.  Others would drop without warning from above.  He fought grimly, alternating between killing the spiders on the ground and aiming for those still in the trees.  He jerked his head up at a shout of warning from Elladan, and saw a dark shape descending on him from the trees above.  Dancing to one side, he was about to fire at the creature when another arrow struck it.  The spider fell, and he suppressed a shudder of revulsion as it brushed against him.

Hearing a faint creak behind him, Elrohir spun around, barely in time to avoid a spider that had crept up on him.  It reared up, and he saw the flash of its fangs poised to bite him.  He stabbed his dagger into one of its many eyes, and stepped back as a spray of black blood splattered him.  His own blood ran cold as he heard a cry to his left, but he knew instinctively that it was not Elladan.  Turning back to meet the main onslaught, he killed two more of the hideous creatures, then paused.  Quite suddenly, there seemed to be no more coming at him – at any of them.

The ground was littered with dark bodies and darker blood.  Elrohir retrieved his dagger and wiped it on the grass, then looked around.  Amandil knelt by Nólimon, who was lying on the ground, shaking violently.  As he and Elladan converged on the two, Elladan glanced at him in concern.  “El, are you hurt?  You are covered in blood!”

“Not mine, fortunately,” Elrohir replied.

Amandil looked up as he tended to Nólimon.  “Be careful you do not get any in your mouth, or on any cuts or scratches,” he said absently.  “Their blood is poisonous, too.”

Elladan took one of their water skins and rinsed the blood from Elrohir’s face and hands.  Then they knelt by Nólimon.  Sickened, Elrohir recalled Elladan’s words only hours earlier.  ‘I see the two of us tending someone who has fallen to the spiders,’  he had said.  “How is he?”  Elladan asked now in a dull tone.  He too remembered.

“Not good,” said Amandil soberly.  “He was bitten.”  He leaned over Nólimon.  “Easy, my friend,” he soothed.  “We will get you back to Lasgalen – you will soon be fine.”  Nólimon did not appear to hear him.  His face was very pale, beaded with sweat, and he was shuddering uncontrollably.  A low moan escaped him.

Elrohir drew Amandil to one side.  “My brother and I are both healers,” he explained.  “But we have not encountered this before.  What can you tell us?”

Amandil glanced over his shoulder at Nólimon.  He bit his lip, then turned back to Elrohir.  “You know there are two species of spider here?  The black ones are more common, and fortunately far less dangerous.  They can kill, but more usually cause only sickness and dizziness.  It is unpleasant, but not serious.”

Elrohir listened to what he was not saying.  “These were not the black spiders, were they?” he asked flatly.

“No.  We call them the Gorliante.  Their bite is nearly always fatal, although a few have survived.”  Amandil looked again at Nólimon. Elladan was wiping his face with a damp cloth and trying to urge him to drink as he listened to Amandil’s quiet words.  “The poison causes intense pain.  Agonising pain.  There is usually a very high fever, hallucinations and convulsions.  Death – death comes as a mercy.  If you have drugs that will ease his pain, or make him oblivious, that will be the best you can do.”  He turned away from Elrohir, returning to Nólimon’s side. 

With a heavy heart, Elrohir went to his pack, extracting his medical kit.  Once again, Elladan’s premonitions were correct, but lacking sufficient detail to avert this tragedy.  He knew how his brother blamed himself, how he hated being unable to prevent such events.  Locating the medicines he needed, he stood, then froze. 

A spider, larger than any they had seen before, was scuttling silently towards Elladan’s unprotected back as he and Amandil knelt over Nólimon.  Elrohir’s hand moved automatically for his bow, even as he realised that it lay out of reach, on the ground by Nólimon.  He still had his sword though, and leapt towards the spider as he tossed the medicines to Elladan with a shout of warning.

He stabbed the sword deep into the spider’s vulnerable underbelly.  Even as he thrust, he felt a sharp pain in his arm, but withdrew the sword and stabbed again.  The spider twitched once and fell, its legs curled beneath it.  With an effort, Elrohir pulled his sword free, plunging the tip into the ground.  It seemed too heavy to hold.  Then Elladan was beside him, shouting something, pulling at his forearm and pushing the sleeve up.

Elrohir stared disbelievingly at the two tiny punctures on his arm.  They were marked by his own blood, and by some black substance.  He could already feel the searing pain, and looked up into Elladan’s face, noticing how white his twin looked.

“Oh, gods, El – it bit you.  It bit you!”   Elrohir nodded, then wavered as dizziness struck him.  His knees shook, and he sank to the ground slowly as Elladan clutched at him.  “Elrohir – no!”

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  The ‘Luithaduin’ is the Enchanted River.  Elrohir’s tale of woes at the beginning of this chapter are all detailed in ‘With Friends Like These’ or ‘Mid Winter’s Eve’.

Author’s Notes:   The effects of the spider poison are based mostly on descriptions of the bite of the Australian funnel-web spider (but not entirely).  They are aggressive, and the venom is fast-acting – but not as deadly as the gorliante.  As we only developed antidotes in the 1980’s, I do not think elves would have had the technology to do so – so there is no cure! As with most spiders, the gorliante female is larger (and deadlier) than the male.

Warning – there is a lot of torture and twin-angst in this chapter.

Chapter Two – The Female Of The Species

Elladan knelt by Nólimon, trying to establish what was happening to him.  The venom was very fast-acting, for already Nólimon’s red tunic was soaked with sweat, and he moaned with pain.  Aldain, the only pain killer they carried, would hopefully help him though.  He tried again to persuade Nólimon to drink a little water.

A shout startled him, and he twisted round at Elrohir’s warning, reflexively catching the two small packets his brother threw at him.  A spider, even bigger than those they had just fought, was almost upon him, and he felt a spurt of fear as he looked up at it.  Elrohir drew his sword and jumped forward, stabbing at it, but then he seemed to jerk in pain.  He stabbed again, and stepped back, panting, as the spider finally died.

Elladan had felt the sharp sting of pain, but knew he had to be mistaken.  It was impossible that Elrohir had been bitten.  It had to be.  He scrambled to his feet and ran to his brother’s side.  “El!  Are you all right?”   Elrohir made no response, so he seized Elrohir’s arm, and pushed his sleeve back roughly.  His heart sank, and he felt himself grow cold.  There, unmistakable, was the mark of the spider’s fangs – such a tiny, insignificant looking wound.  His eyes met Elrohir’s.  “Oh, gods, El – it bit you.  It bit you!”  he exclaimed in despair.

Elrohir nodded wordlessly, seeming rather dazed.  Then he swayed slightly and stumbled.  Elladan caught him and lowered him to the ground gently.  “Elrohir – no!”  Elrohir leaned against him and managed a weak smile. 

“No need to worry, El – I will be all right,” he said faintly.  “Am-Amandil said that – that many have survived this.”  Elrohir was shivering now, and was chalk white.  “We g-got our spider hunt a-after all,” he added.

“Yes, we did,”  Elladan agreed.  “And of course you will be all right.  You and Nólimon.  Amandil said so.”  Helplessly, he repeated the lie back to Elrohir – though they both knew only too well what Amandil had actually said.  He patted Elrohir’s shoulder.  “Now, just wait there a moment while I get everything ready.”  He laid Elrohir carefully on the ground and turned to Amandil.

Amandil was gathering everything together haphazardly.  “We need to get them both back to Lasgalen, now.  Hurry, but keep watch!”

Elladan stuffed everything at random into their packs, and threw both onto Elrohir’s horse.  All the while, he scanned the trees for any more spiders, and kept casting anxious glances over his shoulder at Elrohir.  He lay on his side, arms wrapped around his chest, still shivering.

“El?  Can you hear me?”  Elladan asked quietly.  He touched his brother’s face gently, but although he still appeared to be conscious, he did not respond at first.  Elladan eased him up, propping Elrohir against him, and found one of the vials of medicine Elrohir had taken from his pack.  Thumbing the top off, he held it to Elrohir’s mouth.  “Drink this, El.  It will help.  It will ease the pain.”

To his amazement, Elrohir turned his head away weakly, clamping his lips together.  “No,” he managed to say.  “Not aldain.  Too dangerous.  The poison – it affects muscle c-control.  Why I’m sh-shaking.”  He raised one hand and tried to push the vial away, but lacked the strength.  His hand fell back limply, and he closed his eyes.

Elladan suddenly understood.  One of the effects of this particular pain-killer was to relax the muscles, easing tension and pain.  However if the venom disrupted muscular control, the combined effect could dangerously, disastrously  affect his brother’s breathing.  He thanked the Valar that Elrohir had recognised his symptoms in time.  He turned to Amandil.  “Did you give any of the medicine to Nólimon?” he asked.

Amandil shook his head.  “No.  There was no time.  And he is unconscious now.  Why?”

“The pain killer works by relaxing the muscles,”  Elladan explained.  “Does the venom disrupt muscular control?  If so, it is too dangerous.”

Amandil shrugged.  “Possibly.  I am no healer – I have no idea how this poison works, just what I have seen it do.”

Slowly, Elladan re-stoppered the vial, and placed it in his pocket.  “All right.  No aldain.  You know best – you know what this is doing to you.  Just hold on, El.  Hold on until we get to Lasgalen.”

Elrohir nodded.  Then he opened his eyes, looking up at Elladan.  “ ‘I know best’?” he whispered.  “C-can I have that in writing?  I will n-never let you forget that!”  Then he gripped Elladan’s arm and groaned as another shudder shook him.

“I shall deny everything, little brother,” Elladan replied softly.  “Come, we should go now.”  He slid both arms beneath Elrohir and lifted him, placing him carefully on the horse.  He mounted, holding Elrohir gently before him, while Amandil cared for Nólimon.  They set off at a rapid gallop for Lasgalen. 

As they went, Elladan talked to his twin, one hand feeling the pulse in his wrist, while the arm around his chest monitored his increasingly laboured breathing.  To both of them it was a constant reassurance and safeguard.  “El, can you hear me?  Talk to me, El, tell me how you feel.  Do not try to hide anything in an attempt to spare my feelings!” he chided gently.

The grimace that passed across Elrohir’s face may have been an attempt at a smile.  It may not.  Elrohir licked his lips and swallowed.  “Feel dizzy,” he murmured.  “My arm hurts.”  A tremor shook him.  “It hurts, El – Amandil was right”

“Shh.  I know.   Try to tell me what this is doing, so I know how to help you.  Can you do that?”  He could feel warm blood seeping through Elrohir’s sleeve – the bite was not closing.  “Your arm is still bleeding.  It should have stopped by now.  The venom has thinned your blood.”

Elrohir, his head against Elladan’s shoulder, nodded.  “Must be why I feel s-so dizzy.  And my heart – not r-right.”

Elladan nodded grimly.  He could tell that.  Elrohir’s pulse was very fast, very uneven.  “I know.  Try not to talk now, El.  Just rest – we will soon have you safe and well in Lasgalen.”  Elladan tightened his arms around his twin, holding him more closely.  He despaired at the potency of the venom, if it could reduce Elrohir to this after just a few minutes.

He could feel Elrohir’s pain and confusion – and his fear.  They were both warriors, prepared to face death in battle; but the prospect of the slow, lingering death Amandil had described, dying by agonising degrees, was horrifying.  “You will be fine, El.  You will be fine.”  He had to be.

It seemed an eternity before they raced from beneath the trees onto the meadow that lay before Thranduil’s palace.  Startled guards leapt forward to grab at the snorting, lathered horses, as Elladan and Amandil dismounted.  “We were attacked by spiders,” Amandil informed them breathlessly.  “Nólimon and Lord Elrohir have been bitten.  Run ahead and warn the healers!”

Elladan followed him as they raced along the corridors to the infirmary.  Someone was already holding the door open, and indicated a small room to one side.  It was an inner chamber, windowless and dimly lit by a single lamp.  He placed Elrohir on the bed, but did not relinquish his hold on his brother, looking around frantically to see where the healers were.

“Move away and let me see to him,” a calm voice instructed.  “I cannot examine him like this.  He was bitten?  How long ago?”

Reluctantly, Elladan moved back a little, but maintained his grip on Elrohir’s hand.  He looked at the healer, a little dazed.  How could she be so calm?  “Yes – we were attacked at around dawn.  How long ago was that?  A few hours?  We thought we had killed them all, but then another spider, bigger than all the rest, appeared.  El killed it, but – but it bit him.  He will be all right?” he begged her.

“We will see,” she said, not promising anything.  “Dawn was only about an hour ago – it is as well you got here so quickly.  You said the spider was larger than the others you had seen?  It was probably a female, then.  That is unfortunate.”  As she spoke, she was examining Elrohir, feeling the pulse at his throat, placing her hand on his chest as he struggled to breathe.  Picking up a small bottle, she poured a little into a cup for Elrohir to drink.

“Not aldain!” Elladan said quickly.  “El – Elrohir said it would be too dangerous.”

The healer shook her head.  “Of course not.  This will not harm him – it will send him beyond pain for a while.  It is the best I can do for now.”  She looked at Elladan, not seeming in the least offended at being told her job.  “I do know what to do,” she said mildly.

Elladan nodded abruptly.  “Yes.  Of course.”  He realised that she looked familiar, and groped for her name.  “Forgive me, Tirana – I  was just worried.”

“I know that.”  Surprisingly, she smiled.  “They say healers make the worst patients, but they are very poor at being anxious relatives as well.”   She bent over Elrohir again, tapping his face gently to gain his attention.  He moaned softly, but his eyes fluttered open.  “Elrohir?  Can you hear me?  I want you to tell me what happened.”

“You know what happened!”  Elladan burst out.  “He was bitten by a spider!”

This time Tirana gave him a blistering look.  “And I want to see if he is able to tell me that himself!  Elrohir, what happened?” she asked again quietly.

o-o-o

Elrohir was aware of a confused jumble of sensations.  There were voices, very many of them, but they were blurred and distorted.  Some were shouting, others spoke more softly.  Even what appeared to be the same voice kept altering oddly in volume, one moment so faint he could barely hear it, the next so loud it reverberated through his aching head.  The light was so bright it hurt his eyes, so he kept them closed – yet he could still see flashes and spots behind his eyelids.  But worse, far worse, were the agonising cramps that wracked him.  He knew he was shaking, too, but was helpless to stop it, unable to control his own body.  The best he could do was to bite his lip and remain silent, and try not to sob his agony aloud for all to hear.

He could hear one particular voice again and again, sounding strangely familiar.  Concentrating, he tried to put a name, a face, to the voice.  Elladan.  Of course, it was Elladan.  How could he have forgotten? Wherever they were – and that was unclear – he knew that Elladan was with him.  He sounded by turns angry, frustrated, and worried, and seemed to be arguing with someone.  His own name was mentioned.  Were they arguing about him?  Why?

Now someone was calling him.  Curious, wondering what was wrong, and where he was, he opened his eyes, blinking at the brightness above him.  “Elrohir, what happened?”  The same question had been repeated several times, he realised, but he was not sure of the answer.  A pale blur edged in brown and green resolved into a woman’s face.  She was chestnut-haired, and wore the green tunic of a healer.  “Elrohir, what happened?” she repeated.

He blinked, and forced his mind to cooperate.  “Sp-spider,” he whispered at last.  “Bit me.”  He gasped, struggling for breath, and tried to will his pounding heart to slow.  He reached out with one hand, and felt Elladan at his side.  “S-sorry, El.  I w-was too slow.”  He tried to cling to consciousness; despite the spasms that felt as if he was being ripped apart; afraid that if he succumbed he might never wake again. But the pain was too great, the lure of the darkness too tempting.  Some bitter liquid was tipped into his mouth and he gagged, then swallowed to escape the foul taste.  While a small part of him still fought in terror of oblivion, a much greater part reached out to welcome it, and he relaxed with relief into a darkness where pain still raged through his dreams.

o-o-o

Elladan sat with his brother for the rest of that day.  His stubborn twin had resisted to the end, but Tirana’s drugs had finally given him some relief.  It was not enough, though – despite his unconsciousness, Elrohir still tossed and turned restlessly, his body twisted with pain.  Elladan patiently bathed the sweat from his face and body, whispering words of love and reassurance all the while, pouring all the healing skill he had through their bond.  He wished yet again that he had Elrohir’s strength, for his twin’s healing ability had always been far stronger.

