Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter One

Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind! Henri Amul

Four year old Estel giggled as he ran through the garden outside the home where he had lived since he was two years old. Born Aragorn, son of the ranger Arathorn and his wife Gilraen, Estel had been renamed by Lord Elrond of Imladris when he came to live with the Peredhil family after the deaths of his parents. It was for Estel’s protection that his name was changed, for Aragorn was destined to be the King of Gondor, last of the line of Elendil, and the dark forces that ever grew in the world would forever seek to destroy him, thus ending the line of kings forever.

Hiding behind a flowering azalea bush, the boy peeked out to see whether or not the twins were on to his trail. Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond were, of course, quite easily able to trail the boy, but they would never have let him know this fact. Instead they made a great pretense of following all the wrong trails and looking everywhere but behind the pink blooms where their little brother now quivered with excitement as he hid from his brothers.

Lord Elrond had traveled to Lothlớrien to visit Arwen and taken Glorfindel with him. That left the twins to watch Estel while he was gone. They didn’t mind, for they loved the tiny human that brought such joy into their lives after the many years of pain and grief that they’d had after their mother was so brutally attacked by Orcs and then sailed to Valinor. For years the twins had poured out their grief and rage by killing every Yrch they could find, until the very sound of their names struck fear in the hearts of any who heard it. So fierce was their reputation that even humans shied away from the Elven pair. That is, until a two year old bundle of energy entered their lives.

With a great shout of glee, Estel jumped up to reveal himself to the two surprised acting elves.

“Estel, you’re the best four year old hider in all of Rivendell!” laughed Elladan, the older twin, as he scooped up the boy and tickled his tummy.

Estel squirmed in the twin’s arms. “No fair, Dan,” he laughed. Silver blue eyes crossed as he put his nose right against his brothers. “Don’t tickle!”

“All right, Estel,” Elladan laughed, pulling his face back so that he could uncross his eyes. Giving the boy a big hug, he turned and tossed him to his younger twin, Elrohir. “Catch!”

Estel screamed in delight as his brothers continued to play toss with him for a few minutes. Finally Elrohir called a halt to the game when he feared Estel would become dizzy from the excitement. He hadn’t forgotten the last time that had happened and Estel had ejected his lunch all over Elrohir, much to Elladan’s delight. “I think we’d better sit down for a while and play a quiet game.”

“No, Ro,” Estel whined, “wanna play!”

“I think you are in need of a nap, tithen pen,” Elrohir answered.

“No I’m not,” yawned Estel. “I’m a big boy now.”

“That you are,” agreed Elladan as he sat down on the grass and leaned back against a large decorative rock. “Come here, Estel, and I’ll tell you a story.”

Elrohir settled next to his brother while Estel snuggled on Elladan’s lap. Sleepy eyes looked up at the twin in expectation and Elladan knew that it would be only moments before the little one was fast asleep.

“Let’s see,” he began. “Long ago there was a mean, ugly troll named Elrohir that lived in the Misty Mountains.”

“Hey!” came the indignant reply from his side.

Estel smiled and stuck his thumb into his mouth. Elladan knew that he should probably do something about it since his father had been trying to break the child of the habit, but he didn’t have the heart to discourage him, knowing that Estel had only adopted the habit after the deaths of his parents. He decided that it was his prerogative to indulge his little brother and carried on with the story. Sure enough, within moments the boy was fast asleep.

The twins sat in companionable silence just enjoying the warm afternoon and listening to their little brother’s deep breaths. In truth, neither of them had ever expected to feel such peace again…had never dared to believe that they would feel anything but rage and hatred. Estel had changed all of that. All of the negative feelings had been transformed into an amazing amount of care and protectiveness towards this little human. Perhaps Lord Elrond had had more than just the hope of man in mind when he named Estel, for he had also become hope for his twin sons. Estel had reached into their lives with a healing touch that Lord Elrond had never dreamed possible.

Watching the sleeping child, Elrohir broke the silence. “Ada doesn’t want him to suck his thumb.”

Elladan couldn’t help but chuckle as the thought about the scene they’d witnessed a week ago.

Lord Elrond looked at the four year old with compassion. “Estel, if you continue to suck your thumb your teeth will be misaligned. This will help you remember not to put it in your mouth.” He held up of bottle of pepper sauce to show the boy. “Now give me your thumb, please.”

Estel obediently held out his thumb to be “painted” with the sauce. “There now,” the elf Lord said with satisfaction. “This worked perfectly on the twins.”

Both the twins winced at the memory.

“Yes, Estel,” said Elrohir, “Ada painted our thumbs every night.”

“We even tried to wash it off after he left the room!” added Elladan.

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow at that statement. “I never knew that!”

The twins just laughed and tucked Estel into his bed. With one brother on each side of him and his Ada standing at the foot of the bed Estel felt safe and happy. The boy also felt extremely satisfied for he had managed to “prank” both of his brothers and his Ada.

Estel was a very determined little boy, and though he had dutifully given Lord Elrond his thumb to paint, it was not the thumb that he sucked each night; it was the other one! All he had to do was wait until his Ada and gwadors left the room and he could comfort himself right off to sleep with his thumb tucked securely in his mouth.

“What are you thinking?” questioned Elrohir.

“I was remembering when Ada painted Estel’s thumb with the pepper sauce…the wrong thumb!”

Both twins laughed at the memory. They had gone back into Estel’s room later that night to check on the lad only to find the boy happily sucking his thumb and smiling his way though a dream. They were suitably impressed with their tithen gwador and had never told their father what they’d witnessed.

As the sun made its lazy path across the western sky, Elrohir sighed contentedly. “Elladan, look at him. He is so small and vulnerable. Death stalks a mortal in so many ways." Elrohir paused to watch Estel’s eyes moving beneath his eyelids. “He dreams. I wonder if it is a good dream or if the nightmares have returned? He’s innocent, and yet the evil of the world has already touched his life.” He shook his head sadly. “I swear to you I will never let it hurt him again so long as I can stop it.”

Elladan looked at his twin and nodded. He laid a gentle kiss to the top of Estel’s unruly hair and placed his hand on Elrohir’s shoulder. “And I swear that I will never let the evil touch either one of you so long as I can stop it.”

Elrohir smiled and jumped to his feet. “Come, it’s too beautiful a day for gloomy thoughts. Let’s put Estel in his bed and go do some target practice.”

“Brother, that is an excellent idea, even if I didn’t think of it!”

Elladan carried Estel upstairs to his room which was placed across the hall from his own. Elrohir pulled back the covers while Elladan laid down the sleeping child. Estel immediately turned over on his side, hugging the pillow as he did every night. It was the only way he seemed able to sleep, with his pillow grasped securely and his thumb in his mouth. He looked quite contented. Elrohir pulled the heavy draperies closed casting the room in a soothing shadow. The boy looked incredibly small beneath the intricately carved headboard depicting a hunting scene. They made sure that he was sleeping soundly and, leaving the door cracked open, they made their way back down stairs stopping only to retrieve their bows and a good supply of arrows. Estel usually slept for two hours or more in the afternoon so they should have plenty of time to practice.

Reaching the bottom of the carved marble staircase that dominated the entry hall of their home, the twins saw Lord Erestor, Seneschal to Lord Elrond, walking out of the library. “Ah, and what are you two young ones up to this afternoon? And where is Estel?” The dark haired elf lord had known these two their entire lives and had been the recipient of their pranks more times than he cared to admit. It was, he knew, always wise to be on your guard when any where near the vicinity of Elrond’s twins!

The truth be known, Erestor, as well as the rest of the inhabitants of Imladris would have them no other way. For too many years they had all watched the twins riding from the Elven sanctuary to rain death and destruction down upon the evil that roamed middle earth. For long months the twins would be absent only to return, as often as not, injured and bedraggled. Rather than healing, each trip seemed to bring the pair more torment of soul. All of Rivendell mourned for the twins, for the bitterness of their hearts cast a pall over Lord Elrond and the entire valley. Yes, he thought, he would take their pranks in stride and praise the Valar that the twins had found peace of mind and heart.

“We’re going to the archery fields, Erestor,” answered Elladan. It wasn’t that Elrohir couldn’t answer for himself, but he just naturally deferred to his twin. Elladan had always been the spokesman for the pair.

“Estel is asleep,” chimed in Elrohir. “Will you please listen for him?”

“I will, indeed,” answered the elf lord. “Enjoy your practice.”

The twins laughed and joked as they made their way to the archery field. It was the never-ending way of them to be locked in competition against each other. Yet at the same time so in tune were they that they could fight almost as one being, back to back with each anticipating the move of the other. It made them a deadly combination when they were required to fight. Elven immortality made for long years of practice and the perfection of defensive skills. Add to that the innate speed and grace of the first born and they truly become a force with which to be reckoned.

The bows the twins used were their pride and joy. Gifted to them by their maternal grandparents, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, they were of the finest craftsmanship in all Arda. The elves of Lothlớrien were famous for their bows. They were the perfect blend of weight, balance, strength, and beauty, and had been made exactly to measure for the twin sons of Elrond. Crafted from a single piece of mallorn heartwood, the bows were each covered in carved leaves and vines. Delicately intertwined in the vines were the twin’s names as well as those of their grandparents.

Estel’s dreams turned into the recurring nightmare…the one that often sent him running to his Ada’s bed in the middle of the night. The bad ones were there again. The bad ones wanted to hurt him. Before he was even fully awake Estel was off the bed and running for the door of this room. Turning to his right, he ran next door to his Ada’s room only to find it empty and quiet. Across the hall were the rooms of the twins, but they too were unoccupied. Estel was terrified that he’d been left behind and ran for the steps. Surely someone would be here to help him. He knew in his heart that his family would never leave him, but he was still caught in the throes of the nightmare. “Ada? Glorby?”

Estel had never been so frightened. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could. The tears ran down his face. He was close to the bottom when his foot missed the stair and the child pitched forward, falling down the last four stairs. He hit his face on the base of a large marble statue at the foot of the stairs and his world went black. A pool of blood began to spread around the child.

Translations:

Peredhil:  Half-Elven

Estel:  Hope

Yrch: Orcs

Tithen pen: Little one

Ada: Daddy

Tithen gwador: Little Brother

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Two

Traveling the Dark Journey

Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind! Henri Amul

Elladan had just raised his bow for another shot when his keen Elven hearing picked up the sound of Estel’s cries. For one, brief horrified moment his eyes met Elrohir’s before they both dropped their bows and ran for the last homely house.

Elrohir and Elladan reached the house just moments after Erestor had knelt at Estel’s side. Estel’s screams were piercing and like a dagger in the twins' hearts. “Erestor, what happened?” Elladan shouted over the hysterical cries.

“It appears that Estel fell down the stairs,” responded Erestor. “He lost consciousness for a moment and his lip is terribly cut, but I can see no other injuries. Come; let us take him to the healing wing.”

Erestor moved to pick up the child, but Elladan’s arm on his shoulder stopped him. “I will take him, Erestor. Elrohir and I will take care of him.”

Erestor hesitated for only a moment. He was no healer, but at the same time he knew what an ordeal it would be for either of the twins to have to work on their little brother. The elf lord inclined his head. “As you wish, but please let me know if there is anything that you need.”

“I will, Erestor, and thank you.” Elladan returned the elf lord’s nod as he gently picked up the panicked child. Little arms went around his neck like a vise, and the twin could feel the child’s blood soaking his tunic.

Elrohir had hurried to gather the supplies they would need as Elladan carried Estel, trying all the while to quiet the frightened and traumatized child. The site of all the blood pouring from his mouth, combined with the pain and the remnant of the nightmare had made him frantic.

Elladan spoke in soft Elvish trying to calm his baby brother. His heart was in his throat as he thought about what he was going to have to do. Laying the child onto the table that Lord Elrond used for examinations, Elladan and Elrohir stayed on each side of him trying to hold down his arms so that they could get a good look at his mouth. “Dinen, Estel, be still!” Elrohir begged the child.

The terrified screams were almost more than they could take. Elrohir soothed his brother while Elladan gently probed the cut that ran through Estel’s top lip. “Estel, Sîdh, tithen pen, pận natha mae.” Peace, little one, all will be well.

Estel’s sobs turned to quiet gulps as he tried valiantly to be a big boy for his gwadors. His bottom lip quivered and huge tears rolled down his face. Even though his lip hurt terribly, he wanted to be brave for his brothers.

Elladan met Elrohir’s eyes above their brother. “Prepare a sleeping draught for him to drink, Elrohir. I will need to sew the lip.”

Estel lost his fight to be brave when he heard those words. His wail of fright was not loud but it was heart rending to his brothers.

Elladan smoothed back his brother’s hair form his forehead and soothed the frightened child. “Avo ‘osto, Pen neth.” Do not worry, young one. As his hand smoothed Estel’s hair, he felt the lump that had formed just above the hairline. Concerned, Elladan began to probe the lump and look closer at Estel’s eyes. He found what he feared; the child’s eyes were slightly dilated. He also found bruising on the scalp around the lump.

Estel whimpered as Elladan probed the lump. “Dan, you look fuzzy.”

“Elrohir, hold. We cannot give him a sleeping draught. He has a concussion.”

Elrohir met his brother’s eye as he slowly lowered the herbs he was mixing. “I will get some clove oil. We can deaden the lip with that.”

“Good. While I tranquilize the lip, mix him a mild sedative. I would like him to be as relaxed as possible.” He smiled down at Estel as he spoke to Elrohir. “It will be well, little one. You trust me don’t you?”

Impossibly large silver eyes looked up at Elladan. They were watery from tears, but were gazing at him with absolute faith. The hope in those eyes humbled the immortal and Elladan was hard pressed to keep the tears from his own eyes.

Elrohir finished mixing the sedative and brought it over to the table. “Can you drink this, Estel?” Elrohir propped up his brother and helped hold the cup as Estel’s little hands went around it.

Estel brought the cup up to his mouth, but then stopped as fresh tears fell from his eyes. “No, it hurts, Ro.” Blood was still flowing freely from the cut which also interfered with the child’s attempt to swallow.

“All right, little one, just lie back. The clove oil will have to do then.” Elrohir leaned over the table so that he could hold Estel’s arms as Elladan began to gently dot the clove oil onto the cut.

Estel tensed but didn’t jerk. Never-the-less, Elrohir was prepared to hold down his arms should the need arise. Elladan would need the child to be as still as possible as he sewed the cut. Elrohir could see the dread in his twin’s eyes as he prepared the thread. Neither one would hurt Estel for the world, but this would bring pain to their little brother and there was nothing they could do to prevent it. It simply had to be done so that the lip could heal properly. Now he understood the true meaning of the dreaded phrase, “This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you.” Under different circumstances he might have laughed at the thought.

Suddenly Elrohir had an inspiration. “Estel, hold my hands. Hold them as tightly as you wish and squeeze them all you want if you need to.” This would be much better than attempting to hold down the frightened child and would give Estel a feeling of control over the situation. Elrohir could still move to hold the child’s arms if the need should arise, but he didn’t now believe that it would. “You are brave, Estel. The bravest boy I know.”

Pride shone through the tears in the boy’s eyes.

Elladan looked down and Estel and smiled. “I’m not going to do anything to you without telling you first, Estel.”

Estel nodded to his brother and let go of Elrohir’s hand long enough to reach up and place his little hand against his brother’s cheek. That simple gesture of trust was almost Elladan’s undoing.

Sensing his twin’s struggle Elrohir smiled and Estel and squeezed his hand. “You know, tithen gwador, with the scar that will leave you are going to look like a real warrior.”

“Really?” breathed the boy. He would have smiled at the thought, but the injury to his lip made the motion impossible.

“Really,” affirmed Elladan. “Are you ready?”

Estel sobered again, but nodded bravely to his brother.

“Hold my hands again, Estel,” encouraged Elrohir. “Squeeze them as tightly as you can and don’t move.”

Elladan leaned over his brother and began sewing the lip. Estel stiffened but did not move his head as Elladan quickly put in the necessary stitches. He blocked out all else as he worked, intent on keeping the stitches small and even to prevent any more scarring than necessary and yet insure proper healing. The lip would be a difficult place to heal with the constant moisture and movement of the site.

“That’s it, Estel, squeeze tightly,” Elrohir soothed and encouraged his little brother. “When did you get so strong, baby brother? With a grip like that you’ll be ready for the long bow any day now.”

Estel’s eyes widened and flew to his brother, but he didn’t move his head.

“That’s right, little one, keep very still for Elladan. It’s almost over now.”

Sure enough, Elladan straightened and smiled at his brothers. “All done… You did very well, Estel. I’m proud of you, tithen pen.” He picked up the child and enfolded him in a bear hug as he rocked back and forth. “All done, Estel, all done...”

Estel was content to rest his head on Elladan’s shoulder and be soothed by the twin. He felt incredibly safe in his gwador’s arms and his lip didn’t hurt nearly so much now.

“Elrohir, please get me some arnica. I will need to apply that around the lump on this little fellow’s hard head.” He smiled as he said that last bit. “We’ll also need a small wintergreen poultice to apply to over the lip for a bit. That will help with the pain.”

Elrohir moved over to his father’s work area to secure the herbs. His strength was in the making of herbal remedies and he spent long hours being taught by his father. He loved working with the different compounds and learning about the plants and fauna and their natural healing powers. He turned back to his brothers with the arnica. “Here, apply this while I make the poultice.”

Elladan took the arnica and sat Estel back on the table. “Here Estel, you hold the jar while I apply the salve. Does your head hurt?”

Estel nodded slowly.

“Am I still fuzzy?” inquired the twin as he gently massaged the arnica into the bruising and over the egg sized lump.

Estel nodded again.

Elladan smiled. “That is because of the blow to your head. It will pass, as will the headache. In the mean time this will help.”

Estel yawned; his eyes were growing heavier with each passing moment. “I’m sleepy, Dan.”

“No, Estel,” Elladan and Elrohir responded at the same moment. They locked eyes and Elladan continued. He kept his voice even so as not to alarm the child. “You must stay awake, tithen gwador.”

“Why don’t we take Estel out to the archery field?” Elrohir suggested. “We can get our bows, and on the way back we can go by and look at the fishes.”

“The bishes?” Estel asked excitedly! He forced his eyes open at the thought, for he dearly loved it when he was given the opportunity to visit the pond on the far side of the archery field. It was a small secluded pond that was brimming with gold fish, some of them were a foot long or more and Estel could watch their shimmering colors for hours at a time. Normally it was Glorfindel that would take the boy there while his brother’s practiced their archery, so this was going to be a special treat for him.

“Yes, the BISHES,” Elrohir assured. Normally the twins would try to correct the child’s pronunciation, but today he could get away with anything and they would not care. He would learn to say his “f’s” when the time was right, and at the moment they didn’t care when that was.

O-o-O-o-O

It was late in the night when Lord Elrond and Glorfindel returned to Imladris. They were not expected for several days yet, and certainly not expected to arrive in the dead of night, but the elf lord had felt a premonition some days previously that all was not well at home, and had insisted that they leave immediately for Imladris.

If Glorfindel was surprised at their sudden leave taking he didn’t show it. He was used to his friend’s far sight and trusted his judgment completely. Besides, he thought ruefully, when the twins were involved it was best to expect the worst!

Upon entering the house Elrond went first to his youngest son’s room. It was empty, though the bed was unmade. As Estel often came to either his or the twins rooms after having a nightmare, he was not overly concerned. However, when his anxiety raised a notch when he found the twins rooms empty as well.

It was then that he noticed a dim light coming from his own room. Moving quietly down the hall he paused in the doorway and sighed in relief. There, piled into his bed, were his three sons. The twins lay on either side of Estel. They had brought Estel's night light with them and it cast soft shadows on the wall as it gently illuminated the room.

Elrond was standing there smiling as Glorfindel walked up beside him and looked over his shoulder. “Now that is a scary site. They look altogether too innocent.”

Elrond raised his eyebrow and glared at his long time friend. “Are you impugning the character of my sons?”

Glorfindel just laughed softly. “Me, never, my lord.” He put his hand on Elrond’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. “It would seem that all is well, my friend. I am glad, for all our sakes.”

Elrond continued to smile at his sons, committing the sight to memory. He supposed he would hear the story of how they all came to be sleeping in his bed in the morning, but for now he would just enjoy the scene before him. For all of his days this would be a cherished moment for him to remember.