A small stove heated a bowl of water, to which athelas and other herbs had been added.  The fragrant steam filled the room, but for once Elladan took no pleasure in the scent.  It should have eased Elrohir’s breathing, but seemed to have little effect.   All of Amandil’s stark warnings were proving correct.  The intense pain was horrifyingly obvious, and Elrohir burned with fever despite Elladan’s attempts to reduce it.  At times he babbled incoherently about monsters, or moaned incomprehensively of horrors Elladan did not understand.   He felt so helpless – they all were.  Calmacil was Thranduil’s most senior healer, skilled and experienced – out of necessity – in all ailments of the darkness, and more knowledgeable than Elrond himself in the treatment of spider venom.  Yet he too could do nothing more.

The day passed agonisingly slowly.  Tirana or Calmacil came and went, dividing their attention between Elrohir and Nólimon, who lay in an adjacent room.  As evening drew on, Legolas appeared; straight from patrol by the look of him.  He nodded briefly to Calmacil, mixing more medicines, then knelt on the floor by Elrohir’s bed, gazing at him intently.  He took one limp hand in his, extending the other to Elladan in a wordless display of comfort and support.  “I came as soon as I heard.  How is he?”

Elladan sighed.  “Still alive – barely.  Look at him – he is scarcely breathing!  He is in such pain, Legolas – I can feel it; I can see it – yet we can do nothing more.  Nothing has any effect any more – and even my father knows of no stronger medicines.  I hate to see him like this.”  As he spoke, Elrohir shuddered again and gave a moaning cry.  His body twisted and began to shake as a convulsion seized him.  All Elladan could do was to hold him gently while it lasted, murmuring soothing, nonsensical sounds to calm his brother.  As it ended, he dashed one hand across his eyes, before starting to gently stroke Elrohir’s head again, as he had been all day.  “I hate to see him like this,” he repeated, his voice shaking.

He watched as Calmacil poured more water into the bowl simmering on the brazier, and added another handful of herbs.  The fragrant steam crept around the room again, but this time Elrohir’s laboured breathing did not ease.  He sighed, placing one hand on Elrohir’s chest and closing his eyes.  After a moment, his breathing eased, just a fraction, and Calmacil opened his eyes again.  “There is little more I can do for him,” he admitted.  “We must simply wait.”

“Wait,”  Elladan repeated a little bitterly.  “I hate that.”  He stretched, and eyed Calmacil apologetically.  “How is Nólimon?” he asked.  “I had nearly forgotten that he was attacked as well.”

Calmacil hesitated, then shook his head.  “He died a few hours ago,” he said quietly.  

Elladan stared at him in dismay.  He had barely spoken to Nólimon, and the few words he had said had been to snap at him for laughing at Elrohir’s mishap so long ago.  “Oh, no,” he breathed.  “Tell his family – and Amandil – how very sorry I am.”

Tirana appeared in the doorway, beckoning to Calmacil, and he left.  Now in even greater despair, Elladan resumed his vigil, talking to Elrohir, and explaining briefly to Legolas what had happened during the dawn attack.  Legolas nodded sombrely.  “I know how hopeless this seems.  But some of our warriors have survived.  I did.  Do not give up hope, Elladan.  There is still a chance.”  He looked at Elladan.  “Will you try to rest?  I will watch him, and wake you if – if there is any change.”

Elladan shook his head even before Legolas had finished speaking.  “No.  I cannot.  I will not waste what little time we may have left by sleeping.  He may not know I am here, but I will not leave him.”

Legolas smiled.  “I know.  It was worth asking, though.”  He stood, looking down at Elrohir.  “I came straight here from patrol.  I have to report to my father, but I will be back as soon as possible.”  He left, leaving the twins alone.

The cloth Elladan had been bathing Elrohir’s face with as drying, so he went to the sink, wringing it out in cold water.  He poured a cup for himself, too, realising he had had nothing to eat or drink all day.  The mere thought of food turned his stomach, but he was thirsty.

He turned at another cry of agony behind him.  Elrohir was shaking again as another seizure gripped him, his body arched with pain.  Elladan dropped the cup into the sink with a crash, and crossed to the bed again.  As he reached it, Elrohir collapsed, falling back limply with a final sigh.  He did not move again.

Elladan’s desperate cry echoed around the chamber.  “Elrohir!”

o-o-o

Elrohir existed in a world that held nothing but pain.  Every breath was a torment, and each single heartbeat felt as if a red-hot needle was being jabbed into his chest. Every part of him was in agony, and he no longer knew where he was, or why.  He had no memory of his past; could recall nothing of his name, who he was, or those who loved him.  There was nothing but the black, searing agony that seemed all he had ever known; all he would ever know.

A fresh wave of excruciating pain swept over him, and he could dimly hear someone moaning, but the sound seemed faint and far away.  Much closer and clearer was a voice, calling to him.  In desperation he seized on the sound of the voice, clinging to it with what little will remained to him.  The voice seemed somehow familiar, much loved, and with an immense effort he managed to turn his head towards the speaker.

“Elrohir.  Elrohir – can you hear me?  Open your eyes, Elrohir, and look at me.” 

Slowly, Elrohir opened his eyes.  Strangely, he was no longer in the infirmary in Lasgalen, but stood before an immense white archway.  A bright light shone through it, dazzling him, and he could see nothing of the other side.  This time, though, the light did not hurt his eyes. Through the brilliance, a figure approached, growing clearer as he drew near.  As his eyes adjusted, Elrohir could make out more details.  A tall figure stood before him, clad in shimmering light, the radiance coming from the figure himself.

Awe overwhelmed him, and he bowed his head in deep obeisance.  “Námo,” he breathed.  An aura of love emanated from the being, a curious blend of his parents; his grandparents; everyone who had ever loved and cared for him.

“Like Eru, I am father to all, my child.”  The thought whispered in the air all around him as another outpouring of love and warmth washed over him, and Elrohir felt as safe and secure as if the being had wrapped him in his embrace.  A dimly held memory came to him; of being cradled at his mother’s breast when he had been a tiny, new-born elfling, surely far too young to have any such recollection at all.  The sense of love and comfort that held him now surpassed even that moment.

Námo’s voice drifted into his mind again.  “Elrohir, my son, join me now.  Leave your pain behind.  Come with me to my Halls, where there is no more suffering.  Come, little one.”

Elrohir turned one last time.  Behind him, seeming only a few steps away, he could see himself on the bed in the infirmary; his body twisted in unbearable agony as yet another convulsion shook him.  He could still feel an echo of that pain, but it seemed remote now, dim and far away.  He felt nothing but relief to know that it was over at last.  He turned to Námo again as the Vala asked him with great gentleness,  “Will you come, my child?”

Elrohir did not hesitate.  He reached out to take the hand that Námo offered him, and nodded.  “Yes.  I will come.”

To Be Continued

Chapter Three – The Gates Of Mandos

“Elrohir!”   Desperately, Elladan gathered Elrohir in his arms, one hand feeling for the pulse in his throat.  His hand was shaking, slipping on Elrohir’s sweat-slick skin, and he could find nothing.  Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand against his trousers, fighting down his panic, and tried again.  There was still nothing, and in his heart he knew there would not be.  He held Elrohir’s body tightly, head bowed to rest against his twin’s, numb with grief. 

“Oh, Elrohir.  I will miss you.  I love you, little brother,”  he murmured, his voice breaking.  He swallowed dryly, and took a deep, sobbing breath. “Forgive me, El.  I should have been able to stop this.  I should have been able to protect you.  I am sorry I failed you,” he whispered softly.

He sat, holding Elrohir against his chest, rocking him gently as he would a child.  His heart ached, and he could scarcely breathe for the hard knot of grief within him.  Tears leaked from his eyes, soaking into Elrohir’s hair, and he brushed the dampness away tenderly.  Then, placing a last gentle kiss on his brother’s brow, he laid Elrohir down lovingly.  His face was peaceful now, but Elladan knew he would never be able to erase the memory of Elrohir’s torment and agony during his last few hours.  His brother was finally at rest, but this was wrong.  They were twins. They had been together from the beginning, from the first faint spark of life, and had rarely been apart since then.

Why?  Why had this happened?  How had it happened?  Why had his cursed visions not warned him of this?  He knew danger had threatened, had known about the spiders.  If only they had stopped as they originally planned to, if only he had learned to understand and control his visions, Elrohir might still be alive.   Elladan knew, quite simply, that he could not face a life that did not have his brother in it.  He had once before believed Elrohir dead, and it had all but destroyed him.  He knew he could not endure the same grief twice.  And this time there was no error, no case of mistaken identity, nothing that he or anyone else could do.

Yet was there nothing he could do?  He was a healer; perhaps not as gifted as Elrohir had been, but a healer nonetheless.  Clutching his brother to him with one arm, he swept the pillows that had been supporting Elrohir to the floor, and laid him flat on the bed.  Placing his mouth over Elrohir’s he exhaled strongly, took a quick breath and breathed into him again.  Then he placed his hands on his brother’s chest, above his heart, and pressed down sharply several times. 

Without waiting to see if there had been any response, he repeated the breaths and chest compressions, settling into the familiar routine.    Breathing; pressing down; breathing; a relentless routine until he was panting with exertion.  He considered briefly calling for help, but then focussed on Elrohir alone.  There was no time, and if he could not call Elrohir back, no-one could.  As he worked, he used his own healing gift, together with their bond, to give life to Elrohir, refusing to allow him to die. He used his strength, his love, his despair; to call to his twin, to draw him back – to life, to light; and, he knew, to pain.  Perhaps it was pure selfishness that drove him now, but he had to try.  He was too afraid not to.

All the time, a constant litany of pleas fell from his lips.  “Stay with me, Elrohir.  I need you,” he begged.  The room seemed to be growing dark now, as he pushed more and more of himself through their bond, feeling the drain on his energy but refusing to stop.  “I love you, El.  Please do not leave me,” he whispered, struggling to continue.

Firm, gentle hands took his shoulders and pulled him away.  “Enough, Elladan.  You have done it.  Leave him now.  Stop.”

He resisted briefly, fighting the hands that gripped him, when the words penetrated his torment.  Disbelievingly, his hand shaking even more than before, he felt for a pulse again – and found it.  It was slow, very faint, but it was there.  Trembling, he again pulled Elrohir into his arms and cradled him gently.  He could feel the soft brush of breath against his face, no stronger than a stir of air, but it was unmistakable. 

“You did it, Elladan.  He is breathing again.  He is still alive – you saved him.”  Helplessly, Elladan nodded.  He buried his face in Elrohir’s sweaty, matted, hair, and began to sob with relief.

o-o-o

Elrohir reached out to take the hand that Námo offered him, and nodded. “Yes.  I will come.”  He stepped forward, then stopped as a desperate cry reverberated through his mind. 

“Elrohir!” 

Who was it?  Who could be calling to him in such torment?  The anguished cry came again, and he raised his hands to his temples in pain.  There was such terror and loss in that cry.   He turned to look back at his previous life again.

His body still lay in the infirmary; limp now, but cradled tenderly and lovingly in the arms of another.  Elladan.  How could he have forgotten?  The black agony had swept away everything, all memory of loving or being loved, but how could he have forgotten his twin?

Memory swamped him – how they had fought and argued; how they had plotted and schemed together; how occasionally only one had done wrong, but both had always borne the resulting punishment; how in one moment they would deliberately confuse the whole of Imladris with their identical appearance, and in the next furiously assert their unique individuality.  How the normal trials of growing up were compounded by having a mirror image.  He remembered how he had pitied those like Legolas and Arwen for their loneliness in not having a twin.  He remembered the security in always having someone at his side who understood, who would not judge, who loved him no matter what.  Elladan.

Elrohir looked up at Námo again, and slowly lowered his hand.  “I cannot,”  he said regretfully.  “I cannot join you yet.  There are those who love me – I cannot abandon them.”

Námo’s thought fluttered all around him again.  “Families survive even this loss, little one.”

“I know.  But Elladan – he is my brother; my twin.  We are bound together.  It would not be long before he joined me, and you would have us both in your Halls.  I cannot do that to him – to our parents.” 

“Your father survived the death of his own twin,” Námo pointed out.

Elrohir nodded.  “I know that, too.  But Elladan and I – we are far closer than my father and uncle were.  I cannot leave him.”  He felt another wave of love and gentleness sweep over him, and the slow, reluctant withdrawal of Námo’s touch.  He nearly cried out at the pain of loss he felt.

“This is the second time you have turned away from me, little one.”  That was puzzling, but Elrohir did not query it.  One did not question the Valar.  “Remember, there will always be a place for you here.”

Elrohir bowed his head again in reverence.  “Thank you.  But I must go back.  I have to.  I cannot leave Elladan.”

Námo’s love and warmth wrapped around him once more.  “Then go.  You have chosen a hard path, my child – there is much pain ahead.”

Elrohir swallowed, remembering what he had left behind.  “I know.  But I have to do this.”  He looked again, and saw Elladan trying desperately to revive him, breathing for him, trying to make his heart beat once more.  It was time – time to leave this bliss and return to an uncertain fate.  He could feel Elladan’s despair and growing exhaustion as he poured all his strength out through their bond.  “I must go now.  Goodbye.”

“You show great courage, little one.  I will do what I can to ease your way – but you may yet join me again soon.  Rest now.  Sleep.”  Elrohir was enveloped in Námo’s gentle love a final time, then he was falling into a peaceful darkness, a world away from the desperate pain and agony he had endured before.  Then there was only silence.

o-o-o

Elladan clung to Elrohir, marvelling that he still lived, amazed that he had succeeded in pulling his twin back.  He sat at the edge of the bed, holding his brother’s body tenderly, still shaken.  Elrohir was limp; lifeless; his face blank and still.  But he was alive.

There was a soft cry of denial behind him, then Legolas wrapped his arms around him and Elrohir, pulling them both close.  “Ah, Elladan.  I am sorry – so very, very sorry.  I wish that there was more we could have done.  Forgive me.”

Startled, a little dazed, Elladan looked up.  “Forgive me Legolas – I did not mean to alarm you!”  He smiled weakly.  “I thought I had lost him, but we are both too stubborn to give up.”

Calmacil nodded in agreement, smiling.  “It is not as it seems.  Elrohir still lives – just.  Relief takes people in many ways.”  He rested one hand lightly on Elladan’s shoulder.  “Well done.  You have your father’s talent, I see.”

“Thank the Valar you do!”  Legolas murmured  reverently.  Elladan finally released his grip and lay Elrohir down against the pillows Legolas had retrieved from the floor.  He then positioned himself at the head of the bed, one hand resting on his brother’s head, the other taking his hand and wrist.  He was still very concerned about Elrohir.  Perhaps he was marginally better – he no longer twisted in agony, and the harsh gasping as he had struggled for every breath was gone, but he now lay pale and motionless, his eyes still closed, scarcely drawing breath.  The change seemed ominous – he knew there was still a very real chance that Elrohir would die. 

Elladan closed his eyes in despair at that thought, after all he had done.  Had it been enough?  He felt exhausted, and doubted he would be able to do the same again.  He simply had to rely on Elrohir’s own strength now.

He opened his eyes to find that Legolas had settled himself in the chair by the bed and was regarding him thoughtfully.  “I spoke to my father,” he said.  “I asked him to send a message to Imladris, to inform your parents.”  He smiled.  “He had already dispatched his fastest rider.”  

Elladan nodded, then looked down at Elrohir again.  “Thank you – and your father – for the message, though I expect my parents will already know that something is wrong; even if they do not know the details.  But it will take them a week to travel here, and by that time – ” he broke off.

“By that time let us hope that Elrohir will be able to greet them himself,” Legolas finished.  “Father said he guessed they would already know – he was here earlier, did you know?  He came to see Elrohir and Nólimon.”

“Thranduil was here?  He saw Elrohir?”  Elladan was startled.  He had had no idea, and must have totally ignored the king.  “I – I did not know.  I did not even notice him!”

Legolas chuckled.  “He realised that.  He understands.  Elladan, I know you do not want to leave Elrohir, but you look close to collapse yourself – you are nearly as pale as he is!  Will you not rest?  I will sit with Elrohir, and you do not even need to leave this room.  I am sure we can find you a bed.”

Calmacil agreed.  “Indeed.  There are a number of small folding beds we keep for times such as this.  It can go here.”  He indicated the side of Elrohir’s bed.

Stubbornly, Elladan refused.  “Thank you, but no.  Perhaps if he wakes – when he wakes – perhaps then.  I will be fine.”  He was desperately weary, worn out by fear and worry, and by the energy he had expended to save Elrohir.  But he would not risk sleeping, not while Elrohir’s hold on life was so tenuous.

Legolas laughed, and Calmacil sighed.  “Of course.  What was the expression I heard?  Ah, yes – ‘he does not have the sense to lay down before he falls down,’ ” he quoted dryly.

Elladan flushed slightly.  Elrond had indeed said that, of both him and Elrohir, on more than one occasion.  But how had Calmacil known of it?  “I did not realise you knew my father so well,” he said, slightly defensively.

“It was not your father who said it, youngling – ‘twas this one’s!”  Calmacil pointed accusingly at Legolas.   “I had forgotten how stubborn you and your brother could be!  Very well then – I cannot insist.  At least eat or drink something.”  He filled a cup from the pitcher of water, and passed it to Elladan.  “I do not want the prospect of two patients if you collapse.”

Elladan took the cup with a nod.  He was about to drink, when he regarded the cup suspiciously, and set it down, untouched.  “No,” he said flatly.

Calmacil looked startled, then understood.  “Elladan, I have no intention of drugging you!  If Elrohir d – if anything were to happen to him while you were insensible, you would quite rightly never forgive me.  You have my word that it is no more than water!”  He sounded a little offended. 

Elladan regarded him rather sheepishly.  “Forgive me, Calmacil – I should not have doubted you.  Thank you.”  He sipped at the water, relishing how wonderfully cool and wet it was, then drank more deeply.  He drained the cup, then drank again as Calmacil refilled it.

Feeling somewhat better, he leaned back against the rough stone wall, one hand absently brushing against Elrohir’s hair.  He took his brother’s hand in his, feeling the dry heat of fever, and the slow, erratic beat of his pulse.  His chest barely moved as he breathed, and, perhaps most worrying of all, there was no flicker of movement behind his closed eyelids.  Elrohir seemed to be beyond pain for the moment, but was now in a deep sleep – one from which he might never awaken.

To Be Continued

Chapter Four – Unexpected Arrivals

Elladan could hear soft sounds of everyday life drifting in from the infirmary.  Here in the small, windowless room, lit only by a single lamp and a small fire, it was impossible to keep track of the time, and he had no idea if it was morning, noon or night, but outside life continued regardless.

It seemed strange to Elladan that while all of his attention was here, focused on Elrohir and his struggle for life, elsewhere life was unaffected.  Children would be playing;  people laughing; completely unaware of the desperate fight so near them.

Legolas had remained with him for several hours, and they talked softly for a while.  At other times they sat in silence as Elladan’s attention had drifted back to Elrohir and he lost track of the conversation.  To his immense relief, Legolas had not repeated the suggestion that he should sleep, nor had Calmacil.  He did not want to have to explain why he refused.

Elladan knew only too well the reason for his reluctance to take the eminently sensible advice:  he was afraid to.  He was afraid that if he stopped his soft words of encouragement, Elrohir would be lost.  He was afraid that Elrohir would indeed die, and was desperate not to waste any of the precious time they had left together.  He was afraid that Elrohir would die while he slept,  and he would never have the chance to say goodbye.  So he sat, sleepless and exhausted, and waited.

Legolas had been half-dozing in his chair, his eyes slightly glazed, when he blinked back to full awareness.  He sighed, and stretched.  “I will have to leave you soon,” he said apologetically.  “It is mid-afternoon, and the patrols are due on duty again shortly.  But I will return when I can.”

Elladan wondered idly how it was that Legolas was aware of the passage of time, here in the depths of his father’s palace, without the light of sun or stars to guide him.  He seemed to have an innate awareness of it, somehow – perhaps because he had lived in these caverns all his life.  He recalled with sudden longing his own home, the light, airy rooms, the wide windows and walkways that seemed to link the rooms seamlessly with the outside.  With the protection of the Bruinen, and his father’s use of Vilya, Imladris was a haven and sanctuary unlike any other.  The thought of his father made him long suddenly that Elrond was here, now, and could ease his fears.

He looked down at Elrohir again, but there was still no change.  He breathed, he lived, but that was all that could be said.  Elladan sighed, and changed his position a little stiffly, thinking about what Legolas had said.  “The patrols?  Will you be searching for the spiders again?”

Legolas nodded.  “Yes.  We found several new colonies that had been established.   If they had started breeding, they would soon have been hunting for food.  We are well rid of them,” he added.  “I think we have killed the last of them now, but I have detailed patrols to continue checking until we can be certain.”

Elladan regarded him sombrely.  “Good.  When I think about how El and I wanted to go on a spider hunt – I never dreamed that this would happen.”  He broke off, tightening his grip on Elrohir’s limp hand. 

“I know.  When I sent poor Nólimon and Amandil to warn you, I had no idea that such a large group was heading in your direction.”  Legolas stood, picking up the cloak he had dropped on the floor when he first arrived.  “Forgive me.  I would stay longer, if I could, but as it is – I need to receive the patrols’ reports, and send out the next searchers.  I had planned to take a few days’ leave while you were here, but postponed it when the first reports of the spiders came in.”  He paused in the doorway.  “Is there anything you need?  Then I will see you later.”

He left, and Elladan was left alone with Elrohir again.  He placed one hand on his brother’s forehead, hoping that the fever had diminished a little, but the skin was still hot and dry – indeed, there had been no change for hours.  With a soft sigh of frustration, Elladan moved to the small basin, filling a bowl with cold water, and wetting the cloth again.  Yet again he began to bathe Elrohir’s face and neck, wishing futilely that there was something else he could do to lower the fever – but with his twin so deeply unconscious, the usual medications were useless.

Elrohir’s breathing was still ragged – fast but very shallow.  At times the light, rapid breaths would change, and he would take a deep, shuddering gulp of air before quieting again.  His pulse, too, was irregular, and had Elladan could determine no rhythm or pattern to it.  One minute it would be very faint, but so fast it was difficult to distinguish each individual beat.  Then it would slow dramatically, almost stopping completely at times.  Yet each time, just as Elladan was about to lose hope, Elrohir would give a sudden gasp and for a short while his heart would beat normally again.

Dampening the cloth again, Elladan laid it across Elrohir’s brow, and resumed his vigil. “What am I to do with you, little brother?” he asked softly.  The little inner chamber was nearly dark, and the small fire was dying. 

As Elrohir was. 

Horrified at that insidious thought, he pushed it away, closing his mind on it firmly.  Yet his brother remained pale, unmoving but for the occasional tremor and gasping breath, his only colour the faint flush of fever.

It seemed he had been at Elrohir’s side for an eternity, holding him, calling him.  He had talked incessantly, wearying of his own voice, offering his twin an anchor, something to cling to when he finally began to regain consciousness.  He had tried to use their bond to follow Elrohir, to show him the path of return, but he seemed lost in darkness.

“Please, El, hear my voice,”  he whispered.  “Come back to me – to all of us – and wake.  Where are you?  What thoughts haunt your dreams?  Why do you not wake?”

He had once or twice before sat at his brother’s side like this, when he had been ill or injured, but never before had he been in any doubt that Elrohir would – eventually – awaken.  There had also been a time when he had been the one so desperately ill, and he knew that Elrohir had sat with him then for many long hours.  At that time, his dreams had been dark indeed, for he had believed Elrohir dead.  He had so very nearly chosen death willingly and openly as an escape from that agony.

He could still face that choice, for his fear was growing that Elrohir was lost, and he wondered what the future may hold.  He did not think he could continue without Elrohir at his side – yet how could he leave his parents; leave Arwen?  Could they endure a double loss?  He prayed that it would not come to that.  “I love you, El.  Please do not leave me.”   He repeated the quiet words like a mantra, over and again, as the room darkened, and the fire flickered ever lower.

Lost in contemplation, he was unaware of the comings and going in the infirmary outside, and was startled by a light tap on the open door.  Blinking a little – he had not been asleep, but had certainly not been fully awake – he looked up as Thranduil came in. 

 “How is he?”  Thranduil asked quietly.

Elladan shrugged rather helplessly.  “It is hard to say.  Still alive, at least.”  He glanced at the door, gesturing at the infirmary beyond.  “Unlike poor Nólimon.”  He sighed, looking at Thranduil rather apologetically.  “Legolas told me that you were here before.  Forgive me – I had no idea.  I must have been – rather preoccupied.”

“You were.  I understand.  I understand your fears only too well.  There were times I believed that Legolas would die when he was bitten.”  Thranduil’s expression grew distant at the memory.

Yet Legolas had lived.  Elladan repeated that to himself again.  Legolas had lived, and Elrohir might also survive – though his hope was growing ever more distant.  “There have been times – times when I feared each breath would be his last,” he admitted.

Thranduil nodded.  “Aye,” he whispered.  “I remember.  I remember that well.  Yet I remember even darker moments.  There were times when I hoped – no, begged – that each breath would be his last, and put an end to it.”

That startled Elladan.  Yet, recalling Elrohir’s pain, he could understand only too well.  Even in his despair and panic when he had believed Elrohir had passed, a part of him had been relieved to think that his brother was finally at rest.   Thranduil did indeed understand.  He and Legolas had both been through this torment, and Legolas had not only recovered, he had been restored to his usual merry self.  Elladan just had to hope that Elrohir, too, would survive.

At his side, Elrohir trembled again slightly, and took another shuddering breath.  “Shh, little brother,” Elladan soothed, taking his hand once more.  “Just rest.  You will soon be well again.”  He leaned back, eyes closing in anguish.  He was not sure he really believed that anymore, but perhaps he could convince Elrohir.  “You will be well again, and we will tell everyone at home about our spider hunt when we return.  Just rest for now.”  Unnoticed, Thranduil left the room silently, leaving the twins alone.

Elladan placed his other hand on Elrohir’s chest, where he could feel the irregular movements of his breathing and the erratic thud of his heart.  He still burned with fever, and Elladan again wiped his brother’s face with the damp cloth.  He had tried to trickle a little water into Elrohir’s mouth, but it was impossible for him to swallow, and Elladan was fearful of trying again.  If the water went into Elrohir’s lungs, it could kill him.  It meant that dehydration was yet another complication Elrohir faced.   His skin and eyes were dull, and his lips dry and chapped. 

Calmacil had provided all the medicines he knew Elladan would need for his brother, and had also made his trainees and the contents of his store cupboard available.  There was a small pot of salve, and Elladan smeared a little onto Elrohir’s cracked lips.  Wondering if the spider bite yet showed any sign of healing, he removed the dressing that bound Elrohir’s arm, and examined the wound closely.  The surrounding area was reddened and inflamed, and the bite itself still wept a little blood-stained fluid. He bathed it carefully, and was starting to rebandage the wound when Calmacil came in.  “What do you think of this?” he asked.

Calmacil peered at the bite mark, pressing lightly at the swollen flesh.  More of the red-tinged liquid oozed out, and Elladan wiped it away gently.  “Well?”  he asked Calmacil again.

“It is healing much as I expected,” Calmacil replied noncommittally. 

Elladan finished rebandaging the wound as Calmacil watched, laying Elrohir’s arm back across his chest.  The sleeve of the loose sleep tunic he now wore slid up his arm, and Elladan frowned at the dark bruises now revealed.  He glanced up at Calmacil in concern. “What is this?”  Pushing the sleeve up fully, he saw four long, blue-black marks – the marks of fingers, he realised.  His fingers.  He had seized his brother’s arm when he feared him dead – but not hard enough to inflict this sort of damage!

“It is the poison,” Calmacil reminded him calmly.  “It thins the blood – which is why the bite still weeps.”

Of course.  Elladan had discussed the effects of the spider venom with Calmacil, and internal bleeding was one of them – part of the reason for the intense pain Elrohir had suffered.  He drew back the sheet to Elrohir’s waist, and lifted the loose robe, exposing his brother’s pale body.  His skin was marked irregularly with ugly, mottled bruising where the small surface blood vessels had ruptured.  And his chest – the whole area was one massive bruise where Elladan had tried feverishly to encourage his heart to resume beating.

“Oh, Elrohir – just look at you!” he murmured, gently running his hands over the damage. “I am sorry I did that to you – but I had to!”   He and Calmacil examined the patchwork of bruising.  Some were the blue/black of fresh damage, while other marks had faded to purple and yellow as the bruises healed.  “Some of this is recent,” he remarked.  “The poison is still potent.”

Calmacil nodded.  “We have found, in those who survive that long, that the venom lasts for about three or four days.  The effects fade then, as the body heals.  It has been three days since Elrohir was attacked, so we may see a change soon.  Yet there is one thing that puzzles me – I would expect him to be still experiencing great pain, as he was earlier.  As you say, the poison is still potent.  This stillness is – odd.  I do not know what it may mean.  I fear that even if he lives, it will be a long time before he is well.”

With a weary nod, Elladan turned away from Calmacil, rubbing his hand tiredly across his eyes.  When, he wondered, would he hear good news?  He wished, futilely, that his father was here, or his mother.  Calmacil was expert in the treatment of spider venom, and Elladan himself was quite capable of treating his brother, so there would be little more that even Elrond could do.  But a small part of him – one that had never fully grown up – longed for his parents to hold him, to tell him all would be well.

He touched the heavy bruising across the chest again, very gently, then replaced the sheet over Elrohir.    Distantly, he could hear soft, urgent voices, and quick, almost silent footsteps.  It reminded him that others here were ill or wounded, and he wondered idly what this newest emergency was. Then, to his utter amazement, he heard a voice just outside Elrohir’s chamber.  “This way, my lord, my lady.  In here.” 

He stared blankly as first his mother, then his father came in, escorted by one of Calmacil’s apprentice healers.  For an instant he wondered if the exhaustion and worry were playing tricks with his mind.  How could they be here so quickly?  But then Celebrían hugged him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.  “Elladan, my dear.  I am so glad to see you.  How is he?”  Elrond clasped his arm briefly, then turned to Elrohir. 

Elladan shook himself, gathering his wits.  “Not good.  But he is at least still alive.”  He hugged his mother again, then his father.  “I am so very pleased to see you both!” he said in deep relief.  Glancing down at Elrohir, he hoped to see some change there – it would be the crowning glory to this moment.  But his brother remained still, oblivious to the unexpected arrivals. He did not wake.