From the bed came a small whimper and Estel turned over onto his back revealing the horrendous injury to his upper lip. Elrond’s breath caught in his throat as he surveyed the damage and realized who must have had to do the sewing. He silently berated himself for not being here when his youngest needed him.

Yes, there would be much to hear in the morning, but for now he would leave the young ones to their rest. Walking over to the foot of the bed, he inspected the cut as much as he could without waking the child. The swelling had nearly doubled the lip and there was a redness forming around it that he did not like. He decided to spend the night resting in a cushion filled chair by the bed in case Estel should wake and need him. In truth, he was loathe to leave Estel as well. Even though he could see that his sons were safe, if not wholly sound, right in front of him, he could not shake the feeling of unease which had brought him racing back to Imladris in the middle of the night.

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Three

Test of Trials

Our trials are tests; our sorrows pave the way for a fuller life when we have earned it.--Jerome P. Fleishman

Elrond Peredhil allowed himself to drift into a light sleep. As a healer he had trained himself to awaken instantly at the slightest need of his patients, and so it was that the slight whimper from his youngest brought him immediately to wakefulness. He stood up and leaned over Elladan to check on Estel. What he found alarmed him.

He could see that Estel burned with fever and his lip was even more red and puffy. Elrond placed his hand on Estel’s forehead to verify his initial reaction and was surprised at the heat radiating under his hand.

His touch roused the child who looked up at his father with bleary eyes. “Ada?”

At Estel’s spoken word, both twins awoke.

“Ada,” Elrohir breathed, “When did you get home?”

“Ada,” Elladan echoed, “I’m so glad you’re here. Estel…”

“I know, Elladan,” the elf lord interrupted. “Peace, it looks as though you did a fine job with the stitches.”

Elladan seemed slightly unsure of himself. “How do you know it wasn’t Elrohir?”

Elrond just smiled as he reached across his older son to take Estel into his arms. “I know my sons. Elrohir prepared the herbs and poultice, did he not?”

“Yes, I did,” smiled Elrohir fully awake now. “It has been many years since we slept in your bed.”

Elrond smiled as his hand rubbed small soothing circles on Estel’s back. “Yes, not since your mother was here and you were very young Elflings. Those were good times. I would have them again.”

“Ada? Is Estel all right?” questioned Elladan.

Elrond hesitated only a second, knowing Elladan’s tendency to take responsibility for any and everything. “He has a fever, ion nín.”

Elladan jumped up and placed his hand on his baby brother’s forehead. “Valar, Ada, he’s so warm!”

“It will be well, ion nín. You know it is the way of the mortals.”

“What did I miss?” gasped the distressed elf.

Elrond could see the doubt in his son’s eyes. “Elladan,” he assured, “in all likelihood you missed nothing at all.”

“But Estel burns,” argued Elladan.

Elrond wished he could convince his oldest that he bore not fault for the situation. “From what I can see you did an excellent job.”

“Ada?” came the muffled word from Elrond’s shoulder interrupting the hushed conversation between the two immortals.

“Yes, penneth, I am here,” he soothed the child.

“I’m thirsty,” murmured Estel.

“Then we will get you some water to drink. Would you like that?’

The sleepy child just nodded his head and closed his eyes again.

“I will get Estel some water,” volunteered Elrohir as he rose from the bed where he had been listening to the exchange between his older twin and his father.

Elrond sat back down into the overstuffed chair where he had been napping. He settled Estel comfortably in his lap and smiled down at the child while he better examined the stitched cut.

Elladan kneeled beside the chair. “He also has a lump on his head, just above the hairline. Along with a headache, his eyes were dilated and his vision was blurred. We could not give him a sleeping draught because of it, and we kept him awake for another twelve hours.”

Lord Elrond smiled and raised his eyebrow at that. “That must not have been easy.”

Elladan chuckled softly at his father’s massive understatement. When Estel was sleepy their sweet little brother could turn into a raging warg, unhappy with everything. “No, it was not,” agreed Elladan.

The elf lord was pleased to see that his small ploy had worked and Elladan’s spirits were momentarily lifted and diverted from the guilt that he was taking upon himself. His fingers gently probed the lump on Estel’s head as he listened to Elladan.

“It took a trip to the pond, an archery demonstration, a ride on Celos…”

Lord Elrond’s eyebrow took another hike that this bit of information, for Elladan’s stallion Celos was large, fierce, and quite a handful for even Elladan to handle on occasion. Celos and Celon were, of course, identical like their masters. The stallions were snow white and the two of the most powerful Elven horses in Rivendell. The pair had been a begetting day gift for the twins from Gandalf four years ago. Celon was everything that a good Elven horse should be, but Celos seemed to have a mind of his own. Fiercely loyal to Elladan, he still could become feisty when the mood struck him.

Seeing his father’s reaction Elladan hastened to reassure him. “I promise, Ada, Celos was on his best behavior. We only walked gently along the trails to keep Estel awake and interested.”

Elrohir came into the room then carrying a pitcher of water and a goblet for Estel. He poured the glass full for his brother and sat the pitcher down on the bedside table.

Elrond sat up straighter in the chair and spoke gently to Estel. “Here is your water, ion nín.”

Estel smiled weakly at Elrohir as the elf helped him hold the glass to his injured mouth. It was awkward and difficult for the child to drink, but he managed to get some of the precious liquid down his throat.

Lord Elrond was not pleased with how little the child managed to drink. “Estel, try some more. Your throat must be quite dry by now.”

Estel nodded for his father and tried to drink some more. It was obviously painful.

The elf lord rose from the chair with Estel in his arms. “Elladan, take Estel while I make another poultice for his lip.”

Elladan took the boy from his father’s arms.

“Elrohir, come with me please. You can make some tea to lower his fever while I make the poultice.”

Elladan soothed his brother as their father and Elrohir left the room. He couldn’t help but frown at the warmth he felt radiating from Estel. It frightened him more than he cared to admit.

“Dan?” murmured Estel.

“Yes, tithen pen, I’m here,” cooed the twin softly. “Pận natha mae .”

Feverish eyes looked up to meet Elladan’s. “I’m cold.”

“Well now, I believe I can remedy that situation.” Elladan laid Estel back down onto their Ada’s bed and crawled in behind him. Rolling them over onto their sides, he spooned his little brother up against him and pulled up the soft blanket they’d brought in from Estel’s room last night.

Elves did not suffer from the temperatures like humans did, so Lord Elrond had furnished Estel’s room with blankets of the softest and warmest quality possible. The two brothers were now cocooned in Estel’s favorite, a buttery yellow one as soft as the down of a new chick. Estel called it his sunshine blankey. “Better now, little one?” Elladan questioned.

“Um hum,” came the soft response, and Elladan’s chin was bumped as Estel nodded his head up and down.

Estel put his thumb in his mouth but whimpered when pressure was put on his swollen, throbbing lip. He pulled it back out quickly and just kept it close to his chest.

Elladan wished he could grant his brother that small measure of comfort and his heart ached at his inability to do so. “Here Estel,” he purred soothingly has he wrapped his larger hand around that of his little brother.

Chubby little fingers wrapped around the elf’s thumb and brought a smile to the immortal’s face. “Better?” he questioned.

Soft bumps to his chin gave him the affirmative answer he was seeking as the little one nodded again.

Lord Elrond worked efficiently beside Elrohir in his laboratory. As he quickly and skillfully put together the poultice for pain remedy, for he had done so quite frequently over the years for his twins as well as for many warriors, he questioned Elrohir. “How was Estel injured?”

Elrohir sighed softly as he worked to grind the Echinacea root to be added to the tea that he would make next. Waiting to be prepared and included also were the tiny white yarrow flowers. Although quite bitter when put in tea, together the herbs had proven to be effective in reducing fever in humans and especially effective when they had been given to Estel on previous illnesses.

“Estel was taking his nap, Ada, and we were on the archery field. Apparently he had another of his nightmares and was running to find us. Lord Erestor found him at the bottom of the stairs.” Elrohir carefully put down the grated root and turned to face his father. His back rested against the ancient worktable as he pleading eyes sought pardon from his father. “We came in with all speed as soon as we heard his cries, but we were too late to prevent his fall.” A tear slid silently down his cheek as he lowered his head in shame. “He could have been killed. You left him in our care and we fail you both.”

His father’s hand cupped Elrohir’s cheek and gently nudged up the younger elf’s face. The compassion in his Ada’s eyes brought Elrohir in to his father’s healing embrace.

“Elrohir,” he consoled, “I did not question you to lay blame. By ascertaining what happened I hope to understand why he now suffers a fever. That is all.”

Elrohir stepped back and nodded his understanding, though Elrond’s eye could easily see that his son was still troubled. He knew that more than Estel would require healing over this incident and he made a mental note to continue assuring the twins that he laid not blame on them for the accident. In truth he had known the moment he saw his youngest that they would both be filled with guilt over the incident, whether it was their fault or not. It was just how they were with their little brother.

As Elrohir turned back to his herbs, Elrond sighed and returned to making the wintergreen poultice. As he worked with practiced movements, he let his mind drift back to the day when Estel had first entered their lives.

Elrond had been in his study preparing a parchment to be delivered to King Thranduil in Mirkwood when he heard a commotion coming from the front hallway. Sadly it was a familiar, if not completely welcome, sound. With an inward groan he carefully laid down the quill with which he had been writing and leaned back in his chair. Tiredly he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he wondered what trouble his twins had found this time. His hand moved from massaging the bridge of his nose to the taut muscles on the back of his neck as he sought relief from the sudden tension the return of his sons brought.

Oh, he loved his children more than anything else in Arda, but the pain and utter helplessness of seeing his sons being slowly torn apart by their grief and vengeance was becoming almost unbearable. More than anything, he wished that he could help them to understand that their mother’s need to sail to the gray haven was not a rejection of them or their family. Of course they understood that on an intellectual level, but inside their hearts had broken the day that they had rescued Celebrían from the hands of the Orcs and brought her battered and broken body home to Imladris, and it appeared to the elf lord that each new sunrise brought him closer to losing his sons as well. The bright, mischievous young elves who loved to play pranks had been replaced with two battle hardened Elven warriors who had made it their life’s mission to seek out and destroy every Orc in Middle Earth.

Elrond would have embraced that mission as well if it would have brought them peace, but he knew it would not. As an elf many centuries old, he understood that the path they had chosen would only lead his son into more darkness, but, it would seem, he was powerless to make them see that fact. The violence that began so many years ago was still as active today and threatened to destroy his entire family, for his beloved daughter Arwen had chosen to live in Lothlórien with her grandparents rather than remain here where her mother’s memory only caused her regret.

Standing up tiredly and pushing back his desk, Elrond walked from his study to see what he could salvage from this latest trek of his sons. He only hoped their injuries would not be too terribly serious this time.

Entering the hallway he was pleasantly surprised to see that both of his sons appeared healthy and uninjured, though they were both covered in orc blood. However, Elrond could also see red blood mixed in with the black, foul blood of the Yrch.

“Ada,” Elrohir greeted him. “We have news. The ranger’s camp was attacked yesterday. There were many deaths, including, I’m sorry to tell you, that of Arathorn.”

Elrond closed his eyes and absorbed the dreadful news. He shook his head sadly as he looked back to son. “These are evil tidings, indeed; the line of kings is severed then.”

“Not quite,” declared Elladan, as he walked over to reveal a tiny bundle to his father.

“This is Arathorn’s son, Aragorn. His mother is ill and has been taken to the healing wing.”

Elrond looked at the little boy trembling in his son’s arms. Large, soulful eyes looked out from the blanket in which he’d been wrapped and Elrond could see that his dark hair was a mass of unruly curls. He placed his hand on the baby soft hair and smiled sadly at the two year old. “You are all that is left of the line of kings, little one; that is a huge mantle for one so small.”

Elladan continued to soothe the child in his arms. “He saw his father fall, Ada, and has not spoken a word since. Will you see what you can do with him? Elrohir and I do not know what to do with a child such as this.”

“Of course, ion nín,” Elrond affirmed, as he took the shivering child into his arms. “He is in shock,” the elf lord remarked almost to himself, for his mind was already at work on the best course of action. “Has he any injuries?”

“No,” answered Elladan. “He was kept safe during the attack.”

“Good,” nodded Elrond. “Now, let’s see what we can do for you, little one. Elrohir, will you bring me another blanket, please? Elladan, ask Erestor to prepare some warm milk with cinnamon in it. That should help him to relax.”

“Yes, Ada,” the twins echoed as they left in different directions.

“And sons,” the elf lord added, stopping them both in their tracks, “I suggest you clean up once you have completed your tasks, for your appearance would frighten even one many years older than this child.”

The twins ruefully looked down at their bloodied cloths and nodded their assent.

“Ada,” Elrohir spoke, bringing Elrond back from his mental wanderings. “I have the tea ready.”

“And the poultice is complete as well,” came the reply. “Let us see how your brothers are faring.”

Translations

Celos:  Flowing snow

Celon: Stream flowing from the heights

Avo Osto:  Do not worry

Pận natha mae -  All will be well

Elladan’s Trials   For Estel

Chapter Four

Family of the Heart

The family--that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.--Dodie Smith

Elrond and Elrohir returned to the elf lord’s room to find Elladan wrapped around a sleeping Estel. 

“How long has he been asleep?” inquired Elrond, as he sat down on the side of the bed beside his oldest child.

“Only a few minutes,” came the reply, as Elladan sat up beside his father. “He was cold and dropped right off once I got him warmed up.”

“We need to awaken him so that he can drink this tea; it will help his fever.  I will apply the poultice to his lip first, though, so that its pain relieving qualities may facilitate his ability to sip.  I know that his lip is painful when he tries to eat or drink.”

Elladan leaned over and pulled Estel onto his lap.  “Wake up, sleepy head; Ada has some of his wonderful tea for you to drink.” 

Estel sat on Elladan’s lap facing Lord Elrond.  Even half roused from his sleep Estel reacted to the mention of his Ada’s dreadful tea. “No, Dan, I don’t want it.”

Lord Elrond inwardly groaned.  None of his sons liked the herbal remedies that they were sometimes required to drink, Estel least of all.  “Come penneth, let me apply the poultice to your lip.”

Estel shook his head and turned his face into Elladan’s tunic.

“It will make it easier for you to drink,” coaxed the elf lord.

“Don’t wanna drink,” came the stubborn reply.  Estel’s eyebrows were drawn together in the most fearful frown he could form.  It was what the twins called his obstinate look.

Elrohir had been listening to the exchange with a smile on his face. It always went this way.  “Avo osto, Estel, I fixed the tea, not Ada.  There is honey in it as well as the healing herbs.”

Elrond hid his smile.  The three had learned long ago how to persuade the child to drink his medicine.  Estel always balked at the idea of drinking the tea and Elrohir or Elladan always supplied the right amount of coxing, along with a bit of honey, to see the job done.  He leaned over towards his son to gently apply the poultice to Estel’s upper lip.  It did not appear to have swelled any more, but the redness was, if anything, more pronounced.  He was beginning to fear that the cut would require more treatment than just a poultice.  “There now… Let’s just allow that to act while the tea cools.” 

Elrond pulled up the soft yellow blanket and wrapped it around Estel while they waited the few moments it would take for the poultice to begin working.  He did not want his son to become chilled while he sat up on Elladan’s lap.  He took the child’s feet into his hands and began to massage them gently as they waited.  The practiced movements brought a small sigh from Estel.  Elrond often employed the soothing massage to Estel’s feet to help relax the child when he was fretful.   Presently he took the cup from Elrohir and helped his youngest to drink the treated tea.  “Slowly now, Estel, but you must drink all if it is to do the job.  Can you do that for me, ion nín?”

Estel stopped drinking long enough to give his father a small nod.  The poultice had made it easier for him to drink, and even if the tea didn’t taste exactly good, it felt wonderful going down his parched throat.

“That’s good, Estel,” praised the twins. 

“Ada,” declared the child as he handed the empty cup back to his father, “I got to ride Celos!”

“So I heard,” chuckled the elf lord. 

“Dan says when I am a big boy I may ride him all by myself,” bragged the sleepy boy, a small yawn finishing off the declaration.

“A very big boy, Estel,” qualified Elladan.

“That is good,” announced Elrond, “but first I think you are in need of a nap.”

“But I’m not sleepy,” entreated the child, as another, bigger yawn negated the statement.

“Would you be more comfortable in your own room, gwador?” questioned Elrohir. 

“No!” wailed the child, clinging to Elladan. “Dan, don’t make me,” he begged.

The twins shared a look of concern with their father as Lord Elrond took the boy into his arms to soothe and reassure him.  “You may stay here in my bed, Estel.  I’ll prop up the pillows cover you with your sunshine blankey.”   To any one other being in Middle Earth the prospect of hearing the esteemed Lord Elrond, the most powerful Elf in all Arda, utter the phrase “sunshine blankey” would have seemed preposterous.  Only a father could use that phrase with complete sincerity and never bat an eye.  “Would that be acceptable?”

The smile that greeted that statement was all the confirmation that he needed. “Will you stay with me, Ada?’

“I will be right here beside you, ion nín,” promised Elrond as he gently laid the boy back onto the fluffed up pillows.  Within minutes Estel was sound asleep, looking quite small and vulnerable in the huge bed. 

“Ada, why do you think he was so disturbed by the prospect of going to his own room,” questioned Elrohir softly so as not to awaken the Estel.  Because of their Elven hearing the three could easily hear each other.

“I do not know, Ion nín,” mused Elrond.  “You said that he sounded frightened before he fell.  Perhaps the nightmare he experienced is still upsetting him.”

“Whatever it is, his nightmares are getting worse instead of better,” worried Elladan.  “What are we going to do?”

Elrond looked down at his sleeping youngest and sighed.  “We will have to give that some thought while Estel is healing.  For now, one of us will stay with him at all times.  If he has another nightmare we will be able to comfort him immediately.”

“We’ll stay,” volunteered the twins in tandem.

“Why does that not surprise me,” intoned Elrond as he tucked the blanket around Estel’s shoulders.  “Very well, I will be in my study.  But first, I believe I will have a look in Estel’s room to see if there is anything that I can notice which might be bothering him.”

The twins were bickering softly over who was the best at archery as he left the room, bringing a smile to Elrond’s face.  It was truly music to his ears.

OoOoOoOo

“Elladan, Elrohir, go!” commanded Elrond.  “I will watch over Estel.  There is no need for the two of you to stay cooped up in this room as well.  Please, go outside and get some fresh air.” 

It had been two days and the twins had not left this room for more than a few moments, and never at the same time. 

“But Ada,” cried Elrohir looking at Estel, “What if he gets worse?”

“What if he needs us,” chimed in Elladan.

“You have my word; I shall call you if there is any change,” promised Elrond.  “I am quite capable of taking care of him.  Besides, it will do you both good, and perhaps Erestor will not do as he promised and throw you into the Bruinen.”

“Throw us into the Bruinen?” sputtered Elladan.

“Why would he do that?” interjected Elrohir, looking from his brother to his father.

“Elrohir Peredhil,” scoffed the elf lord, “do not take that innocent tone with me.  I know exactly what the two of you have been up to; and you know as well as I,” he continued before either twin could open their mouths, “that Erestor tolerates no interference with his running of the household.  You have been bored here these last two days and have been attempting to alleviate that boredom at Erestor’s expense.”

As if on cue, Erestor swept into the room sending a mock glare at the twins as though they were Elflings, which to an elf of his years, they were.  Tall and stately, as all elves are, Erestor emanated a particular dignity unique to himself.  He had made it his life’s mission, or so it seemed to the twins, to see that the last homely house ran with the precision of a well-oiled machine.  “Come, come, out with you,” he chided, as he motioned the two out with small movements of his hands.  “All of you,” announced, looking pointedly at Lord Elrond.

“I?” blustered Elrond before gathering his wits and pulling himself up to display his full authority.  “I am not leaving Estel.”

“Now, my lord, do not try that on me,” replied Erestor, sounding much like Elrond had only moments before. “You three are not the only ones here who love the little one.  Why, one would think that you believe you are the only elves here that can properly care for him.  Out with you; a few minutes away from here will benefit you as well.   Besides, this room is beginning to take on the pall of a sick room and I intend to remedy that situation right now.”

The object of all their discussion was presently sitting up in the bed watching the scene with great amusement.  As badly as he felt, he could still enjoy a commotion such as this.  The twins loved to butt heads with Erestor, and Erestor rather seemed to relish the mock confrontations as well, much to the delight of the four-year-old.

“Erestor,” Elrond replied with all the dignity and authority he could muster, “I am not leaving.”

For a few moments the two elf lords stood practically toe to toe.

“Very well,” the seneschal conceded, knowing full well when he was out-ranked, “but I shall be airing out this room.”  Turning to the twins he gestured them out.  “You two I can manage.”

Reluctantly, with a last longing look at their brother, the twins allowed themselves to be shooed from their father’s room.

“We’ll bring you a snake to see, Estel,” promised Elladan as the two moved down the hall.

“You will not!” came the indignant reply of the seneschal in response.

The three could be heard arguing good-naturedly as they moved down the hallway.

Elrond breathed a sigh of relief at the sudden quiet and sank down into the chair where he had been holding vigil for the past twenty four hours.  Estel’s fever had so far shown itself to be quite persistent.  He would give the child herbal teas which would bring down the fever for an hour or two but then, inevitably, it would begin to creep back up.

Now that the excitement had died down, Estel moaned softly and looked at his adopted father.  The elf lord could see that the lip was an angry red underneath the well formed stitches.  He had been hoping that the fever would respond to his treatment and what he now knew would have to be done would not be necessary. 

There was an infection in the lip.  Some minute particle of dirt or foreign object must have remained inside the cut when Elladan sewed it up.  It had since contaminated the child’s system and its foul offage was showing itself by a pale yellow tinge imbedded in the swollen, tender skin around the cut.  Elrond knew that the site would need to be irrigated and drained if the child was to heal.  It was one reason he had wanted the twins out of the room.  Both were trained in the healing arts, but working on warriors and working on a four year old were quite different things.  It had been emotionally draining enough for them to have to sew the lip in the first place.  He was not about to allow any further trauma to come to any of his sons, if he could help it.

The quickest method of treatment would simply be to lance the site with a sharp knife, but Elrond was loath to subject his youngest to that method. 

Estel was squirming slightly on the bed, as though he could not get comfortable.

“Would you like to sit over here with me, for a while, Estel?” questioned the elf lord.

“Yes, Ada, please,” begged the child.

Elrond rose from the chair and picked up Estel.  Grabbing the blanket he wrapped his son warmly and sat back down with the child in his lap.  Estel sighed contentedly and snuggled in his father’s embrace. 

Outside the afternoon shadows painted the pair sitting in an ancient tree just off the balcony to Lord Elrond’s room.  It was as close as they could get to their baby brother and still obey their father.

“Can you see anything?” questioned Elrohir.

“No, only the back of Ada’s head, though I think he is holding Estel in his lap.”

Both settled on the limb to keep watch…just in case…or so they told themselves.  For about an hour they sat staring at the window, occasionally chatting about nothing and everything.  It was nice to be outside, they had to admit, and the warmth of the sun lulled them to a deep state of relaxation.

“Brother,” mused Elrohir, “why is it that we always seem to find trouble?”

“We don’t find trouble,” explained Elladan, “it finds us.”

“I don’t think so…  I think we find it.”  Elrohir’s legs dangled off the limb, swinging back and forth lazily.

“We do not…”

“Yes, we do..”

“Do not!” exclaimed Elladan, raising his voice slightly for emphasis.

“Yes, you do!” came the deep voice just behind them, startling both the young elves and causing them to nearly jump out of their skins.

“Glorfindel!” exclaimed Elladan, grabbing the limb to regain his balance.  His heart was beating at three times the normal rate, and he had to take several deep breaths before he could speak.   “How did you get up here without us hearing you?”

The elf lord chuckled softly, not to mention with great satisfaction, as he settled onto the limb beside the twins.  “Wargs could have climbed up this tree and you would not have heard them the way the two of you were bickering.  I have warned you about that flaw since you were Elflings, have I not?”

Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer, trained all the warriors at Rivendell and was also charged with the defense of the valley.  He had trained the twins and often sparred with them both at the same time, just to keep his skills sharp.  Both twins adored the golden haired warrior, and had for as long as they could remember. 

“Why are you out here?” asked Elrohir.  “Did Erestor banish you from the house as well?”

“Erestor,” snorted the fair being, “said that he was tired of seeing me loiter in the hallway outside your Ada’s room.   Loiter!”

The twins couldn’t help but laugh at the elf lord’s indignation.  Only Erestor could rile Lord Glorfindel like this.  No other being, with the possible exception of their father, would dare.

The three Eldar sat idly, if not somewhat dejectedly, on the limb just waiting until they could re-enter the last homely house and resume their vigil over Estel.

Inside, the master of Imladris sat holding his youngest while Erestor moved around the room cleaning, straightening, and generally making the room fresher.  The drapes had been pulled back to allow the air to carry the delicate scents of the various garden blossoms into the room, but Lord Elrond was aware of none of it.  The healer in him recognized what the father was loath to admit; the injury to his son was going to require more drastic measures…and soon.

Elladan’s Trials,  For Estel

Chapter Five

Friendship, Loyalty, Love

The best things in life are never rationed. Friendship, loyalty, love, do not require coupons.--G. T. Hewitt

Lord Elrond Peredhil resisted the urge to sigh again.  “Erestor, can you see them?”

The elf lord continued his straightening and worked his way over to the terrace entrance. “Yes, my lord,” he answered, “they are still perched out on that tree like three magpies.”

Elrond smiled to himself at the comparison.  “Then now would be a good time to proceed.  Pull the draperies, please.  I do not want them involved in this procedure.”

Erestor gave a cursory nod to the three beings suspended outside just off the balcony and with a small smile on his face, pulled the draperies closed, casting the room in shadow. 

From outside three heads immediately snapped up, frowns reflected on each face. 

“What is he doing?” questioned Elrohir.

“I can’t believe it,” echoed Elladan.

“I am gong to strangle that haughty elf,” growled Glorfindel.  “Is it not bad enough that he cast me out of the house like, like, refuse?” the warrior sputtered in indignation.   It’s not that he really expected any answer from the twins, so much as it was just the pure satisfaction he derived from speaking the words aloud.

The twins knew enough to let their teacher and friend vent his emotions.  It was an ongoing battle of wits between the dark haired seneschal and the golden warrior of Imladris.  Neither would admit it, but they were the best of friends and thrived on their verbal jousts. 

“What do we do now?” Elrohir questioned forlornly.  “Ada said he did not want to see us back inside until dinnertime, and that is still an hour away.

“Why don’t we find that snake we promised Estel?” replied Elladan, trying to work up some enthusiasm for the task. 

“I thought Erestor forbade you to bring a snake in the house?” queried Glorfindel.

Two identical heads turned his way, but a pair of raised eyebrows was all the answer the twins gave.

A wicked smile crossed Glorfindel’s face. “I seem to remember that Erestor is deathly afraid of snakes.  I do believe that I will help you find one.”

O-o-O-o-O

Inside, in Lord Elrond’s room, Erestor had built up the fire, boiled water for tea, brought in linen strips of material and lit several spirit lamps to provide additional light. The elf lord had changed from the robes he had worn as he straightened and cleaned the room as well.  The deep sleeves of the dove gray robe he now wore were rolled back to facilitate his assistance with the procedure on the child.

Elrond gently laid Estel down on the bed and made sure he was covered warmly by his sunshine blankey.  Even with the warmth it provided, the child shivered almost uncontrollably.   Elrond sprinkled some yarrow into the weak herbal tea.  Erestor had thoughtfully provided a honey pot from which Elrond measured out a generous amount to be added to Estel’s drink.  The elf lord worked quickly but exactingly to ensure that the amount was only enough to make the child drowsy.  It would be ideal for all concerned if he could put the child to sleep, but with his fever so high Lord Elrond feared to anesthetize him completely.

Easing his arm behind Estel’s back and helping him to sit up, the elf lord spoke softly to him.  “Ion nín, can you drink this for Ada?”

Estel’s glanced up at this father with dulled, glazed eyes. 

The elf lord was not even sure that Estel recognized him at this point.  Carefully holding the cup to his son’s mouth, Elrond helped and encouraged the child to drink the precious liquid.  Once the cup was completely empty, Elrond eased the boy back down.  The worried Noldor sat quietly waiting by his son’s bed as the medicated tea relaxed the child and hopefully lowered the fever raging through the tot once more.  

“My mouth hurts, Ada,” Estel murmured softly from where he lay.

“I know, Pen-nîn tithen; the infection is causing pressure that makes the injury throb.  Once the pressure is relieved it will be much less painful.”

Strong fingers eased through the baby soft hair, further relaxing the boy.  He turned to ask Erestor for the clove oil only to find the seneschal already standing by his side with the oil.  Erestor had even warmed the oil so that it would cause less disparity against the child’s overheated skin.  Elrond turned grateful but concern-masked eyes to his long time friend and nodded his thanks. “Hannon lle.”

“Avo bedo o hannad, hîr nín, but no thanks are necessary,” assured Erestor. “I have been your friend since we fought together at Gil-galad’s side, and that will never change.  Your sons are as my sons; my service will always belong to the Lord of Imladris and to his house. Hebo estel, hîr nín, think of your son’s name. ”

From the bed, sleepy silver eyes turned to Elrond.  The weakness in his voice cut straight to the hearts of the two immortals.  “Is it going to hurt, Ada?”

“Perhaps a small bit, Estel, but it should not hurt much.”  Elrond ever so gently dabbed the clove oil onto the child’s cut lip.  “Very good, Estel,” he soothed. “Now I am going to place some warm cloths onto your lip.  They will not burn you, my son,” he hastened to assure. 

A small hand slipped out from beneath the covers to rest on the elf lord’s knee, as though the small contact was all the child needed to be assured of his father’s comfort. 

The touch was almost the esteemed elf’s undoing.  Forcing his feelings down, he lovingly smoothed back curls from the feverish brow before continuing his gentle ministrations.

”Restor?” asked the boy as he watched the two work in unison and with an economy of movement achieved only by the elves.  “Will you stay with me too?”

“I would be most happy to stay with you, penneth.  Perhaps you will let me tell you a story while your Ada goes to take some dinner tonight.”

Elrond reached over the bowl of warm, treated water, which Erestor was now holding for him.  He dipped a linen strip into it and thoroughly wrung out the cloth before placing it on Estel’s lip.  “Is that too warm, Estel?” questioned the immortal.

Estel gave a small shake of his head. 

“That is good.  Now we will just let that stay on your lip until it begins to cool slightly. 

While the cloth cooled on Estel, Erestor kept the other water warmed by placing the bowl over a specially made spirit lamp.  The temperature of the water was maintained by a small valve which enabled the seneschal to regulate the size of the flame.  

After Elrond had repeated the procedure several times until he determined that the lip was sufficiently soft.  He picked up a small dagger which was used in the healing wing and held it over the flame of a lamp.   Careful to show Estel what he was doing, he moved back beside the bed.  “Estel, I am going to put a tiny prick beside the stitches which Elladan put into your lip.  The clove oil and the treated heat has deadened and softened your injury.

Fearful eyes met his and the elf lord paused to comfort his son as two fat tears rolled down the side of the child’s face.  “You know that I will be as gentle as I can, do you not?” the lord asked.  His finger tenderly wiped the tears that clung to Estel’s fever brightened cheeks as he conveyed all the love that he could into the look he gave his son.

Taking a shuddering breath, the little boy tried to stop the quiver that overtook his bottom lip.  Mustering all the courage his little heart possessed, Estel stopped the tears and nodded to his father.  “It is all right, Ada; I am a big boy.   Dan and Ro wouldn’t cry, would they?”

Elrond smiled down at the little one who had so stolen his heart.  “Your brothers are going to be very proud of you, Estel, and very impressed.  I feel certain that this shall earn you another ride on Celos.”

“Would you like to hold my hand, Estel?” asked Erestor.  “Lord Glorfindel once held my hand when he was wounded and your Ada had to take an arrow from his side.”

“He did?” the boy asked in wonder.  “Truly?”

“Yes, truly, penneth,” replied the advisor.  “And he is a very brave elf, is he not?”

“Yes,” nodded the boy, “almost as brave as Ada.”  Reaching out his little hand he allowed the older elf to enfold his tiny fist.  Estel’s chubby fingers wrapped around Erestor’s thumb as the immortal patted his hand.  The child had been unable to suck his own thumb since the injury to his upper lip, but still found some comfort in holding onto one.

With a small nod to his advisor, Elrond picked up the dagger again and swiftly, but gently, made a small incision.  Immediately the foul bloody yellow offage began to stream from the cut as the pressure was released, and the elf lord used the damp linen strips to clear the drainage with small pats.

Estel flinched but did not turn his head.  The only other indication of the child’s discomfort was the quiver in his bottom lip and the slight pressure his hand made on his father’s knee.

“I will tell you something else about Lord Glorfindel if you will keep it secret,” Erestor told the child as a way of distraction.  His ploy worked, for two curious blue eyes quickly met his.  Erestor smiled at the child.  “Yes?  Then it will be our secret.”

The blue eyes of the child looked back at his Ada, who was continuing to clean the discharge form his lip, and then back to Erestor.

“Ah, I see,” nodded Erestor.  “Well, it is permissible to speak in front of Lord Elrond.  You see, your Ada knows this secret and has for many long years.  He will not tell.  The secret is that I truly do not dislike Lord Glorfindel; I only pretend to argue with him.  It keeps him humble, you see.  You won’t tell him, will you?”

Estel looked bemused for a moment.  Small eyebrows knotted together as he considered Erestor’s word.  Elrond noticed and stopped dabbing the wound, which was now beginning to run clear.  “Restor, I think Glorby already knows that secret,” Estel said seriously.

The seneschal glanced up at Lord Elrond and then back down to Estel. “Now that is a very wise thing to say, penneth.  Are you sure you’re just a little boy and not a 2000 year old elf?”

A large sigh and sleepy eyes were the only answer he received.

Elrond finished cleaning the last of the drainage from the tiny incision and bandaged the cut.  Setting aside the dirtied linen strips, he took Estel into his arms.  “There now, ion nín, that should feel better.”

Little arms went around the elf lord’s neck.  “It does, Ada, I don’t feel the beat in it like I did.”

Wrapping the blanked securely around his son, Elrond moved over to the chair as Erestor removed the supplies.  He settled back into the seat as he cradled his son.  “Sleep now, my Estel,” he crooned softly, humming a tune that Celebrían has used to sing the twins to sleep when they were Elflings.  As Estel’s eyes slowly closed, Elrond found himself praying to each and every Vala he could think of that this would do stop the infection and allow his remedies to lower his son’s fever.

O-o-O-o-O

Outside, the sun had finally sunk beneath the hills which protected this hidden valley.  By the silvery light of the newly risen moon the three elves were scouring the garden in search of the illusive snake with which to amuse Estel and, in Glorfindel’s case, irritate Erestor.  Of course the three elves would not let the child handle the snake.  Non- poisonous or not, the creature could carry germs, and that was the last thing that Estel needed in his present condition.  Besides, none of the three wished to taste the ire of Lord Elrond should he actually see them brining a live snake into his bedroom.  They would have to be careful about how they went about this particular prank.

So intent were the three upon their quest that they failed to notice the regal elf standing in the entryway to the garden.  Erestor was quite amused at the sight of the famed balrog slayer down on his hands and knees muttering to himself and up to his waist in a particularly bushy plant. 

“Now where did that blasted thing go? I know I saw it slither in here!”  If anything, Glorfindel moved further into the bush, leaving only his backside sticking out at an absurd and extremely undignified angle.

Identical heads popped up from behind a nearby holly plant.  “Have you found one?” questioned Elrohir.

“Oops,” stammered Elladan as he caught sight of Erestor.

The elegant elf held a graceful finger to his lips and motioned the twins to keep quiet.  Laughter sparkled in his eyes as he glanced back at the oblivious Glorfindel.

“Come on, little snakey, I won’t hurt you,” lured the warrior, wiggling the bush.

Erestor had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. Oh, this was a sight he was going to cherish for millennia.  “I must say, Lord Glorfindel, thankfully this is a side of you I am not used to seeing.”

All movement in the bush froze at the pronouncement.  For his part, Glorfindel hoped that this was a bad dream and that he did not actually hear what he just thought he heard, for that would be unthinkable!  Easing out of the prickly plant, the golden warrior glanced back over his shoulder and winced at the sight that met his eyes.  “Oh Nárendur!” he swore to himself in the high language; “I shall never live this down!”    With as much dignity as he could muster, the elf lord stood to his feet and dusted off his knees and hands.  Small sprigs of greenery clung to his silken hair.  Clearing his throat slightly, he nodded to the seneschal.  “Erestor, how is Estel?”  

Delight danced through Erestor’s mind as he enjoyed the immortal’s unease.  “Attempting to change the subject, are we?”

“Not at all!” thundered the embarrassed warrior.  “I am simply concerned for the welfare of my Lord’s youngest.”  He pulled himself up straighter and crossed his arms impatiently.  “Well, are you going to tell us or must I drag it out of you.”

Fighting down his smile Erestor glanced from Glorfindel to the twins, who had joined them.  “First, wash up and change your clothes, and then come to the Hall of Fire. Lord Elrond will address you there.”

Alarm shot through Elladan and he roughly grabbed the seneschal by the arm.  “Has something happened to Estel?  Tell us, please Erestor!  I cannot simply wash up and wait if my brother is worse.”

Erestor patted the hand which held his arm.  “Peace, Elrondion, all is well.  I believe that Estel will be fine now, and your father will explain everything to you.  I am going back to sit with the child now while my Lord takes some nourishment.”  He gave the twins a searching look.  “Go, eat with your father.  He needs your comfort now, for it has been a difficult day for him.  I will stay with Estel, and after dinner you may all come up to see the boy.”

O-o-O-o-O

The Lord of Imladris sat wearily at a table on one side of the Hall of Fire.  As always, cheerful flames danced and crackled in the huge fireplace which dominated one wall of the hall.  The light from the blaze was augmented by flickering torches arranged around the walls, casting the deep shadows across the ceiling.  Scattered in small groups, other elves from Rivendell lounged, ate, or talked softly.  In the corner two musicians strummed lyres and sang an enchanting melody. Their beautiful voices brought peace to the hearts of all who listened as a warm breeze caressed the gathered elves with the delicate scents from the flowers outside.  On most nights this hall buzzed with activity, revelry, and much happiness, but all the inhabitants of Imladris knew of the Estel’s injury and concern for the much beloved child as well as for his Ada had muted the usual festivities.

The calm of the moment was shattered as three freshly scrubbed elves ran through the door and skidded to a stop in front of Lord Elrond.  Lord Glorfindel, at least, attempted to maintain some dignity, but the twins cared not how they were perceived.  Despite Erestor’s reassurance, concern was plainly reflected in the fair being’s faces.  Lord Elrond looked up to his sons with love in his eyes. “Come; sit with me, my sons.  Glorfindel, join us as well, please.”  He motioned to seats beside him and across the table.

Choking back their impatience, Elladan and Elrohir joined their father at the table.  Glorfindel sat across from the three.  “Father, please,” begged Elladan, “tell us what has happened.”

“Estel is resting.  I believe the infection is now staunched and his fevers shall begin to subside.”

“But…” encouraged Elladan when his father paused, for he could see that there was more in his Ada’s eyes.  Elrohir looked back and forth between his father and his brother.

“But,” continued Lord Elrond, “I was required to perform a small procedure.”

“Procedure!” exclaimed both twins at once.  Elladan jumped to his feet and would have gone immediately to Estel’s side had his father’s hand not stopped him.

“Havo Dad, Elladan,” he said kindly, but firmly. 

“But Ada, this is my fault,” confessed the guilt ridden twin.

“No, Elladan, we have been over this before.  It is not your fault, nor yours, Elrohir.”  The elf lord looked at his sons, feeling not at all like the wise elf that all in Arda believed him to be.

Before he could continue, a scream echoed from upstairs.

“Estel!”