To Be Continued

Chapter Five – Hope Remains

Elladan felt overwhelmingly relieved that his parents had come so quickly.  Cold reality told him that it might make little difference in the long run, but their presence could only help Elrohir.  As an elfling he had sincerely believed that they could do anything: that a kiss on a grazed knee would indeed make the hurt go away, that they would always make everything right in his world – somehow.   As he grew, he had realised that even they had faults and limitations; that they were not infallible.  He knew now, realistically, that even his father’s healing skills might not be enough to save Elrohir – but they were here.  Elrohir needed them – and so, Elladan readily admitted to himself, did he.

Elrond and Celebrían sat on the bed, one each side of Elrohir, touching his face, talking to him, holding his hands.  “Elrohir?  Can you hear me?  Wake up, little one, and greet me.”  Bright tears welled up in Celebrían’s eyes as her soft, whispered endearments received not a flicker of response.  Elrohir remained oblivious to her presence.   Elrond’s fingers were pressed against Elrohir’s wrist, feeling his pulse, and his expression of concern at what he found confirmed all of Elladan’s worries.

Elladan found he was looking at Elrohir now through fresh eyes, seeing him as their parents surely must.  He had watched his brother’s swift decline through the long, sleepless hours, but only now realised just how much he had faded.  Only a few days ago Elrohir had been vibrantly alive and healthy, aglow with his usual joy of life; his eyes dancing as he teased his twin and joked with Amandil and Nólimon.  Now … Elladan bit his lip as he looked down at his brother.  His skin was sallow and pale, marked only by shadowy bruises and the heat of fever.  His eyes were sunken, and his mouth, usually smiling or laughing; occasionally serious; was slack. 

Elrohir was dying, and Elladan could no longer deny it.

He sat on the side of the bed, eyes fixed on his twin, watching as Elrond slid one arm beneath Elrohir’s back, lifting him slightly.  The other arm he placed around Elladan’s shoulders, drawing him in as well.  Then Celebrían joined them, repeating the embrace and completing the circle.  They clung together, three of them weeping with the pain of imminent loss.  Despite his anguish, Elladan felt strengthened and comforted by the contact.  The support and love he took from his parents – and gave to them – soothed and eased his soul.  Two voices, blended together, drifted into his mind, reinforcing the message of love.  “We love you, our sons.  Do not leave us.  We love you both.  Stay.”

At length they drew apart, but remained close, still surrounding Elrohir.  He remained unmoving, and Elladan felt renewed despair. He had so hoped that there would have been some subtle change, some indication at last that his brother may live.

“Elladan?”  His father’s quiet voice broke into his bleak thoughts.  “Can you tell me what happened?  I read Thranduil’s message, but I want you to tell me.”

Slowly, rather reluctantly Elladan nodded.  There were aspects of this that he had tried to avoid thinking about.  “It was my fault,” he said at last.  “El wanted to stop, but I was uneasy.  I knew there was something wrong, and wanted to reach Lasgalen as soon as possible.”  He gave a deep sigh.  “If we had stopped as we originally intended to; if I had not made us move on;  if only I had listened to him; we would not have been where we were when the spiders attacked.  El would be safe.  I saw danger.  I saw the spiders – the  battle.  I knew that Nólimon – or someone – would be attacked.  Everything I did to try to prevent this seemed to make it more certain!  Why did I not see that Elrohir was bitten as well?  Why did I not see where it happened?  Why could I not stop this?”  He broke off abruptly as Celebrían leaned forward to touch his arm, aware that his voice had risen to a near shout.

“Elladan, it is foolishness to blame yourself,”  she told him firmly.  “You have my mother’s foresight, and I know well that the visions are never clear – whether ‘tis the past, the present, or the future.  Tell us what happened.”

Hesitantly, he began to relate the meeting with Nólimon and Amandil, and the battle with the spiders.  “Nólimon fell, so El and I tried to help him.  That was something I had seen, too!  I saw us both, so thought him safe.  We thought we had killed them all – but there was one left.  I was with Nólimon when El shouted a warning – there was a spider, nearly on me.  I should have seen it!  He killed it, but that was when he was bitten,” he concluded painfully.  “He was defending me.”  He stopped, awash with guilt.

His mother put her arms around him, hugging him tightly.  “And so you blame yourself?”

Elladan nodded wordlessly.

“You can be very foolish at times,”  Celebrían said in exasperation. “What would you expect Elrohir to do?”

He looked at her in surprise at the unexpected question.  “What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

Elrond enlarged on the remark.  “Do you think he would stand and watch while you were in danger?  Do you really believe he should or could do that?”

“No, but …”

“But nothing!  What would you have done in that situation?”  Celebrían  stared at him searchingly, for a moment fully her mother’s daughter.

Under that gaze, Elladan answered with complete honesty and without hesitation – he could do nothing else.  “I would have done the same – anything I could to protect him, no matter what the danger.”  He sighed with frustration.  “I know that, but it changes nothing!  I still feel responsible.  And the worst of it – I cannot help but feel that this may never have come to pass if I had not changed our plans to prevent it.”

Celebrían nodded.  “Perhaps.  Perhaps not – none can tell what may have come to pass.   Your grandmother has great power, but even she cannot tell all things.  The visions are dangerous as a guide to deeds.”

“But if we had only stopped …”

“No,” Elrond told him.  “It may be that if you had stopped as you planned, you would still have been attacked, both of you, far from Thranduil’s halls or any help.  May-have-beens are pointless.”

“Perhaps.”  Elladan sighed again and stood, stretching wearily.  He rubbed his eyes tiredly and began to pace around the little room.  “Forgive me – I know I am being foolish.  I just …”  he stopped again.  “I am afraid,” he whispered at last.

Elrond stood as well, holding Elladan close.  “I know.  Of course you are – so are we.  You are afraid and exhausted.  You have kept Elrohir alive this long – and you are also a foolish elfling.  Elladan, you must rest.  You do Elrohir no good like this.”

Stubbornly, Elladan shook his head.  “No.  I cannot – not yet.  You must understand.”  He leaned against his father, heartsore and desperately tired.  He felt the familiar touch of Elrond’s mind, and allowed him to pour strength into him. 

It seemed a very long time later that Elladan became aware of another presence in the room.  Reluctantly, he looked up, blotting his eyes on his sleeve, but it was Elrond who spoke for all of them.  “Calmacil.”  For a moment the healer’s mantle replaced that of father.    “What can you tell me about Elrohir’s condition?” 

Calmacil stood at the foot of the bed, surveying them all.  “He has been – and still is – gravely ill.  There have been several times when I feared for his life, as Elladan can testify.   However, as you know, the majority of those attacked do not survive for longer than two days.  Hope remains.  Elrohir was bitten four days ago.  I think –”    He looked across at Elladan and smiled – “I think, as he is still alive, he will be one of the lucky ones.  I think he will live.”

Elladan felt weak with relief, and sank down onto the bed next to Elrohir.  “He will live?”  he repeated.  “Are you sure?”  As time had gone by, and his twin clung to life so precariously, he had begun to lose all hope that Elrohir may survive – but to hear this was the most wonderful news he had ever heard.  He looked down at Elrohir, and felt the bright smile he knew had transformed his expression fade again.  Calmacil’s words had given him hope, but he would not truly rejoice until Elrohir awoke, and knew him.

When Calmacil had left, Elrond turned to Elladan again.  “Elladan, listen to me.  You must rest.  You know I will wake you the instant there is any change.  Calmacil is right – hope remains.  If Elrohir has made it this far, he will live.  I know why you resisted before, but it is safe now for you to sleep.  Please, my son.”

Elladan smiled wearily.  He should have known that his parents – both of them – would be perfectly well aware of the reasons behind his refusal.  He nodded.  “Yes.  Very well.”  He cast a last look at Elrohir – who had still not stirred – and turned to the folding bed stored in one corner of the room.  It was simply a stretcher, resting on two wooden cross supports, with niches carved for the poles to rest in.  It took no space to store and could be assembled in seconds.  Such beds were frequently used in the aftermath of battle – they were easily transported, and lifted the injured off the cold, hard ground.  When the time came to move, the stretcher was simply lifted from the supports without disturbing the wounded.

He was numb with weariness and anxiety, and stumbled as he dropped onto the cot, reaching out with one hand to touch Elrohir’s lightly.  He sank into sleep immediately, too exhausted to follow the usual path of peaceful dreams, but still restless and troubled.

He relived the battle, fighting desperately as wave after wave of foul creatures came at him from all directions, even from the trees above.  From the corner of his eye he saw a spider scuttling towards Elrohir from behind, unseen.  He tried to shout a warning but no sound came from his throat.  He tried to cut his way to Elrohir’s side, but was unable to move.  He watched in despair and fear as the spider reared up to attack – then Elrohir spun around, warned by his well-honed battle senses, killing it.  Elladan heard a cry, but he knew instinctively that it was not Elrohir.  Nólimon was down, and as Elladan knelt over him he heard another cry.  Elrohir.  Turning, he saw another spider, and froze again.  He watched as the creature drew nearer and nearer, helpless to move or do anything to defend himself.

Then Elrohir was there, between him and the spider, his sword thrusting at it, and they both jerked in pain as the spider bit.  He felt Elrohir’s confusion and drifting thoughts as they raced towards Lasgalen, the pain that racked him.  He shared the black agony that felt as if he was being torn in two, the increasing darkness that encroached on his mind.  He was with Elrohir as he drifted towards death when a final blinding spasm of pain engulfed him in a brilliant white light.

“Elrohir!  No!”  Sobbing, he struggled to wake and go to his twin, but was once more unable to move.

A gentle hand rested on his head, stroking his hair, and a quiet voice soothed him, penetrating his nightmares.  “Hush.  You are merely dreaming.  He is still with us.  Hush now, Elladan, and go back to sleep.”  Reassured, he groped blindly for Elrohir’s hand again, and drifted back into sleep, content with the brief contact. 

It seemed only an instant later that he jerked awake again.  Something was wrong – something was different.  He turned his head suddenly, just as his father was about to touch his shoulder to shake him awake.  “Elladan?  Elladan!  Wake now, quickly!”

Startled, blinking sleep from his eyes, he sat up, flinging the light blanket to one side.  “Is it Elrohir?  Is he …” 

Elrond nodded, smiling.  “I think he is waking.  Look!”

Elladan scrambled to his feet and sat on the side of the bed, his eyes fixed on Elrohir.  He moved slightly, his hands twitching – perhaps as he battled the spiders in his dreams.  His head tossed from side to side, and his eyes flickered ceaselessly.  Then he jerked, as if in pain, his mouth opening soundlessly.  Elladan took his hands gently, stilling their restless movement.  “El?” he asked.  “Can you hear me?”

Elrohir blinked, then his eyes opened slowly.  He blinked again, his gaze at first unfocused, but gradually clearing.

“Elrohir?  How are you, my son?”

“Oh, Elrohir!  Thank the Valar!  Are you well?”

“Welcome back, El.  How do you feel?”

Elrohir smiled faintly as all three exclamations came simultaneously.  He licked his lips dryly.  “Tired,” he murmured – in what seemed to be a general response to all three questions.

“Tired?”  Elladan repeated incredulously.  “You have been asleep for the last few days, little brother – how can you be tired?”  He could not control his smile, and grinned at Elrohir.

Elrond tightened the arm he had around Elrohir’s shoulders.  “Are you thirsty?”

Elrohir nodded, and licked his dry lips again.  “Yes,” he whispered in a very faint voice.

Turning to the basin, Elladan poured a cup of water, his hands shaking a little.  He passed it to his father and watched as he carefully held the cup to Elrohir’s mouth.  He took a sip, coughing and choking on the first mouthful as he tried to swallow.  Water trickled from the side of his mouth, and Elladan gently wiped it away.  

Elrohir took another sip, more successfully, and slowly drained the cup.  He leaned back wearily.  “Thank you.”  He smiled as Celebrían drew him close and kissed his brow.  His eyes drifted shut again, and he slept once more, his head resting against his mother’s shoulder.

To Be Continued

Chapter Six – On The Wings Of Eagles

Elladan sighed as he settled into the chair at Elrohir’s side, taking his turn to watch his brother.  A day had passed now since Elrohir had first roused, and he had awoken two or three more times since then.  Each time he had been a little more aware and alert, and each time he had been able to stay awake for a little longer than before.  Finally, Elladan had at long last been able to admit to himself that Elrohir would indeed recover.

The intensity of the first few days, when he had never left his twin’s side, had not eaten or slept, indeed had scarcely taken his eyes off him, was beginning to fade.  With the arrival of their parents, and especially with Elrohir’s awakening, Elladan had finally been able to relax a little, relinquishing the tension and fear that had gripped him for so long.

He looked at Elrohir again, this time with a healer’s assessing gaze.  It was not his imagination; there were clear signs that spoke of healing.  The bruises and flush of fever were fading, and although he was still pale, the frightening waxy tinge to his skin had gone.  His eyes were still closed, but the skin around his eyes was no longer grey and dull.  Elrohir’s chest now rose and fell regularly as he slept, the harsh gasping breaths and long pauses between inhalations that had been one of the most worrying aspects thankfully a thing of the past.

Elladan dropped his hand to Elrohir’s wrist, feeling his pulse.  He frowned.  Although Calmacil had warned him that this symptom of the venom would linger longest, he had hoped that it would not still be so erratic.  Elrohir’s heartbeat was still fast and irregular, but stronger now than it had been.  Finally, he placed one hand on Elrohir’s brow.  He could still feel the heat of fever there, but again it was better than it had been, and not so worryingly high as before – a gentle warmth rather than fierce burning.

He leaned back into the chair again, feeling restless.  He had confined himself to this tiny room and the hallway just outside for days now, and was beginning to find it rather claustrophobic.  At first he had not really noticed the poky, cramped conditions – all his attention had been focused on Elrohir – but now he found it increasingly oppressive.  He craved light and air, and longed to feel the soft breeze against his face.  He wondered idly how Legolas could stand it – he had far more cause than Elladan did to hate dark, confined places. 

Elladan knew that if he was totally honest with himself, he was bored.  It was not that he begrudged the time spent with Elrohir – far from it; there had been moments when he had feared this would never happen again – but he had been here for so long, for days now.  He was unaccustomed to such inactivity.  Tomorrow, while Elrond or Celebrían sat with his brother, he vowed he would take the opportunity to go outside, to walk in the forest, and breathe the clean air.

He glanced up as Legolas came in.  He stood over the bed, looking down at Elrohir.  “How is he now?  Asleep again?”  He took the only other chair, in the far corner of the room.

Elladan nodded.  “He woke a short while ago, and managed to eat a little of Calmacil’s broth.”  He grinned.  “He complained.  He said that he was not a baby, and did not wish to be fed like one!”

Legolas chuckled.  “Elrohir is complaining?  That must be a good sign!”

“He still lacks the strength to hold the spoon, so he has little choice in the matter at the moment; but knowing El that will not last for long.”  He smiled, leaning back and stretching.  “It is good to have hope again.  Ah, but I am weary of this waiting!  How much longer will we be here?  Legolas – when you were bitten, what do you remember of that time?  How long was it before you were well again?”

Legolas frowned as he tried to remember.   “It is hard to be sure – it was a long time ago.  I remember the pain, and wanting to go back to unconsciousness whenever I woke up.  Each time I remember seeing my father beside the bed.  I found out later that he did not move from the room for a week.”  He smiled wryly.  “I remember being fed – I know just how Elrohir must feel!  I hated it.  Even when I was allowed up, I still felt very dizzy and faint at times.  It was some weeks before I went back to my duties.  I remember how frustrating it was – there was a time when I was able to stay awake long enough to be bored, but was not able to do anything!”

“Poor Elrohir.  Yes, Calmacil warned me about the dizziness.  He will hate all that.  He must be the worst patient I know – even worse than I am!  He tends to become extremely foul-tempered.  Do you recall that time he was kicked by the horse?*”

Legolas winced.  “I do indeed – I have never known him so snappy!