Translations:

Estel: Hope

Ada: Daddy

Ion nin: My Son

Hebo estel, hîr nín; Have hope, my Lord

Pen-nîn tithen; My Little One

Hannon le: Thank you

Avo bedo o hannad, hîr nín: You are most welcome, my Lord

Nárendur: Qyenya Servant of Fire

Havo Dad: Sit Down

Elrondion – Son of Elrond

Elladan’s Trails  For Estel

Chapter Six

He Who Learns Must Suffer

He who learns must suffer, and even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart.  And in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom…by the awful grace of God. ~ Unknown

For a millisecond all sound and activity ceased in the Hall of Fire as the shocked Elves registered the sound of distress emanating from upstairs.  Fear gripped Elrond’s heart at the pain and fear he heard in his son’s voice and his eyes were pulled to the ceiling, as though he could see right through the rock to the floor above.  Lord Elrond sprang from his seat and raced from the room, followed closely by the twins.  Glorfindel was only a fraction of a second behind them, having leaped over the table rather than take the time to go around it as the dazed faces of the other Elves watched their Lords race from the room.  It was as though time had frozen them in its icy tendrils, beautiful statues with shock marring their fair faces.

Elrond took the stairs two at a time as he sprinted towards his bedroom.  He had no idea what to expect, but his heart told him this was no mere nightmare gripping his youngest.  As he sped down the hallway he could see the light spilling from the opened doorway and for a moment the hope that this was all a mistake raised itself in his chest only to be crushed as he reached the entry way of his bedroom.  Entering the room he beheld a sight that he had never expected to see and could barely comprehend.

Lying face down on the floor in a growing pool of blood was his seneschal; his dark hair was spread out around his head like an ebony halo. Most shocking of all was the sight of the dagger sticking out from Erestor’s back. Tearing his eyes from the gruesome sight he looked to the empty bed and then to the balcony, where the evening breeze was blowing the curtains with a gentleness that mocked the violent setting inside.   His healer’s instincts kicked in as Elrond knelt beside his friend and was relieved to find a pulse beating underneath his gently probing fingers.  “Glorfindel,” he spoke while assessing the wound on Erestor’s back, “call out the guard. Estel has been taken and cannot be far.

“I will lead them myself, my Lord,” warrior affirmed.  He paused at the door and glanced back with grief filled eyes.  “My Lord?”

“I do not know yet, Glorfindel.  I will care for our friend; you find my son.”

With a resolved nod, the golden haired warrior left the room.    

That action seemed to awaken the twins, who had literally been frozen in shock since entering the room.  How could such violence have invaded their home…their Ada’s bedroom, the place that had always signified the very heart of Imladris, the sanctuary of the sanctuary?   Pushing the overturned chair out of the way, Elrohir knelt beside his father to aid him with Erestor, while Elladan walked slowing over to the bed where Estel had been sleeping. 

Elrohir glanced up and frowned at the look on his twin’s face.  Elladan was standing beside the bed holding Estel’s sunshine blankey grasped to his chest, as though he cradled his little brother instead of the boy’s cherished blanket.  Elrohir watched as his brother’s hands slowly balled into fists, pulling at the very threads of the blanket.  Only his keen eyesight caught the tremors that now ran through those fists.  Elladan sensed his brother’s eyes on him and turned to meet his gaze, needing the reassurance of their bond.  What he saw was there was mirrored in his own eyes. Elrohir’s heart nearly stopped as he spied the drops of blood on the blanket and he started to rise from where he knelt to go to his brother.

“Elrohir!” Elrond’s voice interrupted the motion and pulled his attention back to Lord Erestor.  The healer was gently examining the fallen Elf.   “I need your help.” 

Forcing his thoughts back to the sight before him, Elrohir gently placed his hands on each side of the dagger as his father gently eased it from Erestor’s back.

“Ada, the dagger…it’s, it’s…”  Elrohir could not bring himself to say the words.

“I know, Elrohir, it is Elven.”

The twins shared a dumbfounded glance before Elladan dropped the blanket and headed for the door.  “I’m going to look for Estel, and the Valar help the one who has done this when I find him.”

Elrohir was torn between wanting to accompany his brother in the search and staying to help his father with Lord Erestor, for his training as a healer confirmed how seriously the Elf was wounded.  His father’s strained voice pulled back his attention once more and made up his mind.

“Elrohir, I need you.”   Elrohir could hear in his Ada’s voice all the longing to go after Estel that welled up within his own heart, and also the anguish of knowing that the life of the Elf who had been his friend for millennia hung in the balance requiring the all the skill that the Elf Lord possessed.

“I am here, Ada, we will save him together.”  Elrohir assured as he held pressure on the gash.  He wished that he could feel as confident as he sounded.  Elrond used the dagger to cut the Elf’s robes enough so that he had better access to the gaping wound. 

“I see no bubbling which would indicate air escaping, so I think that the lung has not been penetrated.”

Elrohir breathed a small sigh of relief at that news.  “Look, Ada, the blood is not bright red. That’s good, right?”

“Yes,” agreed Elrond as he replaced Elrohir’s hands to hold the pressure on the wound himself.  “That is an indication that the main artery near Erestor’s heart was not hit as well.   We must move him to the bed.  Then, Elrohir, hurry to the apothecary and bring back the supplies we will need to cleanse the wound and close it.  I will continue to hold pressure on the wound until you return.  Now, on three…one, two, three….”

Father and son worked together as a team to lift the wounded Elf onto Elrond’s bed.  As Elrohir hurried from the room to retrieve the supplies they would need to complete the treatment, Elrond applied pressure to the wound with one hand while pulling the pillows from the bed with the other.  Since Erestor was laying face down, he wanted the surface as flat as possible to keep the Elf’s airway open and free from pressure.  Once the surface was completely cleared, Elrond gently turned the seneschal’s head to the side at a more comfortable angle.

“Hold on, old friend,” he soothed.  Despair welled up inside of him and threatened to overcome his legendary composure.  How much more loss must he endure?  Giving himself a mental shake he stopped that train of thought before it could go any further.  He would concentrate on what he could control rather than on what he could not.  He allowed his eyes to sweep the room seeking any clues as to who might have done this terrible deed and taken his son.  ‘Valar help us,’ he thought to himself, ‘Estel is still ill…  Who could have done this?  Why?  The unthinkable conclusion that would not be dismissed was that this was no random act…no orc attack.  Only an Elf could have gained access to Rivendell…to the Last Homely House itself.  But who…why?” 

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was shaking from shock and fear as the shadowed being of his nightmares carried him though the darkness.  He had trouble breathing and his torn lip pained him terribly as the Elf kept his hand roughly covering Estel’s mouth.  The child could taste blood as the lip was cruelly smashed against his small teeth.  Estel could hear the Elf’s labored breath as he ran through the valley with the boy in his arms.  Normally he would feel safe and secure in the arms of an Elf, but not now.  There was no comfort to be felt from this being, only malice.   Estel whimpered as he thought about the horror of the scene in his Ada’s room. 

The child had awakened to see a shadowy form coming into the room from the balcony. It was so much like his recurring nightmare that he was too terrified at first to move or make a sound.  Erestor was sitting beside him in the overstuffed chair with his head resting on the cushioned back.  His eyes were closed and he was humming a sweet melody.  He seemed to be enjoying the heat from the fire crackling in the fire place and getting just a bit of rest after his hectic day.  To Estel it was as though everything moved in slow motion as he watched the “monster” raise a knife high into the air.  Light from the dancing flame reflected on the burnished surface painting a cheery image on this instrument of death.  Just as Erestor became aware of the intruder and started to rise from the chair, the knife descended with deadly speed and buried itself in the seneschal’s back.  His pain filled eyes met Estel’s as he struggled to get to the bed to protect his Lord’s child.  Estel saw him mouth the word, “run” and then fall to the floor.

In his sleep confused state, Estel flashed back to the day he had seen the man falling with the arrow in his eye.   Estel had not remembered that for a very long time, and indeed even now it was so vague that he had no comprehension of who the man was, but the horrendous image of the arrow in the man’s eye had seared itself into the psyche of the child.  Now the horror of that sight was repeating itself before him, only this time the evil had penetrated his home, the safety of his Ada’s room, and Restor was on the floor with a knife in back.  Estel had been horrified by the sight of the blood pooling around the knife and beginning to stream down the Elf’s back, and he whimpered softly drawing the attention of the monster, which he could now see was an Elf dressed all in black.   Estel’s panicked scream had been cut off as the Elf’s bloody hand wrapped around his mouth.   He was picked up and carried over to the balcony, where he thought that the Elf was going to throw him down.  Instead of being thrown from the edge, however, Estel had felt the sickening drop in his stomach as the Elf lunged over the railing carrying him along.

The Elf and the boy were both momentarily stunned by the force of the landing at the end of the drop, but the large Elf recovered quickly and darted off through the garden on a path that he had predetermined, carrying the child with him.  Estel felt his face, legs and arms being scratched as bushes and thorns pulled at him during this mad dash through the darkened forest. Each jarring foot fall caused more pain to the boy’s injured lip. 

The Elf’s body was covered with the dark clothing, so he was not injured by the run through the dense undergrowth.  Many long years he had contemplated this night…the night that would begin his revenge on the Half-Elven.  It was actually the coming of the human child that had cemented the manner of revenge in his mind.  Quenthar had moved quickly through the garden and down a path leading across the archery fields and deeper into the woods surrounding Rivendell.  In the lesser traveled areas of the valley he had spent many months secreting hiding places known only to him, all to facilitate his vengeful plan.   

Coming to the first one he had prepared just for this night, he stopped.  Fiercely he whispered in the boy’s ear, “I’m going to put you down for a moment; make a sound and I’ll break your neck and leave you here for the wargs.”  Quickly he sat the child down and began pulling limbs and shrubs away from a small hole gouged from the hillside.  Inside the hollow he had built in a box approximately two feet square.   Reaching inside he retrieved a flask that he had stored in the box.  Pulling out the cork with his teeth, he poured a generous amount on a rag that he’d kept wrapped around the flask.  Grabbing up the boy before he could make a sound, the Elf roughly held the cloth to the child’s face forcing him to breathe the noxious fumes.

Estel had been terrified by the threat and lay quietly in the dirt as the Elf worked at pulling away the brush.  Even as frightened as he was Estel tried to concentrate on anything he find to give him a direction or a landmark so that he might figure out where he was.  He could hear the rushing waters of the Bruinen so he knew he was still within Rivendell, and that meant his father and brothers were close by.  Hope flared up in his little heart; for surely they would come for him soon.  Estel’s teeth chattered as he shivered from the cold and from the fever that still lingered, although lowered by the last dose of medicine he had received.  Before he realized what was happening, he was picked up and a foul smelling cloth was clamped over his nose and mouth.  Estel fought to escape the strong smell for as long as he could before the blackness overtook him and his struggles ceased. 

Quenthar held the cloth there a few seconds longer until he was satisfied that boy was completely unconscious.   The Elves of Rivendell would even now be mounting a search, and the dark Elf knew that he only had moments to complete this part of the plan.  Content that the child would be out for several hours, he put the boy inside the box and pulled the door closed, latching it securely from the outside.  Then he proceeded to cover it with the brush and limbs he’d cleared away previously.  Quenthar had rehearsed every step of his plan, timing it down to the last second, and things were proceeding exactly as he’d predicted.  

The one thing he had not planned on was that the boy would not be in his own room but in Elrond’s.  It was unfortunate that Erestor had been in the way, but Quenthar held little pity for any Elf that supported Elrond.  He consoled himself with the thought that the Lord of Imladris would be dead soon himself, and would not have long to grieve for his advisor or for this human refuse that he’d taken into his home.  The familiar rage swept over the Elf once again at that thought.  His beloved Celebrían was in the gray havens and his beautiful Arwen dwelled in the golden wood with her grandparents while Elrond and his sons lavished their love on this brat. ‘Where was the justice in that?’ fumed the Elf.

If Elrond had cared half as much for Celebrían as he did for this human, then his beloved might still be here, the dark Elf thought bitterly.  He had loved the beautiful Elf maiden for as many years as he could remember and her marriage to the Peredhil had been a terrible blow to his ego as well as to his heart.  He had just begun to heal from that loss when word of her attack and tormenting at the hands of the orcs had reached Lothlórian.  Quenthar had immediately left for Rivendell to be at the side of his friend and comfort her.   He was devastated when he saw how the orcs had ravaged her beauty and shattered the peaceful soul within her, and he blamed Elrond Peredhil for not protecting his lady.  Quenthar would never have allowed this to happen to her had she been his wife and he bitterly blamed Elrond for caring more for the wellbeing of the valley and the surrounding human villages than for Celebrían. 

When Celebrían sailed it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, and Quenthar had begun the transformation from friend and trusted ally to enemy.  He hid his malice well and continued the charade of caring companion, even taking young Arwen under his wing and spending time with the child.  He could see much of Celebrían in her lovely daughter and while Arwen remained in Rivendell he was able to carry on almost like a normal Elf.  Eventually, however Arwen had left to live with Celeborn and Galadriel and the darkness had completed its overtaking of Quenthar’s heart.  It was then that he began formulating a plan for revenge.  Placing the last of the brush carefully back into place, Quenthar stepped back to survey his handiwork.  Unless someone knew what to look for they could walk past this very spot and not even realize it was there.  Nodding to himself, he quickly made his way back down the dark trail.  This time, however, he skirted around the opposite side of the archery field and made his way to the home where he had spent the past hundred years.  

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel stood on the top step of the entry to the Last Homely House. Beside him stood Elladan with such a look of fury on his face that it sent shivers down the backs of many of the younger warriors and awakened memories of dark days that they all had thought were behind them. His sword was strapped to his side and his quiver was on his back.  A beautifully carved Elven knife was at his waist, and there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in any being present that he would use these weapons on whoever was guilty of invading the haven of his home.

Gathered below them were the first warriors that had answered the alert signal…a signal that had not been heard in Imladris in many centuries.  Concerned looks met his as the warriors gathered. Glorfindel raised his hand to quiet the soft conversations of the Elves before him.  “Warriors of Imladris, tonight, evil has entered the home of our Lord.  I regret to tell you that Lord Erestor has been gravely wounded and that Estel has been taken.  We have had no indication from our sentries of intruders entering the valley, so we must conclude that whoever has done this has been here for a while.  He motioned to his second in command, a Noldor whose delicate features belied his skill and determination as a fighter.  The warrior stepped forward and bowed slightly to his commander.  “Helcar, set up a defensive perimeter around the house.  This may be a ruse to draw us away from the intended target.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Helcar nodded again and signaled his cadre to take up positions around the Last Homely House.  Helcar’s troop contained the most experienced warriors in Rivendell, and that is who Glorfindel wanted guarding Lord Elrond.

“Curúfin,” Glorfindel called aside to an Elf standing off to Elladan’s right.  Besides himself and the twins, Curufin was the most skilled with a sword, and unlike Helcar, Curufin looked the part.  Slightly shorter than was typical of Elves, Curufin was built like a bull.  His perpetual scowl completed the picture.  “You are now Lord Elrond’s personal guard.  He will not like it, but that is the way it will be.  You take your orders from me, is that understood?”

 “Yes, my Lord,” Curúfin bowed quickly and moved past Elladan towards the front door intent upon finding his Lord and protecting him.

“Illuin!”  The commander in charge of the perimeter defenses of the valley stepped forward.

“My Lord,” he too bowed slightly to the Gondolin warrior. 

“Double the sentries at the borders.  This could be a feint to draw our attention away from an invasion from that quarter.  We can take no chances. Have Quenthar provide the swiftest steeds for our messengers.  I want reports from each sentry point hourly.”

“It will be done immediately, my Lord.”

“Illuin, also send riders to Lórien and Mirkwood. I want to know whether or not any threat has been detected in the other Elven realms.”

It took all the restraint Elladan could muster to stand still through these instructions when every fiber of his being was itching to begin the search, but he recognized the wisdom of Lord Glorfindel’s actions and trusted his teacher implicitly. 

Glorfindel quickly separated the remaining Elves into teams and assigned them different areas to search.   “They cannot be far, so let us move out and find them.  Estel is sick and needs to be brought back here as quickly as possible.”

O-o-O-o-O

Located beyond the stables of Imladris, where he worked with the magnificent Elven mounts, the home where Quenthar lived was made of native rock and blended beautifully with the other structures of Rivendell.  Ivy grew up one entire side of the house and the carved doorway gave a cheery welcome which belied the malice within the small but elegant house.

Closing the door softly behind him, Quenthar passed quickly through the gathering room to the back of the house where his bedroom was located.  He washed all the dirt from his hands and changed into his work clothes to answer the call to arms which was still been signaled even now.  A satisfied smile came to his lips as he imagined the worried looks on the Elves gathering in the courtyard at this very moment.  ‘No doubt the great and might Lord Glorfindel is leading the charge,’ he thought bitterly.  ‘If he had been doing his job as he should have then Celebrían would never have been attacked,’ he reasoned, his hatred spreading to Glorfindel as well.  Hatred had consumed him to the point that he could see nothing but the flawed views created in his own twisted mind.    Quenthar smirked at himself in the looking glass.  ‘Time to go join the search!’  He was whistling a tune as he exited the house.

Elladan’s Trials,  For Estel

Chapter Seven

He Who Shares Tears

Every man rejoices twice when he has a partner in his joy. He who shares tears with us wipes them away. He divides them in two, and he who laughs with us makes the joy double.--Bishop Fulton J. Sheen

Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, idly poked at the fire with a long, crooked stick while his mind wandered.  A frown clouded his fair face as he contemplated his mission. He and his friend of many years, Falathar, had stopped to camp for the night only a few miles from the border of Rivendell, their destination.  After many days of hard riding, the end of the journey was in site, and Falathar was beginning to believe that they might actually make it to Imladris without incident.  One never knew when traveling with the Prince, after all, he thought wryly.  It had been a little over a week ago that Legolas had petitioned his father, King Thranduil, to allow him to make this journey, for his alarm had grown to such bounds that he just had to know the condition of his friends, the twin sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.

From where he sat, across the fire from Legolas, Falathar surreptitiously watched the Prince as he continued to poke at the flame, causing embers to dance merrily up into the night on the updraft created by the heat.  Falathar knew that Legolas had often visited Imladris until the terrible ordeal suffered by the wife of Lord Elrond.  He had even accompanied the Prince a few times and enjoyed greatly the companionship of Elladan and Elrohir, for they were a lively and merry pair.  After their mother sailed though, they had seemingly cut off all ties with the friends of their past and committed themselves solely to seeking revenge for the crimes against their mother.  Their mission had undoubtedly been successful as tales of their exploits had grown to legendary proportions that carried even as far as Mirkwood.

The loss of friendship with the twins had saddened Legolas, but he had busied himself with the defense of Mirkwood, whose woods were coming more and more under attack by the dark forces, and by keeping up with the pair through the tales of their deeds.  Strangely, all word of their daring had stopped around four years ago.  It was as though the celebrated duo of death, as the Silvan warriors had come to call them, had simply ceased to exist, so far as news reaching Mirkwood was concerned.  The Prince had grown more and more concerned that his friends had fallen to the enemy on one of their adventures or finally succumbed to their fading spirits and sailed to Valinor to reunite with the Lady Celebrían.  Either way, Legolas had convinced his father that he had to know, and it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one could inquire of in a message sent to Lord Elrond.

King Thranduil was not particularly keen on his son making the journey, but knew that Legolas was never easily dissuaded once he’d made up his mind on something.  He had agreed to allow Legolas to make the trip so long as he took another warrior with him, which had caused a bit of a row, but in the end Legolas had acquiesced and agreed to bring Falathar.  After all, it wasn’t as though he actually needed protection, Legolas reasoned.  Falathar was his friend and the two had made the trip together several times before.

“Are you quite finished watching me, mellon nin?” Legolas asked from across the darkness causing Falathar to start guiltily.  The smile on Legolas’ face assured his friend that his question held no censure. 

“I’m sorry, Legolas.  I just cannot help but wonder what answers we will find in Rivendell and whether or not they will only end up heaping more sadness upon you.”

Legolas sighed as he met Falathar’s eyes, for in truth, he had wondered the same thing. “Then let us not put this off any longer,” he blurted.  “We’re only an hour from Imladris; let’s go find out what we seek.”

“Tonight?  Now?” came the astonished reply. 

A fierce grin crossed the Prince’s face.  “I’m tired of the wait…of not knowing.”  He stood up and whistled sharply for his mount, which was grazing nearby.  “Besides, I rather fancy sleeping in a bed tonight instead of another flet.  “But,” he qualified, sending a mock glare at his friend, “if you ever repeat that, I’ll swear by all the spiders in Mirkwood that it’s not true!” 