“It seems you will have our company for a while longer, anyway.”  Elladan listened to the quietness surrounding them.  “It must be late,” he observed.

“It is – I was on my way to bed.  I brought you some books, though – I thought you may be in need of something to do.”  Legolas grinned suddenly.  “I thought you found it impossible to tell the passing of time in here?  You seem to be improving.”

Elladan shrugged.  “I must be getting used to it.  It is either that, or the fact that Calmacil referred to evening meal when he came with Elrohir’s broth!  Thank you for the books – I fear I shall lose my mind if I stay within these four walls for much longer!”

“If you can be prised away from Elrohir’s side tomorrow, we can go for a ride.  I have finally taken the leave I postponed when the spiders appeared!  What do you say?”

Gratefully, Elladan nodded. “Yes.  That seems an excellent idea – I had already decided to leave him to my parents’ care for a while.  Tomorrow, then.”

After Legolas left, Elladan turned to one of the books Legolas had given him.  It was a collection of tales and legends of other races.  As he leafed through it, he shook his head in disbelief – some of them seemed most bizarre.   Then he laughed at himself.  Others might find his family history just a little odd, the stuff of myth and legend.

As he read, silence settled around him, broken only by the faint hiss and pop of the wood burning in the grate, and Elrohir’s quiet breaths.   Weariness crept up on him, and slowly his head dropped forward, and the book slipped from his hands.

o-o-o

Struggling to escape from the bonds of sleep, Elrohir slowly opened his eyes.  He was cautious – the small lamp at his bedside, and the flickering fire had seemed impossibly bright the first few times he had awoken, hurting his eyes.  The light was dimmer now, causing less discomfort.  He blinked, finally able to see his surroundings clearly for the first time, despite a fierce headache.

He was in a small, windowless, stone chamber.  A fire burnt against the wall opposite him.  He turned his head slightly and saw Elladan dozing in a chair, a book lying forgotten in his lap.  He smiled – each time he had woken up, his twin had been there, and sometimes his mother or father as well.  Their faces had been blurred and indistinct, but unmistakable, and their voices full of love and concern.

Elrohir knew he must have been gravely ill.  The pervading lethargy told him that; the way his whole body ached; together with his deep weariness and lassitude.  What had happened?  He began to piece events together, recalling the spider bite, the awful pain, unlike anything he had endured before.  Much of his memory of the time was vague, but he could dimly recall Elladan holding him, soothing him as he shook and twisted in agony.  There had been more pain, so bad that he would have readily welcomed death itself; a bright light – then nothing.  He could recall nothing after that until awakening some time before.  When had that been – a few hours ago, a day?

He had a raging thirst, but the cup on the table at his side was empty.  He was not sure he would have been able pick it up in any case – he had tried earlier, tried to hold a spoon to eat a little broth Calmacil had prepared, but to his humiliation and frustration had not even been able to lift it.  He was deeply reluctant to wake Elladan – his twin looked exhausted, with lines of strain etched around his eyes – but feared he had no choice.

“El?” he tried quietly.  His mouth was so dry that little sound emerged.  Elrohir swallowed harshly, and tried again.  “Elladan?  El, wake up!”  There was still no response.  Slowly, tentatively, he edged his hand towards Elladan.  He could not quite reach, but was able to move himself a little closer and stretched out again until he was able to tap Elladan on the knee.  “Elladan – wake up and go to bed!”  It was an old joke, one left over from their childhood, when one or both of them would fall asleep in a cosy chair, or on the wolfskin rug by the flickering flames in the Hall of Fire.  Their parents would wake them with the same comment.

Elladan jerked his head up with a start, and the book slip off his lap to land on the floor with a soft thud.  Then he smiled.  “Elrohir!  Forgive me – I should not have fallen asleep.  Do you need anything?”  He leaned forward, one hand on Elrohir’s forehead, the other touching his wrist.  Elrohir made himself accept the attention – there was little he could do about it, anyway.  “How do you feel?”  Elladan continued.  “I am sorry I was asleep – I was supposed to be watching you.  Do you have a headache?  Anything else?”

Exasperated, Elrohir swatted his brother’s hands away in irritation.  “No!  Leave me be – stop fussing!  And I do not need anyone to watch me!”

Elladan’s hand dropped to his side.  “I am entitled to fuss,” he said a little stiffly.  “You nearly died – I was worried.”

With a sigh, Elrohir reached out to his twin.  It was not fair to snap at Elladan – if their positions had been reversed, he would have been frantic with fear and worry. “No, ‘tis my fault – Forgive me.  I just hate feeling so helpless!  I am sorry to wake you, too.  Could you get me some water, please?”  He pushed himself a little more upright, pleased that he was able to do so, as Elladan filled both the cup and a pitcher with water.  He watched, puzzled, as Elladan tipped half the water in the cup away again.

“Do you want to try to hold this?  It should not spill if your hand shakes a little – and if you do drop it, there is not enough here to make too much mess.”  Elladan held the cup out questioningly.

Elrohir nodded, and carefully took the cup, allowing Elladan to steady his hand.  It still shook a little – if the cup had been full, the water would have spilt – but he was able to drink.  Triumphant at the small victory, he drank again after Elladan refilled the cup. 

As he passed the cup back again, his hand shook, and the cup slipped from his grasp.  Elladan caught it deftly, setting it on the table. With a sigh, Elrohir leaned back against the pillows.  For no reason at all, his heart had started to race, and a wave of dizziness swept over him.  He clutched at Elladan’s arm, as his brother bent over him.  “Shh.  Just relax – Calmacil warned me about this.  Legolas mentioned it too.  You may feel faint or dizzy for some time yet – it is nothing to worry about.”

Elrohir leaned back, his eyes closed, taking deep breaths.  He swallowed, fighting the nausea that accompanied the dizziness.  Gradually the faintness subsided, and the whirling sensation that had engulfed him slowed.  He was tired now though, and did not try to fight as sleep crept up on him again.

When he awoke again, Elrond and Celebrían were there once more, and there was a bustle of noise from outside.  To his immense relief, the pounding headache had gone, and he felt more aware of his surroundings.  His mother leaned over and kissed him lightly.  “Well, good morning, sleepy-head!” she teased him. 

He studied both his parents curiously.  At first he had simply accepted their presence gratefully – they were there when he needed them, as they always had been – but now he wondered.  “When did you arrive?” he asked.  “Did Thranduil send a message to you?  It is at least a week’s journey each way across the mountains.  How long have I been here?”

Elladan also turned to look at them.  “Yes, how did you arrive so quickly?  You never did explain.”

Celebrían smiled.  “We knew immediately, of course, that something had happened.  Something serious.  We began to make arrangements to leave straight away.”

Elladan nodded.  “I guessed you would know.  But that still does not explain anything – and you said you had already read Thranduil’s message.   Legolas said he had sent his fastest messenger, but no-one is that fast!”

Elrohir listened curiously.  There was some strange tale here.  His imagination drifted into wild fantasies – horses that could run like the wind, the giant eagles delivering messages like common carrier pigeons, the wizard Mithrandir using magic to transport his parents on a cloud.

His father’s voice broke into his thoughts.  “Elrohir, wake up!  I thought you wanted to know?”

“I was not asleep,” he said with dignity.  “I was thinking.”

“With your eyes closed?”  Elladan asked with a grin.

Elrohir ignored his brother.  “So tell us.  What was it – super-fast horses?  The eagles?  Mithrandir?”  He was joking, so was astounded when Elrond nodded. 

“Yes.  Thranduil sent a message with one of the great eagles – they warn him of orc movements in the mountains.  Sûllilta brought his letter, and Gwaihir, Meneldor and Annrovail agreed to carry us.”  He still looked awed.

“You flew with the eagles?”  Elrohir  and Elladan asked the question simultaneously.

Elrond nodded.  “Yes.  Apparently they still remember the time we healed a young eagle who had been caught in an orc’s snare.  It seems that he later became Gwaihir, the Wind Lord, himself – one of their greatest leaders.  They were grateful.”

Elrohir shared a look of amazement with his twin.  They both recalled helping their father with the young eagle, his leg gashed to the bone from the cruel snare, one wing broken as he had struggled to free himself.  “They remember?”  he repeated in surprise.  “It was so long ago.”

“They remember.  It seems the story has been passed down from parent to chick.”  Elrond smiled.  “Gwaihir said he hoped my own fledgling would be well.”

Celebrían shivered. “Despite their speed, I feared we would be too late.  There was one moment when I was sure we had lost you.”  She touched Elrohir’s arm lightly as if to reassure herself.  “Then I felt you again.”

“What do you mean?” Elrohir asked, a little uneasily.

There was silence for a moment.  Then Elladan spoke, slowly and hesitantly.  “You nearly died, El.  There was one time – you stopped breathing.  I could not feel your heartbeat.”  He paused, his voice shaking.  “I thought you dead.”  He leaned forward, his hand resting on Elrohir’s arm.

Elrohir was stunned into silence at first, but there was a dim memory of a dazzling light and a voice calling him, flickering in the deepest recesses of his mind.  “Was I?  I can remember something … what happened?”

For a long time Elladan seemed to struggle to find words.  Slowly, he began to speak.  “At first, I despaired.  I thought that was the end – of everything.  Then … I realised I could not give up without a fight – could not give you up.  I knew what I had to do to try to save you, so I did.  And it worked,” he concluded simply, with a slight shrug. 

The little room was silent.  At the foot of the bed, Elrond stood, his face ashen.  Celebrían stood beside her son, her arm around his shoulders, and pulled him closer.  “Oh, Elladan!”  she said softly, breaking the silence.  “Thank you.  You pulled him back.”   She turned to Elrohir, and hugged him tightly as well.  “Thank the Valar you are well.”

Elrohir returned her embrace.  “I am fine, mother – thanks to El.”  He looked up at Elladan.  “Thank you, brother,” he said quietly.  The simple words did not nearly convey his depth of gratitude – but he knew Elladan would understand, nonetheless.  The words were not needed, in any case.

At length, Elrond moved from his stance at the end of the bed, and drew Celebrían to him.  “Come.  I think we should leave them for now – they have much to discuss. And I shall send a message to Gwaihir that this fledgling will indeed be well.”  With a gentle kiss to each of his sons, they left.

The twins sat  side by side in silence for a while, words unnecessary between them.  “You thought I was dead?”  Elrohir asked at last.  Elladan nodded silently. 

Elrohir closed his eyes, trying to remember more.  “I think you were right,” he said slowly.  “I saw Námo.  He asked me to join him.  I agreed.”

He opened his eyes to see Elladan staring at him in disbelief and horror.  “He offered me such love, such warmth and comfort.  I felt …”  He stopped, trying to describe the indescribable, to put into words the vague sensations and feelings he had experienced, for which no words existed.   The memory seemed blurred and indistinct now.  “All I could remember from before was darkness and pain.  Nothing else.   It was an easy choice – so I said yes.”

Elladan’s grip on his arm tightened.  “So what happened then?”  he asked.

Elrohir looked up.  “I heard you calling me,” he explained.  “I remembered you; remembered everything.  I knew I could not stay – I had to go back.  But it was hard to deny Námo.”

“Merciful Valar, El!”  Elladan burst out.  “You might not have been able to come back!  You could have been trapped here, one of the houseless ones!”

“I knew you would not let me die,”  Elrohir said simply.  Then he  grinned suddenly, lightening the tension.  “If you had, I would most certainly have haunted you – it  would have been fun!  Just think what I could have done to you …”

Elladan’s fingers tightened convulsively on his arm.  “Stop it, El!” he snapped.  “Never say things like that.  Not even in jest.”

He placed his own hand over Elladan’s in sympathy.  “I know.  If I had joined Námo, it would not have been long before you followed me there.”  He chuckled.  “Can you imagine both of us in his halls?  Námo would have sent us on our way to be reborn even faster than Glorfindel was!”

Reluctantly, Elladan began to laugh.  “Poor Námo.  I never thought I would pity him!”  He hugged Elrohir suddenly.  “I am glad you decided to return, little brother – I think I would have missed you!”

“As I would,” Elrohir agreed.  “El, I never did get an answer to my question.  How long have I been here?  When did we fight the spiders?”

“It was a week ago.  Mother and father arrived three days ago, and you first woke the day after that.  Legolas and Thranduil have often been here as well, and Calmacil and Tirana.  Do you remember Tirana?” 

Elrohir nodded.  “Calmacil’s second?  Yes, of course.  El, did you say I have been here a week?  As long as that?” He was astounded that he had lost so much time.   “No wonder you were worried.”

Elladan simply nodded, as Elrohir continued.  “I supposed you have been here the whole time?  Did you eat?  Sleep?  Have you even left the room at all?”

“Stop fussing, El!”

Elrohir smiled, and threw Elladan’s earlier words back at him.  “I am entitled to fuss – you are my brother.  But Elladan, there is no need for you to hover over me.  Go – find Legolas or Alfiel, go into the forest, do something!”

“Well – I had planned to ride out with Legolas today.  Do you mind?”  Elladan sounded apologetic.  “I was going to ask mother or father to stay with you.”

“I told you, I have no need to have anyone watch me!”  Elrohir snapped.  “Elladan, go.  When you return, perhaps you can help me persuade father and Calmacil that I am not in need of constant attention.”

Elladan nodded reluctantly, and moved towards the door.  “When I return, perhaps you will be in a better mood, little brother – or should I say ‘little fledgling’?”  He left, grinning, as Elrohir threw a pillow after him in frustration.  He missed.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:

* An event during described in Chapter Ten of ‘The Search’.

Eagle Names:  Sûllilta – Wind Dancer.  Gwaihir – Wind Lord (I’m using this as a title for the Lord of the Eagles). Meneldor – Sky Lord.  Annrovail – Long Wings.  I’m not too sure about some of these translations, so if anyone has better suggestions, please let me know.

Chapter Seven – Challenges

Finally alone, Elrohir leaned back against the end of the bed, still trying to establish just what had happened to him.  He had very nearly died, that was clear.  His memory of the whole event was hazy and dream-like, but he knew it had been all too real, and could still feel the heart-pulling wrench as he had turned away from Námo.  What shocked him most was the realisation that if Elladan had not been able to revive him, he would indeed have been lost – condemned to wander for all eternity between Arda and the Halls, a houseless spirit, forever alone.  The thought made him shudder – it was something that had never occurred to him before.

Another troubling thought was how easily he had given up.  He was a warrior, accustomed to pain and hardship.  He had had his share of injuries in battle and in training, and from childhood accidents.  Others had called him brave and courageous.  Nothing had prepared him for the reality of the pain from the spider bite.  He recalled Amandil’s innocuous words, seemingly so long ago: ‘death comes as a mercy’.  He had not believed it then, had certainly never imagined that he would ever follow that route; would welcome death as an escape from the agony.  It had been so close …

Yet he had resisted.  He had turned his back on the peace and warmth Námo offered to return – never for a moment suspecting that he could have been dooming himself to a terrible fate.  Would he have been alone in some formless void, unable to see, hear, feel?  Would he have been forever bound to this one tiny room for all time?   Or would he have roamed restlessly, able to see and hear his family, see Elladan, see them grieving for him but unable to touch them or comfort them.  Would he watch them eventually continuing with their lives, forever unable to communicate with them?  With a shudder, Elrohir pushed his dark thoughts away firmly – that way madness lay.  It had not happened. 

He shifted restlessly, the carved headboard digging into his back, and groped for the pillow that usually padded it.  Then he sighed.  It lay on the floor by the door, where it had fallen after he flung it at Elladan.  That had been a foolish gesture, undignified; a childish fit of pique unworthy of him.  What made it worse was that he had missed.

Carefully, he sat upright, ignoring the slight dizziness that still lurked, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  Of course he was capable of retrieving the pillow himself – it was only a matter of taking a few steps, after all.  Taking a deep breath, he placed one hand on the arm of the chair by the bed to help steady himself.