Falathar chuckled as he started to quickly gather up the few things he had pulled from his pack for their dinner. “My Prince, I shall be the soul of discretion!”

Legolas began kicking dirt onto the fire as Falathar started strapping the pack to his horse.  He mentally rolled his eyes and shook his head.  Only Legolas would consider trying to enter the valley of sanctuary in complete darkness.  The odds of their arriving without incident had definitely just dropped dramatically, or so it seemed to Falathar.

O-o-O-o-O

“Lord Glorfindel!” came the call from the garden underneath Lord Elrond’s balcony.  Glorfindel strode over to where Helcar was standing beside one of his warriors.  Holding out his hand he showed his commander what the warrior had just given him.  “This was found beside one of the benches.”

Glorfindel took the proffered bit of cloth and held it close to his nose.  The scent of wintergreen confirmed his suspicion.  It was the bandage that Lord Elrond had placed over Estel’s lip earlier in the day.  “Show me exactly where, Helcar.”

Helcar motioned to the warrior to take Lord Glorfindel to where the strip of linen had been found. 

Glorfindel kneeled down beside the stone bench just to the side of the path. It was located approximately three feet from the area just underneath Lord Elrond’s balcony.  The Balrog Slayer narrowed his eyes in thought as he scanned the area for any other tell-tale signs.  He carefully ran his hand over a slight disturbance in the soil, using all his senses to feel the nuances of the location.  It was as though a hand or knee had been driven slightly into the ground, he determined.  Looking back up at the balcony, Glorfindel gauged the angle and nodded.  So this was where the intruder had landed.  He stood up and looked around for any further evidence.  For the hundredth time that night he cursed the lack of moonlight as he strained to see any clues that might have been previously overlooked.

He placed his hand on the shoulder of the warrior that had found the cloth. “Well done.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” the warrior nodded.  “If you have no other need of me, I’ll return to the search.”

“Go ahead,” Glorfindel murmured as much to himself as to the Elf, for he was deep in thought.  “Helcar…”

“My Lord?” Helcar responded, as he walked back over to stand by his mentor.

“Is there any sign of threat around the house?”

“No, my Lord, all is quiet.” 

“Good,” Glorfindel nodded.  “See that it stays that way. Keep your warriors alert.”

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas and Falathar were just entering the border of Rivendell when three arrows landed on the path directly in front of Legolas’ mount, startling the horse and causing it to buck wildly.

“Halt!” called the simultaneous command.

Legolas was shocked by the act, but Falathar was furious.  Pulling his sword form its sheath, he quickly maneuvered his horse protectively in front of the Prince, who was struggling to control his skittish mount.

Immediately, three Elves landed on the path in front of them, arrows notched and aimed directly at Falathar’s heart.

Too angry to be intimidated, Falathar was fairly sputtering with outrage. “How dare you fire on the Prince of Mirkwood?”

The elves didn’t back down.

Finally gaining control of his horse, Legolas jumped off and placed himself between Falathar and the Noldor Elves holding up both of his hands.  “Peace, good Elves, we are no threat!  I am Legolas of the Green Wood and this is my companion, Falathar.  I ask  pardon for attempting to enter your valley at night, but I seek information from your Lord.  Obviously this was a mistake.”

One of the Noldor separated himself from the others and approached the Prince.  “Prince Legolas?”

Legolas lowered his head in a bow of acknowledgement.  The Noldor who had addressed him appeared very young, and was not a warrior that Legolas remembered.

“Forgive my, my Lord, we did not recognize you.”

Falathar snorted from behind Legolas. “It’s hard to see an Elf’s face when you’re busy shooting arrows at him.”

Legolas threw a silencing frown at his friend.  Something unusual was going on here and he wanted to know what it was, for he had never seen the defenses of Imladris on such a high state of alert.  “What has happened?”

Falathar dismounted and stood beside Legolas, ready to defend his Prince if these obviously crazy elves posed any threat.

At a motion from the sentry, the other two elves climbed back up the trees to resume their look out.  When they were out of sight, the sentry turned back to speak to the Prince.  “The whole valley is in an uproar, Your Highness.  Lord Elrond’s son has been stolen and Lord Erestor badly wounded.”

Alarm and relief shot through Legolas at the same time and he took a small step towards the elf.  Obviously the twins, or at least one of them, were alive and still in Middle Earth.  “One of the twins taken?”

“Oh no, my Lord, not the twins…it is the younger Elrondion.”

Now Legolas was completely confused, for the sentry had said “son” and only Arwen was younger, but before he could ask any more questions, a rider approached and the nervous Elf beside him was once more on guard.

“Halt,” the young Elf called out, notching his arrow and aiming it at the new intruder.

“Beling,” growled Glorfindel from atop Asfaloth, “You’re supposed to be guarding the valley from outside forces, not inside.”  The golden warrior leaped off his horse and strode over towards the trio; his magnificent mount followed him nickering softly when he recognized Legolas. 

If the earth could have opened up at that moment and swallowed him, Beling would not have been happier.  As it was, he was grateful for the darkness hiding the furious blush that had just overtaken his fair cheeks at the reprimand.

“Your pardon, my Lord,” he stammered. “I…”

“No,” interrupted Glorfindel with a sigh; “I ask your pardon.”  The commander took pity on the astounded young warrior, knowing that this was his first assignment, and on a night that had seen the valley responding to a threat it had not faced for centuries.  It was bound to have the young one on edge.  “The events of this night have proven stressful for all of us.” 

“Will somebody please tell us what’s going on?” appealed Falathar from where he was standing behind Legolas.

Glorfindel turned to face the two Silvan Elves, as though seeing them for the first time.  “Prince Legolas…and Falathar, isn’t it?  You pick an unfortunate time to appear at our border.”

Any other time Falathar would have been thrilled beyond measure that his name had been remembered by the legendary Balrog Slayer, but at the moment he was still far too aggravated that his Prince had been fired upon to be flattered.  After all, the King had entrusted Falathar with the duty of protecting the Crown Prince, though of course Legolas didn’t know that, and here he could have been killed by a bow-happy novice sentry!  “And it’s fine welcome we received as well!  Your sentries fired at the Prince. He could have been killed!”

From the other side of Glorfindel Beling reddened again and cleared his throat nervously.

“Falathar, please,” entreated Legolas, glancing back at his friend.  “All is well, young one,” the Prince soothed the sentry, who looked as though he were only a few years younger than Legolas himself.

“Resume your duties, Beling,” Glorfindel instructed the Elf.  “And Beling,” he added for Falathar’s benefit, for though he understood the being’s irritation, these were his warriors and he would not allow them to be berated before him, “continue to keep a sharp eye.  We still don’t know the full scope of tonight’s threat.”

Falathar snorted softly, but Legolas smiled, knowing exactly what Glorfindel was doing and approving of the display of loyalty.

“Yes, my Lord!” breathed Beling with gratitude. He turned and sprinted over to the tree and sped up it with a speed and agility that impressed even the Wood Elves.

 Glorfindel watched the Elf scamper up the tree and turned back to the Prince and Falathar with a tired chuckle.  This night was proving to be full of more surprises than he cared to think about.  “Follow me, young ones.  I will escort you so personally so that there are no more mistakes.  I will clarify the situation to you on the way back.”

 O-o-O-o-O

Lord Elrond Peredhil sat in the chair beside his bed, as it seemed to him he had been doing for the last several days; only this time, it was not his young son for which he held vigil but for his centuries old friend and advisor.  Erestor was sleeping in the huge bed where only three nights ago Elrond had watched his three sons sleep and felt such peace and contentment.  How quickly things had changed!  It took every ounce of self discipline he possessed not be out searching for his youngest this very moment.  The father in him longed to search for his child, to find him, to hold him close…but the healer understood that the need here was greater.  Erestor seemed to be in a stable condition now, but one never knew with these types of injuries when the situation might change.  Besides, should Estel be found he would need to be here to tend the child’s fever or any possible injuries he might have sustained.  At that thought he closed his eyes and sent a quick plea to the Valar that that would not be the case.  He had been awake for almost four days now and he was tired…so very tired.

The Elf Lord had spent more than an hour, assisted ably by Elrohir, in cleaning and sewing the wound to the seneschal’s back.  It had needed to be cleansed and irrigated first.  Then Elrond had carefully followed the path of the dagger with his finger, checking for depth, direction, and the possibility of a nick or tear to the Elf’s lungs or arteries.  Finding none, he had cleaned the injury as thoroughly as possible and begun sewing the wound.  After that a smear of honey was placed over the incision and sealed with fresh, clean linen to fight infection.

Now he sat waiting, his elbows resting on the arms of the overstuffed chair and his long, elegant fingers steepled in front of his face.  A furrow ran deeply between his eyebrows as he searched his mind seeking clues for who could have possibly perpetrated the evil done against his house this evening.  The only sound in the room was the deep breathing of Erestor and the snapping and popping of the fire, which had been built up to assure that Erestor was kept warm during the surgery.

Elrohir stood in the doorway of his Adar’s room just watching his father for a moment.  He was reluctant to disturb his Elf Lord’s reverie, but he was sick at heart and desperately needed his Ada’s touch.  He quietly crossed the room, kneeling in front of the chair and putting his head into his Ada’s lap. 

Elrond smiled slightly and slowly began to run his fingers through his son’s long hair, soothing him as he had since he was an Elfling.  He could easily discern the torment of his son’s soul. 

Elrohir smiled as he relaxed to the feel of his Ada’s fingers.  He had always loved the way his father’s hands comforted him.  “Ada, why can’t life just be frozen in moment’s like this?”

Elrond forced his voice to remain light, understanding that his son needed reassurance.  “Life is what it is, Elrohir. Without the valleys we would not appreciate the mountain top.  Besides, I know you, Ion nin,” he added with a smile in his voice.  “Do you not think that you would become bored with your life if it were peaceful all the time?”

Elrohir sighed and snuggled his head even deeper into his Father’s lap, stretching like a fat tabby cat wanting more petting. He smiled at the question but then sobered as dark memories surfaced in his mind.  “Ada, when Elladan and I were killing orcs I felt empty all the time.  Each time we came home covered in orc blood I would see what it did to you and I hated myself, but I could not change what I was.”  Elrohir lifted his head to look into his father’s eyes, and Elrond could see the tears on his son’s cheeks.  Elrohir took his father’s hand and placed it over his heart, his hand on top of his Ada’s.  “In here, there was only a dead, cold stone.  Estel changed that; he made my heart beat within my chest once more.  He’s just a little boy, Ada, how did he do that?”

Elrond placed his hands gently on each side of his son’s cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.  Leaning forward, he kissed his son on the forehead before pulling back to look him in the eyes once more. “He taught us that love is stronger than hatred, Elrohir.  Estel will be found; he will come home to us.  We have to believe that.”  He continued to stare for a moment into his son’s eyes, giving him all the strength and assurance that he could. 

A discrete knock on the door interrupted the tender moment between father and son.

Glorfindel stepped inside the room once he saw that Elrond had broken eye contact with Elrohir and looked up.  “Forgive me, my Lord…”

“No, Glorfindel, please come in.  Is there news of Estel?” 

The hope was evident in his voice, and Glorfindel was loathe to crush it. “No, I’m sorry, no word yet, but some clues have been found and I am confident that we will find your son. 

“Clues?” questioned Elrohir hopefully, “what clues?” 

Glorfindel really did not want to share how fragile the clues actually were so he changed the subject hoping to divert Elrohir’s question if even momentarily.  Elrond, he knew, would be another matter.  “My Lord, Prince Legolas has arrived from Mirkwood.  I offered him and his companion rooms, but they insisted on joining in the search for Estel.”

“Prince Legolas?”  Elrond mused glancing at Elrohir and concurring with Glorfindel’s reasoning.  “Is there new trouble in Thranduil’s realm, Glorfindel?  Did he indicate why he is here?”

“There is no new trouble, my Lord,” Glorfindel hastened to assure his friend.  “He was seeking news of the twins and wished to visit for a while.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured Elrond, berating himself mentally. “I am starting to see evil where none exists.  Please tell the Prince that I will greet him once I am sure that Lord Erestor is out of danger.”

“I’ll go speak with Legolas, Father.  I would like to search for Estel myself, if you no longer need my help here.”

“I believe all is under control here, Elrohir.  Go, search with Legolas, and please give the Prince my greeting and welcome.”

Elrohir rose and kissed his father on the cheek before leaving the room.  Glorfindel turned to follow him when Elrond’s voice stopped him.

“Glorfindel, what are the clues and why is Curúfin standing outside my bedroom door?”

Glorfindel took his time turning back around to face his friend.  He had known all along, of course, that this conversation would take place, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it. He sighed deeply before beginning.   “My Lord, the bandage you placed on Estel’s lip this afternoon was found beside a bench in the garden, and I found where I believe the Elf landed when he jumped from the balcony with Estel.”  He paused while Elrond digested the news, or more accurately lack of news.  “Curúfin is where he will stay until I have a better understanding of what is happening.  And,” he hastened to add, “you needn’t frown at me like that, for it will do no good.”

Elrond rose from the chair and wearily rubbed the back of his neck.  “My friend, I have not been so long away from Hadhafang that I have forgotten how to fight.  I could easily take up my sword once more to defend my own.”

Glorfindel’s heart swelled with pride at the words of his Lord.  “Of that, I have no doubt, my Lord, and I would be proud to stand beside you in that fight.  But your place is here with Lord Erestor.  Your skill as a healer is much needed and,” he hesitated slightly, “might be needed again.  You have entrusted me with the defenses of Imladris; trust me now to best know how to do that job, even though I failed you this night.” 

Elrond walked over to the Elf that had been his friend for centuries and placed his hands on both of his shoulders giving them a squeeze of encouragement and friendship.  “You have never failed me, Glorfindel, and I know that you will not fail me this time.  Go, do as I bade you earlier and find my son.”

TBC

Hadhafang is the sword that Elrond carried during the last alliance where he was the herald and second-in-command to Gil-galad.  It was handed down to him by his father Eärendil, who in turn received it from his mother, Idril, daughter of King Turgon of Gondolin.  Hadhafang means “throng-cleaver” in Sindarin.

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel,

Chapter Eight

The Long Watches of the Night

Accept that all of us can be hurt, that all of us can--and surely will at times--fail. I think we should follow a simple rule: if we can take the worst, take the risk.--Joyce Brothers

…find my son.

Glorfindel met the gaze of his friend and his Lord.  “I will find him or die trying, my Lord.” 

“I could ask no more, my friend, though I pray the Valar it does not come to that.”

Elrond walked his friend to the door, pausing there to watch as the warrior hurried down the hall.  Turning to go back into the bedroom, he gave a slight frown as he caught sight of Curúfin standing watch in the hallway off to the side of the door.  It had been many centuries since he had seen an armed guard within his home and it was disconcerting.

 He knew that Glorfindel would have his warriors arrayed to face any threat, just as he instinctively knew that no evil had breeched the defenses of the valley.  No, this malevolence had come from inside, had invaded his home and he burned with a fury that evil had touched those under his protection, those he loved.  Why was it so often the innocents who were targeted?  Erestor was an advisor; he had not picked up a sword for centuries.  And Estel…Estel was just a baby; young even in human years, he was an infant to the immortals.  Here, of all places…in the Last Homely House they should have been safe.   Agitated, he began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, deep in thought.  Frustration added a staccato to his steps echoing on the stone floor as he prowled the room, suddenly suffocated by its confines.  He itched to be outside searching for his son rather than here waiting helplessly, and with a guard at the door no less.  The warrior in him rebelled at the very thought.

Making up his mind, he strode resolutely to the door.  “Curúfin, watch Lord Erestor while I go for a healer,” he snapped as he stalked from the room and started down the hall

“No, my Lord,” the warrior immediately responded.  “I cannot.”

Lord Elrond Peredhil was so surprised by the response that he stopped and turned to look at the warrior in astonishment.  Momentarily dumbfounded, he stared mutely at the Elf as though he had grown horns.  Never had he heard any Elf refuse one of his requests.

Curúfin’s eyes widened and he colored slightly at the look on his Lord’s face, but the guard would not relent.  “I’m sorry, my Lord, I mean no disrespect,” he hastened to add, “but I am ordered to remain with you.”   He swallowed nervously as he watched the play of emotions quickly cross Lord Elrond’s face.  If he lived through the next few moments he would remember to ask Lord Glorfindel to just put him out of his misery himself next time rather than assign him to guard the most powerful Elf in all Arda!

To his credit, Elrond managed to mask much of what he was feeling before his warrior.  It was not Curúfin’s fault, certainly, but that did little to pacify the Lord of Imladris.  In the end, a raised eyebrow was the only response he gave as he turned on his heel and marched down the hall, chagrined to know that his shadow was behind him.

He entered the healing wing and stopped, searching for the one he sought.  The main healing room of Imladris was long and narrow, lined with beds on each side.  At intervals there were pantries and store rooms opening from the main area.  At the far end of the span was a separate space which served as the surgery.  Rarely used these days, except for the odd training accident, the room was built when the Last Homely House was erected in the first age, when the valley under siege.  There were a great many injuries in those days and this room had been a hive of activity as the many healers worked to repair the wounds of the defenders of Rivendell.  Now the room appeared shadowed and empty.  However there was light coming from one of the pantries and the Elrond started in that direction.  As it was, he heard her before he saw her. 

Walking over to the medical pantry he paused in the doorway to watch as Sariboril muttered to herself while she rummaged through a jumbled mass of healing supplies and herbs. Glancing around the u-shaped shelves lining three wall of the pantry, the Elf Lord shook his head wondering how it was that she could ever find anything. The sight brought a slight frown to the Elrond’s face, for he would never had allowed such disarray in his own apothecary on the third floor near the family bedrooms. It was kept immaculate at all times, as was everything else in his purview, with the exception of Estel’s room.  The boy had a streak of messiness in him that seemed to work itself out in the most unusual ways.  A pang touched his heart as he thought of his youngest, and he forced his thoughts back to his purpose in being here.

This was the main healing center of the valley and here Sariboril reigned supreme.  Older even than Lord Elrond, she was the most skillful and compassionate healer he’d ever known, her skills very nearly rivaling his own.  He was grateful to have her here, so he said nothing about the, to his way of thinking, appalling lack of organization she maintained. 

Unaware that she was under observation, though the truth be known it would have made no difference to her, Sariboril continued her rummaging as well as her muttering. “Of all the stubborn, obstinate, willful, inflexible, Elf Lords there ever was, he is the most, most…”

“Persistent?” supplied Lord Elrond from the doorway.

“Mulish,” I was going to say, replied Sariboril without missing a beat.  “Ah, there it is!”  She held up a sachet of herbs tied with a white cord and turned to face the Elf Lord in question.  “Now don’t go arching that eyebrow at me, Lord Elrond, you know very well I’m speaking of you and you deserve every description I could think of.  You’ve been up for over four days now and I was coming to give you a sleeping draught whether you liked it or not.  Even mighty Lords must have rest at some point!”

“Well, if I am to wait until you find a sleeping draught in here then I am safe for at least four more days,” teased Lord Elrond.  “However, I have come now because I have need of you to sit with Erestor.”

The frown on her aged but still beautiful face deepened.  “And just where would you be going that you would need me to sit with the good Lord?  It is not safe for you to leave the premises, and judging by that bull of an Elf standing behind you Lord Glorfindel would agree with me.”

Elrond had had just about enough of this over-protectiveness and impatience crept into his voice.  “I am not here to debate with you Sariboril.  Will you sit with Lord Erestor?”

Sariboril stared at the elf with narrowed eyes before heaving a dramatic sigh.  “Aye, my Lord, if it will get you out of that room for a while, I will, of course, sit with Lord Erestor.”

Her condition raised an eyebrow, but still Elrond nodded his head in acknowledgement before turning to leave.  “I will be conferring with Glorfindel if you need me.”

“And then?” questioned the healer dramatically.

With a sigh, Elrond turned back to face the crotchety healer. “And then,” he answered, “should the situation allow, I shall take some rest.”

“That will make an old healer very happy, my Lord,” smiled Sariboril.

It would have been inelegant for an esteemed Elf Lord to snort, but he was sorely tempted; he was sorely tempted indeed.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir, Legolas, and Falathar were searching near the pond where only days before Estel had been so delighted by the sight of the goldfish swimming.  Terror had seized Elrohir’s heart when he had thought about it for fear that his little brother might even now be lying at bottom, drowned by the one who had taken him.