“I hope you are not intending to get up yet – did you want this?”  Tirana had appeared in the doorway.  She bent and picked the pillow, holding it with her arms wrapped around it, and fixed Elrohir with a steely glare.

Startled, he looked up at her.  “Tirana!  I was just – I was going to …”  He felt oddly tongue-tied, and ridiculously guilty, like an elfling caught red-handed stealing biscuits.

“You were going to what?” she asked coolly. 

Elrohir flushed, but decided he was not going to be intimidated.  He stood, his hand still resting casually on the chair, and took a single step towards her.  “I was about to pick this up.”  He took the pillow from her and threw it onto the bed behind him, hoping it was not too obvious just how hard he was gripping the chair to support himself; but he was tired of being fussed at and told what to do.  “Thank you.”  He sat down again before he fell.

His small gesture of independence and dignity had boosted his confidence and morale, but he knew it would have been for nought, and deeply humiliating, if he had collapsed and Tirana had had to pick him up from the floor.

She gazed at him for a moment longer, her mouth twitching.  “They always say that healers make the worst patients,” she commented.  “You should know better!”  She shook her head, then suddenly smiled.  “I shall be glad when you – and your brother – are out of my way.  Now, I came to ask if you want anything.”

Elrohir was about to decline sharply – he was tired of being asked that; tired of being looked after – when he paused.  There was a point at which pride and independence became obstinacy and stubbornness.  He had seen it often enough in others to recognise it in himself.   Had Elladan been present, his twin would tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he was being ‘bloody awkward’.  More than that, there was one thing Elrohir longed for.  “I would love a bath,” he admitted.  “Could you arrange that?”

“Yes, of course.  Wait there for a moment.”  She vanished, and Elrohir leaned back against the pillow he had retrieved.  He felt dirty and grimy.  His skin and the loose sleep tunic he wore smelled of stale sweat, and his hair was lank and limp.  There were still traces on his hands of the black spider blood that had splashed him.  A bath would be wonderful.

He could hear faint splashing coming from the next room, and soon a young apprentice tapped at the door.  He nodded at Elrohir.  “The bath is ready, my lord.  Do you need help?”  He offered his arm as support.

“Thank you.  I hope I will not need you – but we shall see.  I fear I am still a little shaky.”  Elrohir managed to walk unaided to the bathing room, the young healer hovering anxiously at his side the whole time.

“Here we are!” the young one said brightly.  “Do you want me to help you wash?”  He quailed under the glare Elrohir turned on him.  “Then – then I will be outside if you do need me, my lord.”  He left, hastily.

The small chamber was dominated by a large stone bath, deep and wide.  Like those in the infirmary at Imladris, it was large enough for two, so that a helpless patient could be supported in the water by one of the healers.  A bright fire burnt in the grate, warding off any chill.  Elrohir stripped off the soiled robe and the bandage wound around his arm, and stepped into the warm, fragrant water.  When he sat, the water came up to his chest, feeling silky against his skin.

He looked at his arm curiously.  The area where he spider had bitten him was still swollen and rather tender, the skin slightly darkened.  He touched it carefully, but it appeared to be healing well.  There were bruises too, on his arms and across his chest.  How had he sustained those?  He decided he would ask later – it was not important now.  He leaned back, resting his head against the stone rim of the bath, closing his eyes as he relaxed in the warm water, momentarily content.  He was lucky to be alive.

“So this is where you are.  It is a joy to see you so at ease.”  Elrond’s voice broke in on his reverie, and Elrohir opened one eye, realising he had been drifting off.  “Do you think you should sleep here though?  Elladan, Calmacil and I did not heal you only to have you drown.”

“I was not asleep,” Elrohir protested drowsily.  “Not quite.”  He reached for soap and a washcloth, and slowly began to clean the blood, sweat and grime from his body.  Finally he ducked his head beneath the water, wetting his hair, and rubbed soap into that at well, grimacing as the bite on his arm began to throb.

“Let me do that.”  His father pushed his hands aside and finished the task for him.  Elrohir relaxed again under the gentle touch, feeling the familiar warm tingle of healing through the contact boosting his strength.  “Do you think it was wise to dismiss young Thalion?  The spider venom has some lingering effects – it could still cause spells of dizziness.”

Elrohir submerged a final time, rinsing all traces of soap from himself.  “He was only outside if I had needed him.  He offered to help me bathe,” he grumbled.  “I am not quite that helpless!”  He left the bath, pulling on a loose robe, and sat by the fire, suddenly feeling extraordinarily tired.  There was silence behind him, and he turned to see his father regarding him quizzically.  “That was different,” he protested weakly. 

“Of course it was,” Elrond agreed, inclining his head.   “I was surprised to find you alone – where is Elladan?”

Elrohir rubbed half-heartedly at his hair, drying it a little, and sighed.  “He went out.  I told him to go – he keeps hovering over me.” 

“He has been worried about you,” his father pointed out.  “We all were.”

Nodding, he leaned back wearily.  “I know that.  And I know that I would have been equally worried had he been injured.  I do not mean to be ungrateful – but he acts as if I will break.  Earlier, he apologised for sleeping when he was supposed to be ‘watching’ me.  I told him I do not need anyone to watch me, as if each breath could be my last!”  As Elrohir heard his own words and realised what he had said, he stopped abruptly, and swore in a low voice.  “I am a fool,” he admitted.

“You are.  I spoke with Elladan last night while you slept.   For many days he feared precisely that,” Elrond pointed out quietly.  “Can you blame him for being a little over-anxious?”

Elrohir closed his eyes and released a long breath.  He shook his head.  “No, of course not.  Forgive me – I find it hard to think clearly at the moment, and there is so little that I recall of what happened.”

“You should rest.  Come.” 

Elrohir did not protest as his father helped him to his feet, and accepted without argument Elrond’s supporting hand on his arm.  Together they made their way back to his room.   The bed had been stripped, and the soiled, rumpled sheets replaced with fresh linen, the scent crisp and clean.  Elrohir collapsed onto the bed with relief.  He turned over to lay face down, scarcely aware as a blanket was placed over him, and closed his eyes with a faint sigh.  He was asleep almost immediately.

o-o-o

Elladan returned to the halls of healing towards evening.  He was windswept and flushed with exertion, but the long ride through the forests of Lasgalen had been exhilarating.  It had also blown away the lassitude and slight headache that had lurked as a result of the close confines of Elrohir’s room.

He was a little surprised to find Elrohir alone, and the room in near darkness.  Using the faint torchlight from the hallway, he lit a small lamp and turned to the bed.  He knelt next to Elrohir and looked at him closely, resting one hand lightly on his head – he simply could not help himself.

Elrohir slept peacefully, sprawled face down on the bed, one arm crooked around a pillow, the other hanging down limply.  It was his normal sleeping position at home, and somehow immensely reassuring.  If not for the fact that he still slept for long hours, with eyes closed, Elladan could have believed him well.

He stripped off his mud-splattered clothes, washed and changed.  Legolas had invited him to join Thranduil for supper, along with Elrond and Celebrían.  Elladan had accepted hesitantly, and it was with a slight twinge of guilt that he cast a last long look at his twin and left, stopping briefly to speak with Tirana as he left the infirmary.

Thranduil’s dining room was aglow with light.  A bright fire burned in the hearth, but the window stood open to the night.  Evening scents drifted in, and a nightingale perched on the sill and sang enchantingly.  It seemed a world away from the enclosed, claustrophobic room where Elrohir lay, and Elladan suddenly wondered if his brother would not be better off in the room they usually shared while in Lasgalen.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Elrond spoke.  “I talked with Calmacil this afternoon.  He no longer needs to keep a close watch on Elrohir, so tomorrow he can move from the infirmary.”

“To our usual room?  El would like that,”  Elladan agreed.  “But why tomorrow?  Why not today?  Now?”

“Because he is asleep, of course!”  Elrond pointed out reasonably.  “I doubt he would thank us if he was carried through the halls.  However, by tomorrow I think he will be able to walk that far.”  He paused briefly.  “Elladan, he will soon be well again.  He no longer needs constant care – allow him a little independence.”

There was a lull while a servant served the evening meal, and Elladan realised he had   only picked at food for the last few days.  He was ravenously hungry, and ate the venison appreciatively.   He felt a slight guilt again, knowing that Elrohir would also have enjoyed this, and leaned back in his seat to murmur to the servant.

Celebrían, with long years of experience, deftly turned the conversation.  “Legolas, thank you for taking Elladan off today.  You went riding?”

Legolas nodded.  “We did.  I challenged Elladan to a race – I fear I bruised his pride, for he lost each time!”  He grinned triumphantly at Elladan.

Elladan moved a little stiffly.  It was not merely his pride that was bruised – Legolas had also challenged him to ride as the Silvan elves did, without saddle or reins.  He could ride in this fashion if he had to, but both he and Gilmith preferred the comfort of a saddle.  To Elladan’s mind, it had been a clear ploy to stop him brooding about Elrohir, and had even worked to a point.  The thought had been kindly meant, even if Legolas now took a slightly malicious delight in Elladan’s discomfort.

“Have no fear, my friend,”  Elladan responded.  “As soon as Elrohir is well, we will repeat the challenge – on our terms.  I wager that your Calegdal will not take kindly to a saddle!”

Thranduil looked amused.  “Now that would be a most interesting sight,”  he agreed.  “One which I would dearly like to see.  Be sure to warn me when you hold your next race, so that I may observe!”

“Father!”  Legolas protested.  “You know that Calegdal has never worn a saddle in his life.  It would be cruelty to him!”

“Do you decline the challenge, then?”  Elladan asked gleefully.  “Of course, if you feel that you are not a good enough rider …”  he let his voice trail off suggestively, knowing exactly how to provoke his friend.

Legolas started to protest.  “It is not that, as you well know, Elrondion!  But poor Calegdal – I cannot do that to him!”

Thranduil shook his head.  “You cannot decline, my son,” he said very seriously.  “It is a matter of the honour of Lasgalen now.   Would you have Imladris win by default?”

“Is this a conspiracy?” Legolas asked ruefully.  “I see I am outnumbered – I expected a little more support from you, Father!  Very well, then – as soon as Elrohir is well enough.  Lasgalen against Imladris, and may the best elf win!”

The conversation turned to other matters then, of events in Lasgalen and Imladris, and news of Galadriel and Celeborn in Lórien.  As the meal ended, Elladan rose to his feet, then bent and kissed Celebrían.  “Goodnight, Mother.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”  She gave him a long look.  “I think the ride did you good – you look better; less tense.”

Elladan nodded.  “It did, even if my pride – and other parts – is bruised.”  He grinned at Legolas.  “Goodnight to you all – I will see you in the morning.”    It was true, he realised – he did feel more at ease.  The shadow of premonition that had weighed on him since they first rode beneath the eaves of Thranduil’s forest had gone, as was the gnawing worry over Elrohir.

Returning to the infirmary and Elrohir, he was not surprised to see his brother awake.  He was surprised, though, to see how much better Elrohir looked.  Though still rather pale, the sallow tone had gone from his skin, and his eyes were brighter.

He smiled.  “You look better.  How do you feel?”

Elrohir frowned.  “Hungry,” he said with faint surprise.  “When did I last eat?”

“Apart from Calmacil’s broth – if you can call that food – the night we first came to the forest.  I thought you might be hungry, so I asked one of the servants to keep some of the venison for you.  I guessed you would be awake.”  With impeccable timing, there was a tap at the door, and Thranduil’s servant entered, bearing a tray with a covered dish and a small goblet.  Placing it before Elrohir, he bowed and left.

Elrohir uncovered the dish and exclaimed with joy.  “Thank the Valar!  Real food at last!”  He ate with relish.  “Calmacil’s broth, though no doubt most nutritious, would benefit from a little flavour,” he pointed out.

“I have more good news for you,”  Elladan told him.  “Calmacil and Tirana have had enough of us, and you are to be evicted tomorrow.”  He sat at the foot of the bed, and began to relate the events of the day.  As he had expected, Elrohir was most unsympathetic over his aches and pains, and far more concerned about possible harm to the horses.

“You cannot insist on challenging Legolas to ride with a saddle,” he pointed out.  “For one thing, I doubt there is such a thing in Lasgalen, and for another, Calegdal would never tolerate it!”

Elladan nodded in agreement.  “I know.  It was fun to tease him, though.  Even Thranduil joined in!   Perhaps another time, though – I want my revenge!”

After Elrohir finished his meal and the goblet of watered wine, they settled down to sleep.  Elladan knew that there was no real reason now why he should not use the room provided for them, which Elrohir would move to the next day, but there was a tradition to uphold.  Although they had each had their own rooms in Imladris since childhood,  whenever one of them was injured, they shared.  Elladan was not going to be the one to break the habit.  He drifted  into dreams, safe in the knowledge that all was well, that Elrohir would very soon be fully recovered, and that they could finally enjoy their stay in Lasgalen before returning home.

To Be Concluded

Author’s Notes:  ‘Gilmith’ – grey star.  ‘Calegdal’ – swift foot.

Chapter Eight – Release

Elladan awoke first the next morning, and stretched painfully.  His aches and pains seemed to have intensified overnight, and he moved stiffly.  With a slight groan, he got to his feet and checked on Elrohir, but his brother still slept, his temperature and pulse both normal.  Elladan breathed a sigh of relief.  Elrohir was growing stronger by the day, and would soon be fully restored to health. 

Ironically, now that they were about to leave the infirmary, he found he was beginning to become accustomed to the passage of time here in the depths of Thranduil’s place, and could tell it was early.  He was familiar now with the sounds and routines among the healers, and soon heard movement as breakfast was prepared for those patients able to eat.  There was a tap on the door, although it was already open, and Thalion – one of the newest apprentices – entered, carrying a tray laden with bread, honey, and fruit.  “Lord Elladan?  I have breakfast for you both.”  He glanced at Elrohir, seeming a little nervous, and lowered his voice as he set the tray down.  “I will leave it here.”  He left again silently.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Elladan shook his twin awake.  “El?  Elrohir!  Wake up.”

Elrohir stirred and slowly opened his eyes, blinking a little.  He yawned, then smiled.  “Good morning.  I assume it is morning?   It is hard to tell here!”

Elladan nodded.  “Yes, morning.  Thalion has just brought us breakfast.”  He sat at the foot of the bed, wincing a little, but trying to hide his stiffness from Elrohir.  He should have known he would be unsuccessful.

“You look a little uncomfortable, brother dear,” Elrohir observed.  “Perhaps you need a massage, or a comforting bath?”  He grinned suddenly at some private thought.

“A bath would be an excellent idea,”  Elladan agreed.  “Breakfast can wait.  Come with me, talk with me.”

While Elladan soaked away the stiffness of abused muscles, Elrohir sat on the wide edge of the bath, one hand trailing idly in the water as they talked.  “I want you to consider what revenge we can take on Legolas,”  Elladan explained.   “I know we cannot force him to saddle Calegdal – you were right; it would be cruel.  And anyway, where would he find a saddle?”

“I suppose he could ride Alagos,”  Elrohir mused.  He sounded a little reluctant.  “Or better still, you could, and Legolas could ride Gilmith.  That way, you would both be on a horse you are unfamiliar with, and you would not have an unfair advantage.”

Elladan gazed at his brother suspiciously.  “ ‘I would not have the advantage?’  El, whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course.  But it would be fairer, and Legolas would not have any possible reason to decline,” Elrohir pointed out reasonably.

“No excuse to back out, you mean,”  Elladan clarified.  “Not that Thranduil would let him – he seems to think this is a matter of Lasgalen’s pride!”