Elrohir had dived into the pond when they had reached the spot earlier.  Time and time again he dived, swimming along the bottom feeling every inch that he could reach.  Finally he had emerged, exhausted, but relieved at not finding Estel’s body snarled in the rushes at the bottom.

Legolas and Falathar greeted him as he emerged from the water.   Legolas pulled off his outer tunic to wrap around the twin’s shoulders.  “Elrohir, you must rest a moment.  Let us return to the house so that you can get some dry clothes.”

“No,” Elrohir insisted, shaking his head tiredly, “you don’t understand.”

The pleading in his friend’s voice tugged at the Prince’s heart and he wished that he could take some of the burden from him.  “Then tell me, Elrohir, explain to me.  Who is Estel? Glorfindel said that Lord Elrond had taken him in as an adopted son.”

Elrohir sat down on a log and took a deep, shuddering breath, considering how best to explain to Legolas what his brother meant to him…to all of them.  He decided to begin with a question.  “Legolas, why did you come here?”

Legolas and Falathar shared a glance.  Falathar nodded to his prince.  “My Lord, I will return with some dry clothes for Elrohir.”

Smiling his thanks to his friend, Legolas moved over to sit beside Elrohir.  The log rocked slightly as he sat down, stretching his long legs out and placing his hands on each side of his thighs.  He thought for a moment about his answer.  “I have missed your friendship for many years, Elrohir.  I kept up with you through the tales of your exploits against the orcs, but when all the stories stopped, I feared that I had lost you for good.  The only thing I knew to do was to come here and find out one way or the other.”

Elrohir mulled over what Legolas had told him, and sighed deeply.  “I missed your friendship as well, Legolas, we both did, but you would not have liked who Elladan and I had become.  We lived only to kill orcs, consumed by hatred and as dead inside as this log we are sitting on.  In truth, we did not want you to see us as we were.”

“I had feared as much,” Legolas said softly.  “I wish I could have helped you both, my friend.  I would have done anything to share your burden.”

Elrohir smiled sadly at Legolas.  “Many tried…Ada…” His voice broke and he was unable to continue for a moment.

Legolas put his hand on Elrohir’s shoulder in unspoken support.  “If this is too difficult for you, I do not need to know more.”

Elrohir shook his head. “No, I want to explain to you what it is Estel means to us.  Legolas, his name is hope and that is what he is.  Ada said that he named him Estel because he is the last of Elendil’s line, the heir to the throne of Gondor and the hope of men, but I believe it is because his foresight showed him what Estel would be to us.  He is our hope as well, Legolas.  It was our love for Estel that overcame the hatred that had eaten away at us for so many years…that put beating hearts back into our chests.  And even that does not fully explain what he means to us.  He has a way of looking at you with such absolute faith and trust that you know you would do anything in your power to earn that faith.”

Legolas considered the words his friend had spoken, slowly nodding his head. “It is no secret to you that my dealings with humans have not been good ones, but this I avow to you, were he nothing else, I would treasure this human for the healing he has brought to you and Elladan.”  He smiled at Elrohir.  “Now, will you go back and get some dry clothes and allow me to continue the search until you return?”

Elrohir stood up, considering the Prince’s words, a pained look on his face.  “He’s afraid of the dark, Legolas.  That is the thought which has punished me every moment since he has been taken.  How can I worry about being wet or uncomfortable?”

Legolas looked up at his friend for a moment before hopping lightly to his feet.  “Then let’s get on with it.  We have a little brother to find.  It will be the dawn soon; that should aid our search.”

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar soothingly rubbed down Asfaloth, admiring the way his coat gleamed in the lantern light.  He loved all the beautiful horses that resided in the main stable, but this one was special. Well, he amended ruefully to himself; he loved all the horses but Celos, who could be as mellow as a new born kitten one moment and turn around and bite you the next. That temperamental brute frustrated him, frustrated everyone but Elladan.   Quenthar began brushing harder at the thought of the twin, and the ever sensitive Asfaloth nickered and tensed at the harsher treatment.  “Sorry, my beauty,” he crooned to the stallion moving to stand by the great white’s head and scratching him between the eyes just where he loved it.  Asfaloth closed his eyes as though relishing the touch lavished on him by Quenthar. “Here, my love, have some of your favorite treat.”  Quenthar held up some of the special mixture of hay mixed with molasses that was a particular favorite of the great white.

In the stall next to Asfaloth’s, Celos eyed the hay and molasses mixture now being consumed with great relish by the other horse.  Snorting and trying to stick his head over towards Quenthar, the horse neighed and whinnied to get the elf’s attention.  “Oh,” the elf responded, “so now you want to be friends, huh?”  He held out a bit of the mixture to Celos, who strained to reach the treat.  At the last moment, however, the horse jerked away and began to buck in his stall. 

Celos was confused by the scents which had assailed his nose when he got close to Quenthar.   He was drawn by the sent of the molasses, but then bewildered by the lingering scent of wintergreen on the elf’s hands.  For some reason the scent was mixed with that of the little one he had allowed Elladan to ride on him.   Celos, like any good elven horse, could sense the intent in humans.  He had sensed only good in the child and had been on his best behavior, for which he had been highly praised by his master.  Something raised an alarm in the horse and he now bucked and reared in an effort to reach his master.  Put off by the display, Quenthar jerked back his hand and shook his head.  He’d never understand this horse. 

The only bright spot left in Quenthar’s life was his horses.  The elf had slowly become so consumed by alienation and desolation that his existence was defined by only two things: hated for Elrond and love for his horses.  Nothing else existed for him.  It was for precisely this reason that no other elves could see the madness overtaking him in the course of years, for he was content whenever he was near the stables or around his beauties.   The darkness only evidenced itself when he was alone, in his solitary existence inside his ivy covered house.  There the evil had grown; there he had plotted his revenge.

As he finished bedding down the horses which had been used earlier in the search he glanced out at the coming dawn and realized that he would need to sedate the human again soon.  He frowned as he thought about how his perfect plan had been ruined when the little urchin was not in his own room and he had been forced to improvise at the very beginning.  Now his schedule would be off and he didn’t like that…did not like any deviation.  He stood that way for some moments, focused inward to a place that only he knew existed.  Glancing down he was surprised to see blood dripping from his hands.  He had been gripping and pulling the ropes so frenetically as he daydreamed that he had not even noticed the gashes he had worn into his palms.  He watched, fascinated, as the blood oozed down the elven ropes.  “So beautiful,” he cooed to himself as he imagined the blood to be that of Elrond, draining into the ground from the wound made by the sword that he himself would thrust into the elf’s heart.

O-o-O-o-O

Pain was the first sensation of which he was aware…pain, followed closely by the cold.  As wakefulness slowly crept into the consciousness of the child, he was confused by the multitude of sensations sweeping through him, and by the fact that he had no idea of where he was.

“Ada?” the small voice spoke into the darkness, followed by a hacking cough that further strained his parched throat.  He finally managed to pry open his eyes only to be further confused by the fact that even after blinking several times, there was no light to be found. Pain became fear, which quickly gave way to horror as the child struggled to understand the circumstances in which he now found himself.  “Ada?” he cried again as terror gripped him. 

His mind told him that he must be in his room, that he must be having a bad dream from which we would waken to find himself safely in the arms of his Ada or his Gwadors.  Reaching out with his hand he was further confused and terrified when he met the resistance of the rough wooden walls.  Panicked, he felt all around him fighting the unknown restraints when he realized that he was encased in the darkness.  Something crawled across his arm, further frightening the petrified child.  “Ada! Dan! Ro!” he screamed into the darkness.  “Glorby!  Restor!”  Silence was the only answer he received. 

Slowly the memory began to replay itself in his mind.  He was in his Ada’s bed when he woke up and saw the bad elf put the knife in Restor’s back.  “Restor!” he cried at the memory of the elf trying to reach him…telling him to run.  Then the bad elf had grabbed him from the bed, hurting his mouth.  It had hurt even more when they jumped from the ledge and landed on the flagstones below.  He remembered now!   The elf had dropped him and he had rolled slightly away from him, tearing the bandage off of his lip and making the cut bleed once again.  He had wanted to cry out but the force of the fall had knocked the breath from him, and then the bad elf had grabbed him up again and covered his mouth.  They had run and run through the darkness…run away from home and safety. Estel whimpered as he felt the stinging scratches on his arms where they had been torn by the bushes during the flight.  His eyes opened wide as the final, horrible memory made itself known to him.  The hole! The elf had cleared away the brush and uncovered a hole.  That was the last thing he remembered.

A horrible, primal scream gave way to silence as the child curled into a fetal ball, shock beginning to numb his senses from the horror in which he found himself.  “Ada,” came the quiet plea over and over as the boy lost consciousness once more.

Outside the trees quivered in distress at the sounds they had heard.

O-o-O-o-O

Asfaloth:  Lord Glorfindel’s legendary horse

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Nine

All Can Be Hurt

Accept that all of us can be hurt, that all of us can--and surely will at times--fail. I think we should follow a simple rule: if we can take the worst, take the risk.--Joyce Brothers

Elrond walked outside as dawn was breaking over the valley.  He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. This was a time of day that was normally one of his favorites, when all was new and full of promise, but this morn held no peace for him. 

“My Lord!” Helcar called out as he rushed over to stand before the Elf Lord.  “Is there a problem, my Lord?  Do you need assistance?”  Helcar scanned the area looking for any possible threat.  He was surprised to see Lord Elrond outside of the residence and glanced questioningly at Curúfin who shrugged his shoulders in response.

Elrond gazed back over his shoulder at Curúfin and then fixed Helcar with “the look” as his sons had dubbed it.  It was a look that could have frozen most ponds to ice immediately.  “I am looking for Lord Glorfindel, Helcar.  Have you seen him?”

“Not recently, my Lord.  He is expanding the search grids and assigning fresh warriors.  The last I saw him he was going towards the stables, but that has been a while ago.”

“Thank you, Helcar,” Elrond started in the direction of the stables, trailed by Curúfin and now Helcar.  He forced himself to ignore the two warriors, swiftly crossing the courtyard as the wind scattered the leaves in swirling patterns before him.

Entering the shadowed stable, Elrond stopped abruptly, concerned to see a whey faced Quenthar staring down at injured hands in the flickering torchlight. The elf had a bemused, almost vacant look on his face.  “Quenthar, you are injured!”

Quenthar was startled from his dark vision of death by the voice of his nemesis.  Looking down at his hands he was rendered speechless still caught in the throes of his imagination. For a moment he was incapable of explaining the condition of his hands to the three elves now looking at him with questioning eyes.

“Come, let me help you.”  Elrond took the elf’s elbow and led him over towards a flickering sconce where he could better examine the damaged hands.  Gently he turned them to over to study the abrasions as the stable master continued to stare at him in a most perplexing manner. “Quenthar, you seem dazed. Are you injured any place else? Have you hit your head?”

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head.  “No, I am alright.  One of the horses was …was … agitated and I as attempting to quiet him.”

Lord Elrond sighed.  “Celos, no doubt, and it seems he is still making a ruckus. I am sorry that my son’s mount has caused you harm.  Please, come let the healers treat your hands.”

Elrond looked from the injured elf to Helcar.  “Helcar, accompany Quenthar to the healing rooms.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Helcar dipped his head in salute before leading Quenthar towards the Last Homely House.

“Here, here,” Elrond crooned as the turned towards the stall where Celos was still thrashing.  “Easy….easy…hasta,” he soothed the troubled horse.  Celos immediately settled down to the touch of the elf Lord, calmed and reassured by the contact.  Elrond took a moment to pet and speak softly to the horse, scratching him behind the ears just like he liked.  “You are the most contrary horse in all Imladris, but you are also intensely loyal to my son, for which I thank you, my friend.”  He graced the horse with a few more pats along the flank before turning to leave the stall.  Curúfin was standing so closely behind him that he very nearly stepped into the guard before he could catch himself.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Curúfin quickly apologized. “I needed to be close in case Celos did not settle down.”

“So now you are protecting me from a horse?” questioned Elrond unbelievingly.

Curúfin simply nodded.  “Lord Glorfindel’s orders were quite explicit.  I am to protect you from anything which might harm you, my Lord.  And I intend to do just that,” he asserted.  At the look on his Lord’s face, Curúfin hastened to continue before Lord Elrond could misunderstand.  “It is not because he doubts your skills, my Lord, and certainly not because I doubt your powers, but your heart is weary and your attention divided by the ill that has befallen your family.  Let us take this much of the burden from you at least, my Lord.  Let us show you our devotion by protecting you while you concentrate on your family.”

Humbled by the heartfelt declaration, Elrond nodded his thanks. “Well,” he whispered, before looking around and clearing his throat.  “Glorfindel is obviously not here.  Let us go back.  He will notify me if there is any word.”

“Yes, my Lord.”  Curúfin could not hold back his grin as he added, “You know that Sariboril will hound you to take some rest now.” 

Elrond quirked an eyebrow at the guard and ruefully nodded his head.  “Yes, I suppose she will.  She can be extremely irritating when she wants to be.”

‘If you will take some rest in one of the twin’s rooms, I give you my word that should any news come I will awaken you.”  Curúfin fixed his Lord with an intense gaze that spoke of his dedication.

“I had thought to rest in Estel’s room…”

“My Lord, with respect, you would find no rest in Estel’s room.  Let those memories lie for now, just until after your respite.”

Elrond hesitated only a second before agreeing.  “I will rest for a bit in Elladan’s room, Curúfin, though my thoughts remain with Estel no matter where I am.”

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar smiled to himself as the healer bandaged his hands.  He had been working on a plan to get his message into the house and here it had been handed to him by the mighty Elf Lord himself.  It couldn’t have worked better.

He had been in the child’s room many nights and stood over the boy’s bed watching him sleep.  It had crossed his mind several times to simple snuff out his life then and revel in the pain it would cause, but that would have been too simple...too quick.  Twice the child had begun to awaken and had seen him fleeing the room, but his cries had been attributed to the nightmares he suffered. 

“All too easy,” he marveled as he exited the healing wing and darted up the stairs.  Taking the message from his pocket he tossed the parchment wrapped stone onto the boy’s bed.   He knew that the sentimental Elrond would venture into this room, and if he did not, well…Quenthar had a plan for that as well.  He had spent long months working out all the details in his mind.  Nothing was left to chance. .  He would simply make sure that he suggested the use of the elven horses to aid in the search.  It would be innocent enough for the horse master to suggest that Elrond should, perhaps, fetch some piece of the child’s clothing or a blanket from his bed for the horses to scent. 

The message delivered, Quenthar exited the room and headed down the back stairway so as not to attract any undue attention.  He had to quell his excitement as he realized that this would be the day of his revenge.

Passing the kitchens, Quenthar’s stomach rumbled as the aromas assailed his senses.  He stepped in to smile at the cook and receive some of the fresh baked bread for his break of fast.  He was friendly with all the elves who so gladly served their Elf Lord.  Too bad they would be grieving by nightfall, he mused.  Nodding his thanks to the chief baker, he took his bread and a mug of wine and left the kitchens to go back to the stables.  He’d been away from his beauties too long now and he missed their company.

Crossing the courtyard, Quenthar looked up at the rising sun.  It was going to be a beautiful day! Entering the stables, he sat on an overturned bucket beside a bundle of the richly scented straw.  He slowly reviewed all the steps to his plan in his mind as he chewed the savory bread.  On one of his trips to the nearby villages to procure hay and oat supplies for his stables, he had put out feelers for the type of humans he needed.  It was a simple matter to convince the ruffians that great treasure awaited them in the valley, and with his help, of course, it would be an easy matter for them to make it their own..  ‘Fools!’ he thought savagely, ‘their stupidity was bested only by their greed.’ With the security already breached and the possibility of invasion on the minds of the guards, Quenthar knew the Elves would make mincemeat of any attackers, but it would be just the diversion he needed. 

By late afternoon the humans would attack the eastern ridge and the mighty Glorfindel would ride out with his warriors and the twins, thus ensuing that Elrond was left here to him.  In his insanity, Quenthar felt sure that he could defeat the distracted Lord of Imladris, for he was as cocky as he was spiteful, but he was not about to push his luck by taking on the Balrog Slayer.  Only a fool would willingly go into battle with Glorfindel.  Hopefully, that meddlesome Wood Elf and his dunce of a companion would accompany the warriors to meet the attack.  If not, then Quenthar would take care of them as well.  First Elrond though.  The boy would die in his hole and never be found.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir, Legolas, and Falathar finished searching the last of the section to which Glorfindel had allocated them and were now picking their way down a rocky incline to return for a new assignment.  The Prince had convinced Elrohir to stop long enough to retrieve some fresh skeins of water and perhaps something to eat.  Elrohir had nearly exhausted himself in the search of the pond the night before and had barely stopped for a moment since. Twice he had slipped on the loose dirt and slid to his knees, fatigue overwhelming his natural grace.  Legolas hoped that he would be able to persuade the twin to take a moment’s rest once they were back at Imladris.  He also anticipated seeing Elladan at the Last Homely House as well.  Elrohir was almost emotionally spent and Legolas knew that he would be able to draw strength from his twin. 

As they were descending the trail to its midway point, Legolas abruptly stopped and turned to look back as though to speak with someone.

“What is it?  Legolas?” questioned Elrohir, looking past the elf and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.  “Did you hear something?”

Legolas slowly shook his head, continuing to stare backwards, towards the deep forest.  Confusion showed on his face. “I did not hear anything precisely.  It is….I do not know…a disquiet that I cannot quite make out.”  He turned to look at Falathar.  “Do you sense it?”

Falathar tried to direct his senses back towards the woods, but could get no distinct meaning besides the uneasiness being felt by the Prince.  “No, I cannot. It is as though something is dampening the spirits of the trees but I can determine no more than that.”

Legolas shook his head, frustrated.  “Neither can I, but I feel that they are trying to tell me something.  It was almost as though a hand were on my shoulder as we came down the path.”

“Come on,” urged Elrohir.  “Every Elf in the valley is searching for Estel.  Perhaps it is those feelings that you are sensing.   Let’s go.  Perhaps there is word of Estel at home.  I wish to check on Lord Erestor’s condition while we are there too.  Ada may need me.”

O-o-O-o-O

As Anor crested over the valley a dispirited Elf trudged into the Last Homely House. The soothing warmth of the noonday sun was lost on him as he ascended the flagstone steps and entered through the ornately carved door way.  Elladan was not in the mood to see anyone; had only returned, in fact, to fetch Celos and widen the search.  First however, he was drawn to his brother’s room as a moth to flame. 

Taking the steps two at a time, he quickly made his way to the third floor where the family bedrooms were located.  Walking quickly down the hallway, he came to Estel’s room and hesitated at the door, steeling himself for the loss that he instinctively knew he would experience once he entered.  Elrohir would have asked him why he was doing this to himself, and he had to admit, it would be a just question, one that he was not sure he could answer.  Elladan only knew that he needed to be close to Estel and this is where he would feel his little brother’s spirit the most; of that he was sure. 

He took a deep breath and opened the door.  The room was shadowed, but Elladan could easily make out the features of the room.  Of all the rooms in Imladris, this one had the heaviest draperies across the balcony side to ensure the most warmth for the tiny human occupant who would not be as impervious to the cold as would the elves.  Likewise the fireplace in this room was the largest one in the residence, outside of the massive fireplace in the Hall of Fire.  Crossing the room, Elladan reached down and picked up a carved pony and a blanket that lay on the floor.  He tossed the blanket onto the bed and sat down to look at the pony.  It was a toy carving of Asfaloth that Estel adored.  The boy loved horses, indeed loved all animals.  He had a caring and an empathy for and with animals that was rare in humans, and Elladan knew that he would make a fine ruler some day…a fine king. 

He sighed as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the horse.  He could see that there were a number of small toys and parchments strewn about the room and it brought the wisp of a smile to his face.  He and Elrohir had expected that they would have time to straighten up the room before their Ada got home to see it this way.  How long ago that seemed now!

Elladan reached to pick up soft blankets on the bed…to smell his little brother’s scent still lingering there, but was surprised when his hand brushed something cold and hard beneath the surface.  ‘Taken to sleeping with rocks now, Estel?’ he mused to himself as he pulled aside the blanket to see.  His eyes widened as he spied a fist-sized, black rock wrapped in a parchment.  He knew that this was no little boy’s treasure and his blood ran cold at the realization of what this might be.