“Well, if the honour of Imladris rests on your sorry shoulders, we shall surely lose,”  Elrohir teased his brother.  “Legolas and Thranduil need have nothing to fear if that is the case!”

Briefly, Elladan contemplated pulling Elrohir backwards into the water with him.  The thought was extremely tempting, but in the end he relented.  Elrohir could count himself lucky that Calmacil had not yet officially released him from his care.   Besides, the simple fact that his twin was still alive to tease him at all was worth endless insults.  Smiling, he leaned back in the water.  “If I have to ride that pitiful bag of bones you call a horse, we will lose,”  he agreed, in a calculated insult guaranteed to enrage Elrohir.  His brother was inordinately proud and fond of his horses.  “Perhaps I should lead Legolas into the Luithaduin, so he forgets all about the race – ‘tis our only chance!”

The response was not as expected, for the mirth in Elrohir’s eyes faded suddenly.  “The Luithaduin,” he repeated softly.  “Nólimon was teasing me about that, about the time I fell in.  El, what happened to him?  He was bitten as well.  Where is he?”

Elladan cursed himself for reminding Elrohir – he had hoped to wait until his brother was fully recovered.  He sighed.  “He died later that day.  I am sorry, El – I did not want to have to tell you.”

“Why not?  Were you trying to keep it hidden?  I scarcely knew Nólimon, but I liked him.  He did not deserve such a wretched death,”  Elrohir said rather bitterly.

“None do.  While I grieve that Nólimon is dead, I cannot help but rejoice that you are not.  Legolas told me that he was buried with all the honours and rites due to a Silvan warrior.”  Elladan stood and stepped from the bath, the quiet, light-hearted atmosphere destroyed by their sorrow over Nólimon.

Elrohir said nothing, but silently handed him a towel.  He remained silent, deep in thought, as they returned to their room and Elladan dressed.

Over breakfast Elladan tried to lighten his brother’s sombre mood.  “Legolas said that a friend of yours is due back from patrol today,” he said casually.

“Which friend?”  Elrohir asked at last.

“Taniquel,”  Elladan replied, watching the reaction.  He grinned at the sudden smile on Elrohir’s face.  What had begun as a case of hero worship on his brother’s side many, many years ago had had been returned, at least in part, and had developed into a close friendship.  There was still a deep affection between the two.

“Taniquel?”  Elrohir repeated.  “Is that why I have not seen her yet?  She was on patrol?”  He glanced at the loose robe he wore and grimaced.  “I need to change.”

Without waiting to be asked, Elladan picked up Elrohir’s pack.  “You may not have seen her, but she saw you.  She came here that first day, but you were not exactly – coherent – at the time.”  He said it teasingly, but Taniquel had been distraught at the sight of Elrohir’s agony, certain that he would die.  He had held her as she wept, unable to console her, for he had been convinced of the same, and they cried together.  He shook his head in an attempt to erase the memory, and pulled clean clothes, a dark blue tunic and leggings, from Elrohir’s pack.  “Here, little brother.  You may want to dress more smartly – unless you intend to walk through Thranduil’s halls like that?”  He indicated the sleeping robe with a grin.

Elrohir took the clothes from him, then paused.  “Why, El?”

“Why what?”  Elladan responded, a little puzzled.  He wondered what Elrohir meant.

“Why me?”  Elrohir asked, clearly continuing his earlier train of thought.  “Why did I survive, and Nólimon did not?  What makes the difference?”

Elladan shrugged rather helplessly.  He had been so caught up, first with Elrohir’s struggle for life, then overjoyed by his recovery, that he had never considered why some lived yet others did not.  “I have no idea.   I think this is something you will have to ask Calmacil when he comes.”  He moved around the little room, gathering together a few belongs that had become scattered and putting them in one of the bags.  “I will take these down to our room, then come back here.”  He paused in the doorway, staring hard at Elrohir.  “Wait for me!”

He hurried down to the room he and Elrohir always used when they visited Lasgalen, carrying the two bags, and dropped them onto to nearest bed.  He remembered the first time they had come here, when they had had a  furious argument over who would claim the bed nearest the window.  Elladan had claimed the right then, much to Elrohir’s fury, with all the virtue and superiority of being first-born.  Now he placed Elrohir’s bag on the disputed bed with a smile, recalling that eventful visit.  They had been so desperately anxious to see a real spider they had gone on a night-time excursion to find one.  He and Elrohir had been frightened out of their wits when a large spider dropped from the trees just behind them; and they had not discovered for many years that the ‘spider’ had been Legolas, with a cloth-wrapped bundle.  Even now, knowing it was a fake, Elladan was still half-convinced that the spider had chased them down the path.

He glanced around the room to check that all was ready, and crossed to the window to push it further open.  A table with two chairs stood by the window; a fire burned in the grate with two further chairs beside it, deep and comfortable.  Books,  a chess set, a decanter of wine and two goblets rested on the table. 

Elladan recognised the hand of Tionel, Thranduil’s steward, here.  Such small, personal touches would never have occurred to his predecessor Lanatus, who had a rather rigid outlook on life, and who had never forgiven the twins for some minor misdemeanour.  Happily, Lanatus now archived Thranduil’s library and records, where his pedantry and passion for accuracy were of some use.

All was ready – he just needed to find Elrohir.

o-o-o

As Elladan left, Calmacil came in.  “I want to be quite sure that you are well enough to leave,” he stated firmly.  “Sit down.  Take off your robe.”

With a sigh, Elrohir did so, submitting with as much grace as he could muster.  He waited while Calmacil felt his pulse and temperature, examined his back and chest, and questioned him closely.  He looked at Elrohir’s bitten arm carefully, pressing down on the nearly-healed bite.  “Does that still hurt?”

Elrohir shook his head.  “Not any more.  Calmacil, these bruises – where did they come from?”

Calmacil looked up absently.  “Hmm?  The venom causes the blood to thin, which leads to bleeding beneath the skin and internally.  The slightest pressure can cause this bruising.  They seem to be fading and healing well now.  Have you experienced any more dizziness?  Palpitations?  Blurring in your vision?”

Knowing how frustrating it was when a patient prevaricated and denied the obvious, Elrohir answered honestly.  “Nothing since yesterday, the first time I stood up.  Tirana startled me – I was rather afraid that I would collapse at her feet!” he confessed.

“Mmm.  Yes, she told me that.  She said that you were gripping the chair so tightly your knuckles were white.”  Calmacil chuckled.  “Did you think to hide it from her, that she would not notice?  She is too experienced for that!”  He straightened up from his examination.  “Well now, you seem well enough for now.  You can go.  But be careful, and remember that you will tire more quickly than usual, and sleep more, at least for the next few days.”

“I will.  Thank you, Calmacil!”  About to dress quickly, eager to leave, Elrohir paused.  “I mean it.  Thank you, Calmacil – and Tirana – for everything.  What you did for me, and what you did for Elladan.  He cannot have found this easy.”

Calmacil merely smiled, and waved him away.  As he left, Elrohir dressed in the clothes Elladan had left for him.  Even the simple act of wearing his own clothes felt better, and he glanced at himself in a mirror.  He still looked pale, he decided, but suspected he had looked a great deal worse a few days earlier.

“Ready, little brother?”  Elrohir turned to see Elladan leaning against the door frame, watching him with amusement.  “I am sure Taniquel will be glad to see you, no matter what you look like,”  he continued.  “Are you ready?  Then let us go.”

They walked from the infirmary, through the halls to the guest quarters.  Elrohir crossed immediately to the open window, leaning on the sill and gazing out over the trees.  He took a deep breath of the air and lifted his face to the breeze.  Already he could feel some of his weariness lift, and the slight depression that had dogged him since waking eased a little.  Even the sadness from learning of Nólimon’s death was not so oppressive.

He turned as he felt Elladan’s hand on his shoulder.  “Do you feel better, little brother?” he asked quietly.

Elrohir nodded.  “Yes, much better.  Not quite right, though.  Not yet.”  Although the light and air soothed him, he felt somehow both listless and restless at the same time.

“But when you consider the alternative?”  prompted Elladan.

“Considering the alternative, not too bad, I suppose,” Elrohir agreed with a smile. It was true.  Release from the infirmary had done wonders for his spirits.  “Come – I want to go down to the stables and see Alagos.  I have to explain why you are to ride him tomorrow!”

Elladan gave him a doubtful look and a resigned shrug, but to Elrohir’s relief said nothing, and followed him down to the stables.  A barrel half-full of windfall apples stood by the door, and Elrohir took one, biting into it absently.

“Those are for the horses,”  Elladan reminded him.

“I know – I  was hungry.  Alagos will not mind.”  Elrohir greeted Alagos, and the horse whickered softly, clearly pleased to see him.  He butted his head against Elrohir’s chest and munched on the apple noisily.  Scratching Alagos’s ears, Elrohir leaned against him wearily.  To his dismay, even the short walk to the stables had tired him.  He began to explain to the horse about the race the next day, smiling when Alagos snorted indignantly.  “I know, I know – I am sorry too,” he apologised.  “I would do it if I could, but think I would not be allowed.”

“You think right, little brother,”  Elladan commented from the door.  He turned as a clatter of hooves and voices came from the yard, and Elrohir watched as a few newly returned warriors entered. 

Among them was Taniquel.  Her expression was sombre, and it looked as if she had been crying.  She went to Elladan, placing her hand gently upon his arm.  “Elladan, I …”  She stopped, and bit her lip.

Elladan turned to her with a  smile and kissed her cheek.  “Taniquel!” he exclaimed.  “Welcome home.  It is good to see you again.”

Startled, she stepped back.  “Elrohir?” she asked him tentatively, with a mixed expression of surprise and hope.

“Is here,” Elrohir replied, stepping out from behind Alagos.  He smiled at her stunned expression, and hugged her tightly.

She returned the embrace with a wordless cry.  “I thought I would never see you again!  I so dreaded coming home this time – the last time I saw you, I thought – I thought …”

“I know what you thought.  But I am well now, thanks to Elladan and Calmacil and my father.  Calmacil has finally released me from his care, and I came down to see Alagos.”  He moved, putting his arm around her shoulders affectionately.  “Unfortunately, I had some bad news for him.”   

“Bad news?  Why?”

Elrohir smiled at her look of alarm.  “It is Elladan’s fault.  Legolas humiliated him yesterday, so now he wants revenge.”  Leaving Elladan to explain, he sat down on a bale of hay and leaned against the wooden partition.  He had seen this exhaustion in those he had treated many times before, but knowing why he felt it made it no easier to endure.  He could hear Elladan and Taniquel talking about him, but could not summon the energy to protest.

“He looks tired,”  Taniquel commented quietly.

“He is.  He tries to do too much, too soon.”  Elladan sounded exasperated.  “Calmacil told him to take care, but you know El.  He can be stubborn.  He should be in bed!”

“Never mind.  Elrohir, have you finished with Alagos?  Can you and Elladan help me carry these things to my room?”

Elrohir opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – to see Taniquel and Elladan watching him patiently.  “Yes.  He does not like the idea, but agrees.”  He stood, as Elladan picked up the heaviest bag and slung it over his shoulder.  By the time Taniquel had collected a second bag, there was only a blanket left for him to carry.  As they walked back to Thranduil’s halls, Taniquel slid her arm through his, and began to tell him about her patrol, and her recent promotion.  Her support was so welcome, and so subtle, he could not possibly object, despite his frustration at the necessity.

One thing was certain.  Even if he did have to take to his bed for the rest of the day, there was no way he intended to miss the race the next day.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  *Sigh*.  I thought I’d get to the race, and finish the story in this chapter – but it didn’t happen.

Chapter Nine – The Race

Back in their room, Elrohir sank into one of the fireside chairs with a sigh, feeling desperately weary.  He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again to glare at Elladan.  “Say nothing,” he warned.

Elladan spread his hands defensively.  “I was not going to!” he protested.  “I was not going to query the wisdom of venturing to the stables.  I was not going to mention that you were only allowed out of bed for the first time yesterday, or that the meal last night was the first time you had eaten in days.  I was not going to say –”

“Good!”  Elrohir interrupted sharply.  “Continue not to say it.  I know.  I know.”  He leaned back, propping his feet on a low stool.  “I needed to do something, El.  To get out; to feel alive again.  I just feel so helpless like this!”

“I know you do,” Elladan replied, more sympathetically.  “You are not a good patient, Elrohir.  I remember when I have been in your position; how I hated it – and how you berated me for not heeding good advice,” he added caustically.

Elrohir sighed.  “Am I really that bad?”  he asked.  “I seem to have put the fear of Eru into one of Calmacil’s apprentices yesterday.”

“Would that be Thalion?  I noticed how nervous he was when he brought breakfast this morning.  Although you were asleep, he looked at you as if you were a serpent poised to strike!  What happened?”  Elladan settled himself in the other chair, listening avidly.  “It is not like you, El, to terrorise younglings like that.”

“I know.  I hope I did not get him into trouble with Calmacil.”  Elrohir felt he should give his brother a little more explanation.  “He escorted me to the bathing room, and  offered to help me wash – as if I were some decrepit wreck!”  He watched as Elladan raised one eyebrow silently and eloquently.  “Oh, shut up, El!” he retorted inelegantly.

Elladan grinned.  “What did you say to him?” he queried.

“I said nothing; I just looked at him, and he fled in terror.”  Elrohir felt a little guilty at the memory.

“I am not surprised.  You can look horrifyingly like Grandmother at times,” Elladan reminded him with a laugh.  “It was foolish to send Thalion away though, if you were bathing – I know you were still feeling faint at times.”

“Father told me the same thing.  And I believe Calmacil may have told him that – there is little that escapes his notice.  I think I owe young Thalion an apology,” he admitted.

They sat in companionable silence for a while.  The fire crackled softly, and outside trees rustled in the breeze.  Elrohir felt his eyelids growing heavy, and jerked himself awake, frustrated at his weariness.  “El?  Do you want a game of chess?  I see the set over by the window.”

“Are you sure?  You look tired,”  Elladan said incautiously.

“Exactly - I do not want to sleep all the time!”  Elrohir snapped.   “I think I am capable of playing chess – it should not be too strenuous; and you do not need to worry that I will overdo it!”  He paused as he heard the irritation in his voice.  “I need something to keep me awake.  This will give me something to think about,” he added in more moderate tones.

Elladan nodded, and rose to move the table closer to where they sat.  “You will probably beat me again,” he said ruefully.  “You usually do.”

“Of course I will.  You are too impetuous; you do not think through your moves.  Besides, I am simply better than you,”  Elrohir told him with an air of great superiority.   Elladan lacked the patience to plan ahead in a game, and played with an impulsive recklessness that usually resulted in him losing.  Such impetuosity in real battle would have quickly led to his death, but there his brother was focused and disciplined.  Elrohir silently thanked the Valar that matters were not the other way around.

Elladan’s opening moves were fairly predictable; an attacking formation aimed at eliminating Elrohir’s opposition.  Elrohir studied the board with a frown.  His head ached, and it was difficult to concentrate on the intricacies of the game.  Then he smiled.  Elladan’s last rash move had left his tower exposed to Elrohir’s knight.  He moved, and took the piece.

Elrohir looked up in triumph, then frowned in confusion as Elladan sighed deeply, and shook his head.  “You have not fallen for such an obvious trick like that for a very long time, little brother,” Elladan said sorrowfully.  He moved again.  “Checkmate,” he said with irritating smugness.

Disbelievingly, Elrohir stared at the board.  From out of nowhere his king was now threatened, and there was nothing he could do about it.   He studied each piece in turn, but still could not see a way out.  He sighed with frustration.  It had been many years since he had lost to Elladan – he must be even more tired than he realised.  “Checkmate,” he agreed in weary defeat.  “Well done.  I did not even see that pitfall.”