He carefully picked up the rock and removed the tie from the parchment.  Tossing the rock aside, Elladan unrolled the cloth to read the message.

Elrond,

The time has come to pay for your crimes.  If you wish to see the human again, you will come to the archery field just after sunset.   

Relief surged through Elladan at the realization that Estel was still alive.  That relief, however, was tempered by confusion.  The note mentioned crimes.  What crimes could it possibly be referencing?  He continued to read.

 Come alone.  This game we play by my rules.

Game?  Fury washed over him at the thought of this being some kind of sick game.  Was it a game that Erestor might even now be in Mandos’ Halls?  Was it a game that his baby brother was snatched from the safety of his own home…sick and possibly injured?  Was it a game that now threatened his Adar? 

We will fight with swords, face to face, for I want you to see who it is who has bested you.  You will fight me knowing that if you win, I will die and take the knowledge of the location of where it is I’ve buried your son with me.  Enjoy your last day, Half-Elven…

Buried?  Horror ran through Elladan and he crumpled up the parchment in impotent rage.  Estel was buried somewhere.  By all that was good, how could this happen? 

He smoothed out the parchment on his knee and read it again. Elladan was almost overcome with the enormity of what he faced.  ‘Valar help me.  How do I find my baby brother and protect my Ada at the same time?’

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Ten

Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.--Helen Keller

Elladan still sat on Estel’s bed…numb from what he’d just read.  He felt as though a weight had fallen upon his shoulders and it threatened to drag him into the abyss.  The years rolled back before his eyes and he was once again in that dark cave, holding his mother’s battered body and begging her to live. He had been unable to save her from the orc’s torment, but he would somehow find a way to save his Ada and Estel; he had to.  Elladan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.  ‘Elrohir, where are you, brother?  I need you.  I cannot do this again… I cannot do this alone.’ 

Suddenly lifting his head and shaking off his momentary panic, Elladan realized that he did indeed have to do this alone.  He could not shift part of this burden to Elrohir, for if he failed…  No, he would not allow those dark thoughts to paralyze him, for he was not sure he could survive that journey once again. He had to stay focused and clear in his intent…he had to protect his father, confront this evil, and find Estel.  If he failed, Valar forbid, he would shoulder the blame himself and not allow any of it on Elrohir.  Elladan stood up and walked over to the balcony.  He pulled back the curtains allowing the room to be washed in light while he gazed out unseeing, deep in thought. 

“Elladan?”

Elladan swung around to his father’s voice.  Elrond was standing in the doorway.  The twin quickly slipped the note into his pocket, pained at the need to deceive his father and aware that if he made the wrong move his baby brother would pay the price with his life. 

“Ada. I…”

“I understand, ion nín.  I, too, was drawn here.”  Elrond crossed the floor, stepping around the scattered toys and parchments to stand beside his firstborn.  Reaching down, he picked up the small, cloth-made bear that Estel favored sleeping with and held it tightly for a moment before handing it to Elladan.  “Estel will want this when he gets back. Why don’t you keep it for him?”

Elladan took the small animal from his father, smiling as he gazed down at it.  “He loves it so much that he left it on the floor?”

Elrond smiled. “He leaves everything on the floor.”

Elladan knew that his father was attempting to lighten his spirits so he made an attempt at returning the favor.  “He takes after Elrohir.”

“Hey!” came an indignant reply from the doorway. 

The pair turned to see Elrohir and Legolas standing just inside the room. 

“Estel is much messier than I am,” argued the younger twin.

“By the looks of you, I’m not so sure,” teased the older twin. “Legolas!” greeted Elladan walking over to grasp forearms with his friend. He was only able to offer his right arm, though, because of the small bear still grasped firmly in his left.  “I was not aware that you were here!” 

“Falathar and I arrived last night.  We’ve been searching with Elrohir for your new little brother ever since.”  Legolas quirked a fine eyebrow at the sight of the stuffed animal. “I take it this is his?”

“Yes,” the twin replied softly.  He gazed down at the tawny colored bear as his fingers ran lovingly over the soft surface.  With a quick sigh, Elladan tucked the animal into the fold of his tunic.  He cleared his throat self consciously and looked past Legolas and his brother. “Where is Falathar?”

Elrohir choked back a laugh.  “Legolas all but ordered him to accompany Glorfindel on patrol.”

Legolas had the good grace to look sheepish.  “Falathar is a good and loyal friend, but he has hovered over me for several days now and I needed some room to move without bumping into him.”

From the balcony an inaudible mumble was heard, and the three young ones turned to the source. 

“Did you say something, Ada?”

“I?  No, not at all,” replied the Lord, looking completely innocent.

“Speaking of bumping into someone, why is Estel’s room being guarded?” questioned Elrohir.  “I practically had to vouch for Legolas so that he would be allowed to enter.”

“Surely not!” came the incredulous reply from Lord Elrond.

“I’m sorry, Ada,” Elrohir immediately apologized, “I was only joking. But why is Curúfin guarding Estel’s room?”

“Curúfin is not here to guard Estel’s room,” admitted the elf Lord reluctantly. “He is here to guard me.”

Legolas and Elrohir practically gaped at Lord Elrond.  Elrohir had never seen his father with a guard and if he weren’t so tired he would have burst out laughing at the very thought.  “Let me guess, Glorfindel strikes again.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” said Elladan quietly, and Legolas and Elrohir turned their shocked faces from Lord Elrond to the twin.

Elrohir narrowed his eyes, but made no comment. He was picking up on some powerful emotions emanating from his brother, but he would not question them in front of their Ada.

Legolas looked back and forth between the twins, all too aware of their ability to read each other.

Elrond walked across the room to properly greet Legolas and Elrohir.  “Elrohir, you are a mess, ion nin.”

“He went for a swim, my Lord,” provided Legolas, smiling at Elrohir.  “I had hoped that he would get something to eat and rest a bit while before going back out to search.”

“Now who is hovering?” questioned Elrohir as he rolled his eyes at the Prince.  “I am fine, Ada. I will just change my clothes and grab something to eat.  I will rest when Estel is home.”

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar walked through his house into the small bedroom at the back. The room was deeply shadowed because he kept the draperies closed at all times, preferring the darkness when he was here, away from his beloved horses. He pulled his bed out from where it rested against the back wall.  Sitting down on the side, he leaned across it to pull out a small leather bag he had hidden in a recess he’d carved from the rock wall below the level of the bed.  No one who didn’t know it was there would have found it without a thorough search.  The one bit of magic to which he’d ever had access was contained within this bag, a gift from a wizard. 

Sitting back up, he carefully untied the leather straps securing the top.  He reached in and grasped the glass vial by its cork lid.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before gently sliding the vial from the bag.  This would tell the tale, if the small enchantment he’d learned had worked.  If the note had been read, then the fluid would be a cloudy blue.  If it had not, then it would remain clear.  Steeling himself, Quenthar opened his eyes and smiled.  The fluid was blue.  The message had been read.  The Elf took a moment to allow the satisfaction to warm him.  So the bait had been taken.

This would be the day.  All the patience and the planning would finally come to fruition. Just a few more hours and Elrond would be in the Halls of Mandos, and Quenthar would sail for Valinor to comfort Celebrían.  Soon, he promised himself, consolation would turn to love and he would be with his beloved for the rest of time.  

As horn blasts began to echo through the valley, Quenthar’s head snapped up.  He smirked as he got up from the bed and proceeded to make his way towards the stables where he was expected to be any time there was a threat within the valley.

O-o-O-o-O

The sound of the blowing horn took them all by surprise.  Three short blasts followed by one long one, and then repeated. The twins shared one horrified look and then turned to see their father’s reaction.  The Lord of Imladris was looking back towards the window.  Turning to face the three young ones, he nodded to them once and started for the door. 

Legolas did not know exactly what the signal meant, but he was fairly sure from the reaction of the Peredhils that it was not good. “Elrohir, what is happening?”

Elrohir could hardly fathom it, and the surprise clearly showed on his face.  “It means the valley is being invaded.  It is from the western border; the one you would have entered by.  Come, we must go.  We will be needed.”

The three younger Elves hurried to follow Lord Elrond, who, by this time, was striding down the stairs, closely followed by Curúfin.  Elrond crossed the foyer in five swift strides and pulled open the door.  He was met immediately by Helcar.  The Elf had his sword drawn and was directing his warriors to tighten their defenses around the perimeter of the residence. “My Lord, please stay inside until we know more of what is happening.”

“Helcar…”

“Please, my Lord, just until I am sure that the area is secure.  Curúfin…”

“Come, my Lord,” directed Curúfin.  “Let the warriors deal with this.”

Elrond was vexed, but knew the warriors did not need to be distracted.  “Very well, I will see that the healing wing is prepared.”

The relief on Helcar’s face was obvious for all to see as he nodded his thanks to Curúfin and went back to directing his warriors.  No evil would get inside so long as one of them drew breath, of that he was certain.

Elrohir had pulled his sword as he got to the front door.  “Come on, Legolas, Elladan, let’s go.”

“No,” said Elrond as he turned back towards the trio.  “I do not want Prince Legolas to leave Imladris.  No,” he held up his hand to Legolas to forestall the argument he knew was coming.  “You are a guest in this valley.  Your father did not send you here to fight our battles.”  The Elf Lord walked into the house before the Prince could even respond. His healer’s mind was already on the preparations he would need to make for the possible influx of wounded.

“Ada’s right, Legolas, stay here and help him with the casualties that come in.”  Already beginning to tread down the steps, Elrohir turned towards his brother, who stood rooted beside the Prince.  “Come on, Elladan.”

“No, brother, I cannot.”

Those words stopped Elrohir in his tracks and he met his brother’s eyes with unbelief clearly marked on his incredulous face.  “What do you mean?  Elladan, our home is under attack!”

Elladan turned tortured eyes to his twin.  Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to join his brother, to be riding this moment towards the danger and the battle, but he dared not leave his father.  This could all be part of the plan, and he could not take that chance.  Nor could he explain to Elrohir.

Before Elrohir could answer a signal echoed from the hillside.  It was four short blasts from a horn, signifying that Glorfindel’s patrol was arriving at the site of the battle.  Another signal rang out from the western side of the Bruinen, signaling other patrols converging on the invasion site.  Imladris’ defenders were well trained and responding exactly as Lord Glorfindel had designed.

Even as the last blasts of the horns were dying, another group of warriors were formed up in front of the stable and preparing to ride out.  Elrohir looked from them back to his brother, confusion warring with the anger on his face.  “Elladan, are you coming?”

Elladan shook his head sadly.  “I can not come, Elrohir.  Go, and be careful, Brother.”

“When I get back,” the twin promised, “we’re going to have a long talk.  Do you hear me?”

“Once Estel is home I’ll explain everything, I promise.” 

O-o-O-o-O

Locked inside a fevered body, Estel roamed a dream world that comforted him as much as it confused him.  At least in this place he was not wedged into a dark box…not alone.  Here there were shadows moving, men and elves, he thought, going about their business.

The child found himself standing as though on a gray cloud or enveloped in a thick fog; he wasn’t sure which it was, for the delicate tendrils drifted up and around him.  He laughed delightedly as the wisps parted when he ran his hand back and forth through them.

“Aragorn,” a deep voice called out.  “Aragorn, come to me, son.”

Estel stopped playing with the clouds and looked around, confused.  It sounded as though the voice was calling to him. He cocked his head to one side as he tried harder to see through the mists to where a shadow stood.  He wasn’t afraid, even though he could not make out who the shadow was.  It seemed to beckon him.

“Aragorn,” the shadow repeated. “Come to me.”

The boy started to walk towards the shadow.

“Estel, no, come to me,” called another misty figure.

“Ada?” questioned the child, turning towards the new voice.  “Ada, is that you?”

But no one answered his inquiry.

“Aragorn,” the deep voice cooed one more, “you are a man-child; you must come to me.  You will be powerful if you come to me!”

The child wavered, unsure of what to do.

“Aragorn, you are tired and you are sick.  Come to me and you will feel no more pain.”

A frown crossed the boy’s face.  It would be good not to hurt any more. He was afraid of the box and did not want to go back there.  Even as his mind turned to these thoughts he could feel himself floating towards the shadow.

“Estel, we love you.  Stay with us,” came pleading voices from someplace that Estel could not see but very much wanted to be.

“Dan?  Ro?”  Estel tried to stop his glide.  It took all his strength, but he was able to stop and turn back towards the voices of his brothers.

“Aragorn, do you not want the power I offer you?  Do you not want to stop hurting?” appealed the shadow. 

Estel looked back and forth, torn between the two sets of voices.  He was starting to feel very tired, very heavy, as though he arms and legs weighed twice as much as usual.  Memories flitted across his consciousness, warring with each other for his attention.  There were memories of a man and a woman, of fear and dark creatures, and he was afraid of them.  But there were also good memories of elves, and of laughter, and the child knew where he wanted to be.

“No,” shouted Estel.  “I don’t want the power.  I want my Ada and my Gwadors.”

“Aragorn, you must come; you cannot escape what must be.  Come to me!”

“No!” wailed the child.  “I don’t want to come. I want my Ada!  I want my Ada…” the boy cried as all went dark once more and he found himself back in the darkness…alone in the box. “I want my Ada…”

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Eleven

Again and again, the impossible problem is solved when we see that the problem is only a tough decision waiting to be made.--Robert Schuller

Elrohir strode into the stables as the warriors who had earlier gathered out front thundered across the bridge.  His mood was as dark as the afternoon sky, which was being hooded by ominous thunderheads building overhead.  He could not understand what Elladan was thinking, and he did not like the feeling.  Always they thought and fought as one. How could his brother turn his back on his duty like this? He wouldn’t; it was as simple as that.  None of this made sense.

His mental musings were interrupted by Quenthar, who was exiting one of the empty stalls carrying a bridle.  “My lord, you must hurry. Most of the warriors have ridden out by now.  I will get Celon and Celos for you.”

Elrohir was irritated by the implied rebuke, but did not respond.  He had enough on his mind without engaging in a verbal sparring match with Quenthar.  As it was, the frown on his face spoke volumes. 

“Elladan is not coming.  I go alone.”

This unexpected turn of events did not sit well with Quenthar.  He did not want anything to upset his carefully laid plans.  “It is not like my Lord’s son to be cowardly,” goaded the Elf.

Elrohir’s fury was tempered by his utter astonishment.  He was not accustomed to being so addressed, and even the intimation that Elladan was a coward was utterly absurd.  Was all of Arda going insane this day?  He turned to fix Quenthar with a look that would have done Lord Elrond proud, and his voice was as cold as the snows of Caradhras.  “It is not your place to question my brother, Quenthar.”

Quenthar gritted his teeth but maintained his calm expression.  Confrontation with this whelp was the last thing he wanted at the moment.  He would deal with the twins later, after their father was dead.  He smiled to himself as he subserviently lowered his head.  Yes, he would definitely change his plans to deal with these two curs. And once they were taken care of he’d finish off Erestor, so that no one would be left who could identify him.  Then, he visualized, his path to Celebrían would be clear and she would welcome him with open arms.  “Of course, my Lord,” he muttered, “my apologies.”

Shaking his head as he quickly walked down the rows of stalls, Elrohir passed Celos and entered the stall where his own stallion, Celon, was stabled.  “Come on, boy, we have work to do.”

Celos began snorting and bucking as Elrohir led Celon out from his stall and Elrohir tried to soothe the stallion.  “Sorry, Celos, you stay here this time, though I do not understand why.” 

Elrohir lightly hopped on to the back of his horse.  “Come Celon, let us depart.”

With a clattering of hooves and the swirling of leaves, Celon and Elrohir burst from the front of the stable and raced towards the ancient bridge as lightening crackled overhead.  Elrohir could feel the anxiety of his mount even as he struggled with his own.  He could still hear Celos making a commotion in the stables.  Looking up at the sky and then back at his home, Elrohir signaled his steed.  “Daro, Celon, Daro.”

Celon’s hooves skidded to a stop and he raised his mighty head, shaking it back and forth as he indicated his relief.  Prancing in a tight circle, Celon awaited his master’s next order. 

Elrohir leaned down to pat his friend on the neck.  “Steady, Celon, Steady.  Do you hear that ruckus?  It seems that your brother is out of sorts, as is mine.  I do not like it, my friend.  Something is amiss.

Celon neighed, and danced nervously on the trail, his muscled flank rippling from the strain.

“You feel it too, do you not?  What has our brothers acting so strangely, and what is it that mine is hiding from me?  He has never let me go out to fight a battle without him before.”  With a final scratch between Celon’s ears, Elrohir straightened up, his decision made.  “Come on, we’re going back.”

The horse nickered his approval and started back.  Celon’s senses were alerting him to the tension that was ripe throughout the valley…from the weather, from the Elves, from the trees and even from his master. 

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel loosed another arrow at the attacking humans streaming into the valley.  There must have been a hundred of them.  The warrior was amazed at the sheer size of the attack.  His warriors, though badly outnumbered, were holding back the tide and Glorfindel wanted to know what was happening and why now.  They had always had good relations with the human villages surrounding Imladris, but these didn’t look like simple farmers. This was a rougher, more brutish group.

“Beling,” he called to the young warrior whose horn had signaled the first warning of the attack. “I want one alive.”

Beling nodded from where he was positioned in a tree high above the fracas.  He shot another arrow and motioned to one of his patrol below.  “We need a prisoner.  Lord Glorfindel wants one to question.”

The warrior nodded his understand and gestured to his partner.  Glorfindel had taught all of his warriors to fight in tandem when possible, pairing up to protect each other’s backs.  The two made their way over to where there were three humans sword fighting with a Silvan elf. 

Falathar was holding his own in the sword fight, even though he would have preferred to be using his bow.   Just wait until he saw Legolas again…he would have a few choice words for his Prince.  ‘Just go out on patrol with Glorfindel, Falathar,’ mouthed the Elf.  Slicing through the sword arm of the human on his left, Falathar turned to parry a blow descending towards his head from the right.  As he was swinging back to face off with the third one, a tall man with a scar running down his face and arms the size of anvils, a pair of the Rivendell elves rushed past him.  One engaged the human while the second one came up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword. 

Before Falathar could even mouth his appreciation, Beling dropped down beside him from above. 

“Well done,” panted the young warrior. 

“Well done,” snorted Falathar, “All I’ve done so far is to protect myself.”

“No matter,” replied Beling.  “You are a guest in our valley and you have fought valiantly with us.”  The warrior dipped his head to the blonde from Mirkwood. “I honor you.”

Falathar was momentarily speechless.  Here they were in the middle of a battle with the enemy still streaming into the fray and this Elf was taking the time to give him a compliment.  He’d never understand these Noldor elves.

Falathar quickly turned as he heard his name called from across the gorge.  Lord Glorfindel was motioning for him and he started making his way across.

“No, no,” he heard Glorfindel shout as he shook his head and motioned back to where Falathar had just come.  “Bring the prisoner.”

Falathar ran back to where Beling was tying the hands of scar-man, as he thought of him.  The man was still unconscious and lying on his side. 

“Help me pull him up,” grunted Beling as he tugged on the man.  “These humans are heavy.”

Falathar sheathed his sword and stepped across the fallen human.  He grabbed hold of the man’s elbow and helped Beling bear the weight as they made their way across to Glorfindel.

“Excellent,” said Glorfindel.  “Falathar, you and Beling throw that, that thing across your horse and take him back to Imladris.  Turn him over to Helcar to guard until I can get back there to question him.” 

Falathar was looking dumbly back and forth between Beling and the warrior. 

“Do you understand?” questioned Glorfindel. 

“Yes…yes, my Lord,” stammered Falathar.  “You’re sending me back?  But, the battle…”

“It is more important that we have a prisoner to question.  My warriors have this under control,” he said in dismissal.  “Beling?”

“Yes, my Lord,”

“Your patrol has been here the longest.  Take your Elves and see to the transport of the wounded back to Lord Elrond.   He will be waiting in the healing wing.”  Glorfindel shot off an arrow before continuing.  “Then have your patrol take some rest and get some nourishment.”

“Yes, my Lord,” responded Beling as he bowed his head, “and thank you.”  He turned to leave and stopped when he heard his name called again. 