“Will you listen to good advice now?  You look terrible,”  Elladan told him with his usual affectionate bluntness.

“Very well.  Go away and leave me in peace, and I will rest.  Go and tell Gilmith about the race tomorrow.”   Elrohir leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.  He was warm, and comfortable, and it was too much effort to move to the bed.  He could hear Elladan moving quietly about the room, but gradually all sound faded and he slept.

o-o-o

The next day dawned dull and overcast.  Low cloud hovered gloomily, and there was a clear threat of rain.  It was too late to postpone the race, though – word had spread, and a large crowd had gathered to watch.  There was much speculation and ribald comment about the outcome, and wagers were being placed on the likely winner, enthusiastically encouraged by Alfiel.

Elladan led Gilmith and Alagos from the stable, while Legolas carried the saddles.  He dumped them both onto the ground as Elladan inspected them and picked one up.  He pushed the other towards Legolas with his foot.  “This is Gilmith’s.  Do you need help to saddle him?” he asked demurely.

There was a ripple of laughter from those watching, but to Elladan’s surprise Legolas took the saddle and placed it on Gilmith, adjusting the straps confidently.  “I have travelled with the two of you for many years,” he reminded Elladan.  “I have seen you do this often enough – I should know how to do it by now!” he pointed out.  There was another flurry of betting at this.  For the first time Elladan felt a qualm of unease – perhaps Legolas would not be at such a disadvantage after all.  It never paid to underestimate him. 

He watched Legolas carefully as he mounted, smiling at his expression of discomfort as he settled into the saddle.  One or two crude comments were shouted out from the safe anonymity of the crowd, amid much laughter as they both walked the horses to and fro, each adjusting to an unfamiliar mount.  Elladan found Alagos restless beneath him – he was Elrohir’s horse through and through, and had never been ridden by another.  He leaned forward and patted the soft neck.  “Shh.  I know I am not Elrohir, but I will have to do for now.”  Elladan glanced around the clearing, searching for Elrohir.  “Look, there he is!”

Elrohir stood with their parents beside the post that marked both the start and  the finishing line, watching them, his face bright with laughter.  “Legolas, I hope you will still be able to walk by the end!” he called.  “You look a little uncomfortable!”  Alagos moved towards him, pushing his nose against Elrohir, still a little indignant at the thought of his new rider.  Elrohir stroked him absently.  “You will have to put up with Elladan for now, I fear – I am still forbidden to ride you – but I am sure he will look after you.”  He stood close to Alagos, and murmured something into his ear, then stepped back quickly.

Alagos snorted, and bucked sharply, twice.  Elladan, taken by surprise, nearly fell, and flung his arms around Alagos’s neck.  He glared at Elrohir.  “What did you say to him?” he demanded.

Elrohir looked up at Elladan with a grin.  “I told him that you called him a pitiful bag of bones, that was all.  He seems to have taken offence.  Good luck, El – do not let us down!  Just leave all the thinking to Alagos.”   Elladan scowled at him, and as he moved away, kicked Elrohir lightly on the shoulder.  Alagos snorted in disapproval.

Elrond stepped forward and caught his arm.  “Good luck.  Remember the honour of Imladris rides with you!”

“So there is no pressure on me to win, I see.  I will do my best, Father,”  Elladan promised with a grin.

Elrond glanced surreptitiously  over his shoulder.  “Do not tell your mother, but I have wagered Thranduil a gold piece on the outcome.  I think she may not approve!” he explained in a low voice.

Elladan grinned again.  “Your secret is safe with me,” he promised.

The two riders moved to the starting line, and at a signal from Thranduil, the race started.  The course they had to follow wove between the trees, sometimes on the forest paths, sometimes off them, across open ground and through thick undergrowth.  Elladan bent close over Alagos’s neck, ducking under low branches that could easily sweep him off.  When he could spare any attention to see how Gilmith was faring, he noticed that Legolas did not seem to have that particular problem, and recalled the odd affinity his friend seemed to have with the trees.  It was not that he suspected Legolas of deliberately cheating – he had too much honour – but the trees themselves seemed to be aiding him.  “Wood Elf!” he muttered to himself in disgust.

Alagos swerved sharply sideways, avoiding a muddy patch, and Elladan concentrated all his attention on the race.  With Gilmith, he and the horse moved as one with the ease of long familiarity.  Alagos felt very different, and sudden movements like that were unsettling.  They would have to work together to win.   At home in Imladris, he and Elrohir often raced for the sheer joy of it, and a keen rivalry had developed between the two horses.  Alagos would be just as determined to win as Legolas and Gilmith were.  “Come on, Alagos – we will do this together.  For Elrohir,” he urged softly.   The horse found a new turn of speed from somewhere, and streaked forward.

The mid-point of the course was a venerable oak in the centre of a clearing.  Two strips of cloth hung from the branches high overhead – to reach one, he would have to stand in the stirrups and stretch.  It would be easy enough, but he wondered how Legolas would manage.  He stood, reached high, and snatched one of the strips before dropping back into the saddle as Alagos looped around the tree and started back.  Risking a glance behind, he watched in amazement as the branch with the remaining ribbon dipped down towards Legolas as he passed beneath.  He faintly heard Legolas call ‘My thanks!’ to the tree, and swore softly.

More determined than ever, they streaked along the path towards the training grounds.  The final stretch was a straight gallop the length of the field.  The route was lined with spectators, cheering and shouting.  Most of the encouragement was for Legolas, of course, but he heard his own name called often enough.   As Elladan shot past Taniquel, he heard her cheering them both impartially and waved at her.  A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glimpsed Legolas gaining steadily as Gilmith strove to move ahead of Alagos.

The noise was deafening, and he felt a thrill of excitement.  Although he still hoped desperately that he and Alagos would win – for his parents, for Imladris, for Elrohir and for himself – it did not really matter in the end.  He had enjoyed the race, and there were far more important matters to rejoice over.   He leaned forward over Alagos’s neck.   “Come on Alagos – are you going to let them win?” he whispered into his ear.

With a snort of derision, Alagos tossed his head and made a final effort.  They crossed the line half a length ahead of Gilmith and Legolas, to cheers, shouts and tumultuous applause.   Celebrían’s hair flew around her in a silver cloud as she jumped up and down clapping her hands, as unrestrained as Arwen would have been.  Elrond clapped Elrohir on the back and said something that made him laugh and nod.

Elladan swung down from the saddle, and turned to greet Legolas first.  “Well done,” they said simultaneously, and laughed.  “Congratulations,” Legolas added.  “You did well.”

“As you did,”  Elladan agreed.  “Even if you did have a slightly unfair advantage.  Wood Elf!”

“Noldor snob!”  Legolas retaliated.  “I cannot help it if the trees favour me!”  He winced slightly.  “Though I cannot fathom how you endure that saddle.  I hope my father never has any desire for grand-elflings – I fear I may be permanently damaged!”  He stepped back with a grin.

Elladan was engulfed in an embrace by Elrohir and his parents all at once.  Their congratulations and praise warmed him.  Then he turned to watch as Legolas slowly approached Thranduil, walking rather carefully.

Legolas bowed to his father very formally.  “Forgive me, your majesty, for besmirching the honour of Lasgalen and the House of Oropher.  The Noldor used a fiendish torture device known as a saddle to defeat me.  I throw myself on your mercy.”

“The only loss is a single piece of gold that I gambled on your success.  I think the treasury can withstand it,”  Thranduil responded dryly.

Elladan looked around as Elrohir leaned close to whisper in his ear.  “He is not the only one to rue your win.  I think the good people of Lasgalen are regretting betting quite so heavily that their prince would be victorious.  Look!”  All around them small trinkets were changing hands.  There were many coins, mostly silver or copper, but there was an occasional flash of gold.  They both watched in amazement as Mireth approached Celebrían and gave her a small silver brooch.

“Even Mother made a wager!”  Elladan exclaimed in utter surprise.  He watched the crowd.  There was no resentment, but many congratulations and commiserations voiced, and an air of festivity.  He turned to Elrohir, who was laughing again at Legolas’s obvious discomfort.  The shadow of pain, fever and exhaustion had all but gone, and his eyes danced with mirth.  Elladan returned his smile.  “Remember today, little brother.  Today is a good day.”

The End

(There will be a short epilogue set in Imladris when Elrohir returns home)

Epilogue - Homecoming

As they approached Imladris, Elrohir felt unaccountably tense.  It was not that he was reluctant to be home – far from it – but he would be glad when this first day was over.  He knew there would be many waiting there, anxious to greet him and grateful for his recovery.  There would be feasting and song in celebration and thanksgiving for his return.  He disliked all the fuss and attention, but knew it was an inevitable part of the cost of his position.  Yet all he really wished to do was to retire to the peace and quiet of his own rooms.  Calmacil’s words of warning that he would tire more quickly than usual was still proving only too true.

The journey from Lasgalen – one which he and Elladan had made many times before – had been taken slowly, over several days.  Thranduil and Legolas had sent an escort of four warriors with them, who would return with the horses loaned to Elrond and Celebrían for the journey.

To Elrohir’s immense relief, the courtyard was nearly deserted as they rode beneath the archway.   Arwen – who had been left to run Imladris in her parents’ absence – stood at the top of the steps with a handful of others, waiting for their arrival.  As Elrohir dismounted, she dashed down the steps and hugged him tightly.  She was smiling, laughing and crying simultaneously.  “Elrohir!” she cried joyfully. “I am so glad to see you again!  I was afraid that you would not come home this time.  Welcome back.”  She hugged him again.

He held her close, and kissed the top of her head.  “Of course I came back, Ar.    I wanted to tease my favourite sister.  But where is everyone?  I expected a huge welcome.”

“Are you disappointed?”  she teased.  “I know you would probably prefer a quiet supper, but Erestor insisted there should be feasting and merrymaking to celebrate tonight.  You will see everyone there.”

Elrohir kept one arm around her shoulders as he turned to greet Erestor and the rest of the family’s closest friends and advisors, and finally Glorfindel.

“Elrohir!  Welcome home.”  They embraced briefly, then Glorfindel stepped back, studying Elrohir closely.  “You look well.  Better than I hoped.  When your parents departed so abruptly and dramatically by eagle, I thought – well, the most we hoped for was that they would reach your side in time.  That you would return to us was something we dared not imagine.  Imladris was a sombre place until we had word of your recovery.”

Elrohir nodded.  “I know.  I was lucky, and it is good to be home again.”  He looked around at those assembled.  “Thank you, all of you.  Erestor, I beg of you – at least allow us to wash and change before your feast!”

o-o-o

Later that evening, Elrohir climbed the stairs again, Elladan at his side.  The meal had been a joyous occasion, filled with greetings and good wishes, music and songs.  He had enjoyed it rather more that he had expected, surprised anew at the depth of genuine love and respect with which he was held in Imladris – but it was now over, and he looked forward to calm and quiet.  He still disliked being at the centre of so much attention – and had been immensely relieved when Elladan had subtly drawn the attention to himself, launching into a vivid, amusing and somewhat fanciful account of the race with Legolas.

They reached the corridor that housed their own rooms, and Elrohir paused outside his door.  “Goodnight, El.  I will see you in the morning.  Thank you for your performance!”

Elladan grinned.  “It was not all that highly embroidered, you know – the trees really did help Legolas!”  He yawned.  “It is good to be home.  Goodnight, little brother.”  He moved on to his own room, as Elrohir pushed open the door.  He was about to light a candle, but hesitated, then turned and left again. 

There was one person he wanted to see, needed to talk to – properly; which had been impossible during the course of the evening.   Glorfindel had been a friend, advisor and confidante for many years.  Elrohir had often turned to him for help – as  a child he had confessed misdemeanours he dared not tell his parents about, and throughout his life had sought Glorfindel’s advice on all manner of things.  There was a matter now that no one else could help him with, and at this time of night they were unlikely to be undisturbed. 

Knocking on the door, Elrohir heard Glorfindel’s reply.  “Come in!”  Pushing open the door, he saw Glorfindel sitting in a chair by the window, looking up in surprise  from the book he had been reading.  He set the book aside with a smile and stood.  “Elrohir.  I thought you intended to go to bed.  Come in.”

Elrohir shut the door behind him.  “Glorfindel, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.  To ask you.”

“Of course.  Come, sit by the fire.  Would you like wine?”  Pouring two cups, Glorfindel settled in the other chair next to the fireplace, gazing at the flames.  “Well?”

Elrohir hesitated for a second, wondering where to start.  “Glorfindel, a long time ago you told Elladan and me about the Balrog.”  Glorfindel, clearly surprised at this topic, nodded.  “You said …”  he paused, trying to remember what Glorfindel had said so long ago.  “You said you remembered falling, then nothing until you awoke.  Do you recall anything else, about – about when you died?”  He glanced at Glorfindel quickly.  “Do you mind talking about it?  I know you did not tell us the whole truth then,” he finished dryly.

Glorfindel averted his gaze from the fire, and stared at his cup in silence for a moment as he shook his head.  “No, I do not mind.   And you are correct that I did not tell you everything then – you and Elladan were very young, and sometimes a falsehood is justified.  There were details you did not need to know.”  He paused, lost in thought.  “I remember … after I fell, I could hear a voice – there was someone calling my name.  And I saw someone – there was a brightness about him; he seemed to be made of light itself.  There was such a sense of peace and happiness about him, such great love.  ”

“Námo,”  Elrohir whispered.

Glorfindel nodded.  “Yes.”  He suddenly looked at Elrohir sharply.  “Why?  Why do you ask this?  How do you know?”

“Because I saw him too,”  Elrohir explained simply.  “He called me, and bade me to go with him.  I was sure that it had happened, but then began to wonder if it had been  a hallucination, or some fevered dream.  But what you describe – the love, the peace – yes, that was it.”

“You saw Námo?”  Glorfindel repeated. He was silent for a moment, regarding Elrohir thoughtfully.  “I see.”

“I so nearly went with him,”  Elrohir continued slowly.  “If I had crossed the threshold … but I heard El calling me back.  I suddenly remembered him, and realised what my death would mean to him.  I knew I had to go back – but it was one of the hardest things I have ever done,” he concluded.

Glorfindel nodded thoughtfully.  “It must have been,” he agreed.  “I had nothing to go back to – and I felt such warmth, such comfort and security.  It felt like some sort of homecoming. To turn away from that – I could not have done it, I think.”  He remained silent for a moment, clearly remembering, then looked up and smiled at Elrohir.  “It is as well that you resisted Námo.  For all our sakes, especially Elladan’s.”

Elrohir laughed suddenly.  “Yes.  Do you know, Námo said a strange thing.  He said it was the second time I had turned away from him – yet I have never been quite that near to death before.  I wonder what he meant?  I suppose he could have been thinking of Elladan, when he had that poisoned cut on his arm.  Even the Valar cannot tell us apart!”

“Yes, that must be it,”  Glorfindel replied absently.

“Glorfindel?  Thank you,”  Elrohir said finally.  “I have spoken of this to El, of course – but he does not, cannot, understand – how could he?  No one else could, I think.”

“So you came to me?  You know I never mind.”  Glorfindel drank the last of his wine.  “Go to bed, elfling.  You may tell me you are well, but you look tired.”

Elrohir nodded.  “I am,” he admitted.  “Goodnight, Glorfindel – and thank you.”

Returning to his room, he lit candles, then looked up as Elladan entered from the living room they shared. 

“Ah, there you are, El.  I came to give this back – I wondered where you had got to.”  He tossed a tunic of Elrohir’s that he had borrowed at his brother.  “Where were you?”

“I went to see Glorfindel.  There was something I wanted to ask him,”  Elrohir explained.

Elladan raised one eyebrow.  “Whatever did you need to talk to him about at this time of night?” he asked.

Elrohir shrugged.  “Finding Námo,” he explained.

The End