“Beling…well done.” Glorfindel was interrupted by a human that had made it through the line of Elven warriors to strike at the golden haired elf.  The Balrog Slayer made quick work of the attacker and turned back to waiting Elf.  “Tell Helcar that we are in control of the situation here and that I will remain until I’m certain that no other threat comes from this quarter.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir bypassed the stables and rode directly to the front door of his house.  He jumped from his mount and told the animal to stay there, and then he took the flagstone steps two at a time.

Practically bursting through the front door, Elrohir shouted for his brother.  “Elladan!”

In the healing wing with his father, alarm shot through Elladan as he heard his brother’s call.  His first thought, as irrational as it was given the time span, was that his brother had been wounded. 

Glancing up at his father, the older twin stood up from where he had been kneeling in the bandage pantry retrieving linen for the wrapping of wounds.  “I will see what Elrohir needs, Ada.”

“Elladan,” called Elrond. “Let me know how things go out there, will you?”

“Yes, Ada,” replied Elladan.

He hurried out of the healing wing as Elrohir yelled his name again.

“Elrohir,” called Elladan as he entered the hallway, “I am here.  Are you all right?”

Elrohir formulated his thoughts into words as he watched his brother walk towards him. 

“Elrohir, what is it?” questioned Elladan.  “I thought you had answered the call to arms.”

“I did, or rather I stared to,” replied the twin, “but I missed my brother riding along side.  Tell me, brother, why were you not beside me?”

Elladan opened and then closed his mouth.  He did not know how to respond to his twin, and the indecision was tearing him apart.   With a deep sigh, Elladan realized that he could not continue this charade. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the note he’d found earlier in the day.  “Forgive me, Elrohir, I had hoped to spare you this burden, but I find that I need your help now more than ever.”

Elrohir frowned in puzzlement and took the proffered note, reading it quickly. 

Elladan watched the play of emotions on his brother’s face as he scanned the contents a second time.  As much as he hated that Elrohir was now a part of this trouble, he knew peace in his heart that this was the right thing.  Elrohir loved Ada and Estel as much as he and it was important that he share in something this important.  And the plain truth was that Elladan needed Elrohir…needed his brother by his side. 

“Forgive me, Elrohir.  Until we know who is behind this I could not risk leaving Ada alone.”

Elrohir slowly nodded his head, as numbed by the information as Elladan had been earlier.  “Estel…” breathed the elf almost to himself.   Anger marred his fair features as Elrohir met his twin’s eyes.  “Who could do such a thing?”

Elladan sadly shook his head. “I do not know.  I have thought of little else.  What could possibly have been done to engender such hatred towards our family…towards Ada, and Estel.  And what of Erestor?  Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?  Elrohir, I have run these and many other questions through my mind endlessly and I have no answers.  I’m not the thinker that you are, that Ada is.  I am a simple warrior, brother; a warrior that is in far over his head.  I need your wisdom, Elrohir.  Help me save our brother and our father.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond was exiting from one of the supply pantries when Sariboril came into the main room leading Curúfin and Legolas, who carried Erestor on a litter between them.  He had to choke back a laugh at the look on the Prince’s face as he nodded his approval of the action to Sariboril and walked down the center aisle to meet the healer. 

“I was about to suggest this very move, Sariboril.  There is no way to tell as yet how many wounded we may see; it is best that you are here.  How is he?”

Sariboril made a couple of caustic comments to the two Elven litter bearers, who were gratefully escaping from her tirade through the back doorway of the wing, Curúfin to resume his guard at the door and Legolas to go any place that this she Elf from Udûn was not.

The ancient healer shook her head at the retreating pair.  “Young ones!  Warriors, warriors, they all want to be warriors.  They have no concept of the intricacies of the healing arts.  They seem to think that all they have to learn are a few basics so that they can bandage each other’s wounds.  Impatient, Elrond, they are all impatient!”

The Lord of Imladris could not help but smile at his old friend.  “Sariboril, I seem to remember being told that very thing, as were you, I believe.”

Sariboril scowled at the elf Lord.  “In your case they were right.  Now, let me see what damage you have done to my apothecary.  If it is out of order, you will be on the receiving end of my wrath, you mark my words.”

Elrond’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.  “How ever could you tell whether or not your apothecary is out of order?  There is no order in there!”

Sariboril faced her Lord with her feet apart and her hands on her hips.  “It may not look like order to you, but I know where everything in there is.”

Elrond nodded his acceptance of Sariboril’s statement.  “How is Erestor?” he asked again now that his healer had finished her tirade about the impatience of youth.

Sariboril’s eyes moved over to Erestor, who was sleeping on a bed moved back into a corner where he could benefit from the fresh air without being chilled by a direct breeze.  “He is little changed.  He shows no sign of infection from the wound, but he has yet to awaken.  Could there have been a head injury as well as the puncture in his back?”

Elrond followed her gaze to his seneschal.  He frowned as he shook his head.  “I do not know for sure, though I found no obvious damage when I checked him over after closing the wound.  I believe that the extreme blood loss is what has weakened him and why he is not yet recovering his consciousness.”

The two healers were interrupted by the arrival of the first wounded elves.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas gratefully rounded the corner, relieved to be out of the healing wing.  He had spent quite enough time in healing wings in his life, and cared little for the thought of spending time there when he was not injured.  It was too much like tempting fate, to his way of thinking.

He heard voices in the foyer and walked in that direction. Perhaps he could be of some use to Helcar. He was highly frustrated to be stuck here in Imladris instead of out at the battle site.  What kind of warrior waited behind when the call to arms had been sounded?  Falathar would never let him hear the end of it, of that he was sure! 

The Prince smiled when he saw the twins engaged in conversation just inside the front door.   If Lord Elrond would not let him respond to the invasion then perhaps he could resume his search for the human child.  The more he puzzled over the dread he had been feeling from the trees, the more he believe that they might be of help to him in the search.

Elladan saw the Prince approaching them and quickly masked the apprehension on his face.  “Legolas,” greeted Elladan.  “How did you escape Sariboril?”

“How is not important,” replied the blue eyed Silvan.  “That I did is all that matters!  Now, tell me what it is that the two of you are hiding from me, for neither one of you has ever been able to fool me before.”

Translations

Daro: Stop

Udûn:  Sindarin for un-west (hell)  The source of the dark flame of the Balrogs

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Twelve

True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others, at whatever cost. Arthur Ashe

The Best Laid Plans….

Quenthar, frowning, watched from the stable door as Elrohir rode up to the front of his residence and leaped off of Celon.  A bright flash penetrated his dark thoughts as a bolt of lightning streaked across the late afternoon sky.  Glancing up to briefly watch the light show, the Elf’s anger grew.  No doubt the mighty Elf Lord would utilize the power of Vilya, his ring of power, to keep the rain at bay while his warriors fought the battle in the hills surrounding the valley.

No matter, he mused, the battle itself was the diversion and soon it would be the time for his revenge.  All the pieces were in place.  The last time he had made his way up to the buried brat to dose him with the poison and ensure his silence, the child had not even been conscious.  At one time in his life Quenthar would have felt pity for the whimpering, fever wracked child, but not now.  That part of him had been eaten away long ago by the envy that had, over time, given way to hatred.  The hatred had transformed into a monster that he could no longer control…that he no longer even wanted to control.  The only thing that existed for him now was the fantasy world he had created for himself and Celebrían.

Quenthar smiled as he stepped back into the stables where he had happily worked for centuries.  He knew every stall, every horse, and every bale of hay, for this had been his haven of peace.  A small flicker of feeling in what was left of his soul fought for the surface, fought to convince him that he would miss this… that where he hoped to go was only an illusion, but it was quickly snuffed out by the darkness which now ruled his heart and mind.

Picking up a pitchfork, Quenthar began to calmly and methodically distribute fresh hay to every stall.  He would see that his beauties were all well cared for until a replacement could be found for him.  The pang he felt at the thought of never again doing theses simple chores that brought him so much pleasure was quickly replaced by the joy he would feel once Celebrían was his.   “Soon, my love, soon,” he crooned to himself as he moved to brush down the powerful roan belonging to Prince Legolas.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas crossed his arms as he calmly waited for the twins to recover from the shock which seem to have stolen both their tongues.  He couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he looked from one to the other.  “Do not look so surprised, my friends.  I have known you for a very long time, remember?”

When neither twin spoke, the Prince laughed and tapped his foot in mock impatience.  “I assure you, I am quite willing to wait here all night, if need be.”

Elrohir shared a glance with Elladan, who nodded his approval, and held out the note to Legolas. 

Legolas took the note from the twin and read it through, shaking his head as he read.  “I cannot believe this.  Are you seriously thinking of keeping this from your father?”

“Legolas,” appealed Elladan, “what else can we do? I cannot allow my Ada to face some insane Elf that is bent upon killing him for the Valar knows what reason!  You read what it says.  If Ada kills him, the whereabouts of Estel dies with him.  Do you really think that Ada would take that chance?  He would not protect himself for fear losing Estel.”

“Let’s take this discussion upstairs,” cautioned Elrohir, glancing back down the hallway towards the healing wing.  “We need to make plans and this place is a little bit too public.”

O-o-O-o-O

Falathar rode into the courtyard and right up to the residence of Lord Elrond.  He noticed Elrohir’s horse standing off to the left side of the front entrance, contentedly chewing on the ivy and roses growing in the garden.  ‘Noldor!’ he mused. ‘Even their horses act strangely!’

Helcar walked up to greet the Mirkwood Elf. 

“Here,” announced Falathar.  “Lord Glorfindel sends you a gift.”  With that, he unceremoniously dumped scar-man off from where he’d been thrown over the front of his horse.  “My horse grows weary of carrying this vermin.”

Helcar glared down at the unconscious human as Falathar continued.

“Lord Glorfindel says that his warriors have stemmed the tide of the invasion, but he will remain on site until he is sure that all is quiet.” He pointed down at scar-man, who was beginning to moan and awaken, “He is for questioning.”

“Is he one that will know where Estel has been taken?” asked Helcar.

“That I do not know, my friend,” replied Falathar, “but I feel certain that if he does know anything, he will be convinced to tell.”

“Oh yes,” snarled Helcar, for every Elf in Rivendell was keenly aware that the sanctity and serenity of Imladris had been violated, and every Elf took the kidnapping of their Lord’s son quite personally.

Scar-man moaned again and tried to sit up without much success. 

Helcar leaned down and grabbed the prisoner by the arm, pulling him over to where he could lean back against a tree.  With his hands and feet tied, he wasn’t going anywhere.  All the while, scar-man glared up at him defiantly.  “I’m not afraid of you, elf,” he spat.

Helcar laughed. “Oh, you will be.”  Keeling down to the man’s eye level Helcar gave him his most menacing sneer.  “Have you ever heard of the Balrog Slayer?” 

Scar-man’s eyes grew impossibly large and he swallowed nosily a couple of times.

“Be afraid, human…be very afraid.” 

Falathar felt a definite chill travel down his spine.  He watched the man lower his head as though trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and after what he’d seen out on the ridge earlier, he did not blame the being...did not blame him at all.

O-o-O-o-O

In Estel’s room, where the trio had gathered, Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas were deep in discussion and planning.

Elrohir and Legolas were sitting on Estel’s bed and Elladan was standing with his back to them as he watched the lightning overhead while considering his plan. The cool wind on his face promised rain, but he knew that Vilya’s power would hold it back until all the warriors were safely home. He scanned the yard from the balcony.  Noting with satisfaction that Helcar’s men were still in position guarding the house, he turned and walked back into the room.

“It’s unlikely that any intruder could get in from the outside, but since we do not know how many or who it is we are fighting, we must not trust any one,” he said thoughtfully.  “Elrohir, since you often work with Ada in healing, you will stay with him.  He will not be suspicious of you being in the healing wing.  Do not let him out of your sight, and keep your sword close.”

“I will,” nodded Elrohir.  “No one will get to Ada, I promise you that.”

 “What about me?” asked Legolas.

“Legolas, I don’t claim to understand how Wood-Elves can talk to the trees, but do you still think that you can feel them trying to tell you something?”

“It is not like they can just tell me where to go, Elladan, but I believe that I may be able to follow their lead to your brother.”

“Then that is what you are to do,” exclaimed Elladan.  “You will be my back up.  If I fail it will be up to you to save Estel.”

“What do you mean if you fail?” questioned Elrohir.  He did not like the sound of that at all.  “What are you planning?”

Elladan looked calmly at his brother and the prince.  “I am going to fight this Elf.”

“What?” exclaimed the two Elves at once. 

“Are you crazy?” gulped Elrohir as fear seized his heart.

“Elladan,” appealed Legolas, “think this through. You would not fight as you should either, and he will kill you.”

“No, at least I hope not,” hesitated the older twin.  “It is not me that he wants dead; it is Ada.  Right?”

“Yes,” allowed Elrohir, “but this Elf is obviously insane.  What if he does not care who he kills?”

“Then,” Elladan declared, “I will buy Legolas enough time to find and rescue Estel.  And you,” he continued, as Elrohir opened his mouth to object, “will protect Ada in case there are others in on this plot.”

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel sighed to himself as the last of the dead humans were laid out in a row.  These were not the kind of humans that lived in the surrounding villages; these were ruffians.  This type of human should not even have been able to fine their way into Imladris.  

Illuin, the commander in charge of border defenses, walked up to stand beside the golden warrior, shaking his head as he followed his commander’s gaze.  “What drove these humans to attack?  What could they have hoped to find in Imladris that they would risk the wrath of the Elves?” 

Glorfindel continued looking down at the human at his feet a moment before meeting Illuin’s eyes.  “That is what I would like to know.”

“Our Lord is not like King Thranduil, who has many priceless jewels,” mused Illuin.

Glorfindel slowly turned his head to gaze at the young commander.  He made no comment, but slowly raised an eyebrow in his best imitation of Elrond.

“Not that there is anything wrong with collecting jewels, my Lord,” gulped Illuin.  “I meant no disrespect for the King.”

The Balrog Slayer chuckled.  ‘Young ones,’ he thought, ‘Elrond is right, the eyebrow gets them every time.’

“Perhaps the prisoner you sent back will be able to provide answers,” suggested the   commander, anxious to change the subject.  “Our borders are secure, my Lord; my warriors and I will remain on alert.  Go back and question the human.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond and Sariboril worked at a steady pace.  Thankfully the causalities from the battle had been fairly light, at least for the Elves.  Several humans had been brought in with serious injuries, and it was on one of these that Lord Elrond now worked.  He would save those that he could, and once they were able to be safely moved he would have turn them over to the human authorities for trial.

Soft moaning carried from several of the beds lining the room as Sariboril and her apprentice healers made rounds, binding wounds and splitting broken bones.  Seeing that things were under control at the moment in the main part of the room, Sariboril walked with soft steps over to the surgical area at the far end of the healing wing where Elrond was working quickly to stem the extreme bleeding of the man on the table in front of him.  Sariboril began to work with the Lord with the ease of one long accustomed to the routine.

“Sariboril, I cannot stop the bleeding in this one.  I fear that the arrow shard has punctured his lung.”

“If that is the case, my Lord, then you might as well stop causing him pain and bind the wound as best you can, for you cannot mend that type of injury.”

 Elrond felt great frustration.  This man and his companions had come to attack his home, which had diverted his warriors from the search for Estel, and to make matters worse, he could not even turn around without bumping into Curufin.  Wiping his forehead with the back of his forearm, Elrond forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing.  This was a living being and he would do his best to save him, as a healer should.  “Not yet, my friend, I cannot just give up on him…not if I can save him.”

“Save him for what…a hangman’s noose?”

“The law will make those decisions, Sariboril, not I.”

“And what if he is one who has taken or harmed Estel?  What will you do then?”

Elrond frowned deeply but continued his work.  “Ah there it is…the last piece, and it did not puncture the lung.”  His hands worked steadily as he expertly closed the wound on the man.

“You did not answer my question,” prodded the healer.

“No, I did not answer your question, because you already know the answer.  Your diversion will not work on me, old friend, for I know all your tricks.”

“You cannot blame an old Elf for trying, my Lord,” chortled Sariboril.  The healer looked closer at Elrond and frowned.  “You still have not rested, Elrond.  How much longer do you think you can stay on your feet?”

Elrond’s answer was interrupted as he noticed Elrohir enter the room.  The twin looked around until he found his father and started back to join him. 

Entering the small surgery, Elrohir hid his surprise at finding that it was a human on which his father worked.  “Well that answers the question as to why there are guards in here.  Ada, I wish to help you.”

Sariboril snorted, “These humans not only need guarding, they all need baths as well.  They are stinking up the whole place.”

“Very good, Elrohir,” the Elf Lord continued calmly, as though there had been no interruption, “you may help me finish on his man. I believe Sariboril’s apprentices are in need of her.”

“I can take a hint,” scoffed Sariboril, “but do not think you are escaping me that easily.  I will see that you take some rest, and soon!”  Muttering to herself about obstinate Elf Lords, Sariboril rejoined her junior healers and immediately lost herself in the flurry of activity taking place around the room.  The healing wing at Imladris had not seen this much activity in centuries and she was rather enjoying the hubbub. 

O-o-O-o-O

As the sun sank below the mountains on the far side of the Bruinen, Quenthar moved back deeply into the shadow of the woods on the east side of the archery field.  He had made a thorough search of the area before settling down on this spot.  Now he simply sat, watching towards his right, from where he expected Elrond to come.  From this vantage point he would have the advantage of surprise, for anyone looking for him would be forced to cross the open field.  He looked down at the brightly shined blade by his side and absently stroked its gleaming finish.  He licked his lips as he envisioned the blade covered with Elrond’s blood.  The vision made his heart beat faster in anticipation.

O-o-O-o-O

“Elladan, please reconsider this decision.  Let me help you.”

Elladan stopped and turned to the prince. “Legolas, we have been over this a dozen times. My plan is the only one that gives Estel a chance and keeps Ada safe.  Please understand…I was not in time to save my Nana.  I will save my brother and Ada.”

“But why must you fight the Elf.  I can do that for you, my friend.”

“Because, Legolas, I cannot hear the trees and you can.  I hope to make this Elf see reason and tell me where I can find my brother.  But, if he will not, I will fight him.  And the truth be known, I want to fight him for what he has done to Estel, for what he did to Erestor, and for what he wants to do to Ada.”

The two had stopped just outside the front entrance where Celon was still enjoying Erestor’s prize roses.  Helcar saw them in conversation and called to the twin.

“Lord Elladan, we have a prisoner over here.”

Elladan and Legolas shared a glance at the news. 

“Perhaps he can give us some information on the whereabouts of Estel,” ventured Legolas hopefully.

“Has he said anything, Helcar?” questioned Elladan.

“No, my Lord, but I have not asked him much.  I was waiting for Lord Glorfindel to arrive.”

Elladan nodded his head thoughtfully as he looked up at the rapidly sinking sun.  The shadows of evening were upon them, and he dared not wait much longer.  However, if this human could give him some information on who it was that had taken Estel and threatened his father, then the delay would be useful.

“Legolas, you go ahead.  Begin searching for Estel while I see if I can find out any information from the prisoner.”

Legolas nodded and started to trot off through the garden.

“Wait, Legolas,” called Elladan. “Where will your search be centered?  I may need to find you quickly if I am able to persuade our prisoner to talk.”

“On the rise above the pond on the other side of the archery field is where I felt the strongest sensations.  That is where I will begin.”

Elladan nodded.  With a flash of his father’s foresight, the twin had a sudden terrible sense of foreboding and shivered.  “Legolas, find my brother.”  What he did not add was that he very much feared that he would be unable to help the Prince.

TBC

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

In the Arena

Chapter Thirteen

See Disclaimer on Chapter One

A/N: I made a tremendous error in the previous chapter. (Yes, it does happen!) When I wrote that Quenthar had made his trip to dose Estel with poison, I actually meant to put potion. Now, why my fingers actually typed poison and why I never caught the mistake in numerous re-reads of the chapter, I’ll never know. The potion was a sleeping draught to keep the child quiet until after Quenthar could fight and kill Elrond and make his escape. After that it would be unnecessary, for he would leave Estel to die alone in the darkness while the elves grieved for Elrond.

"The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat." Theodore Roosevelt

Legolas nodded to one of Helcar’s guards as he crossed through the beautiful garden. He paused to glance up at Lord Elrond’s balcony, knowing that it was from there that the renegade elf had taken the human child. ‘Of course,’ he realized, ‘why did I not think of this before!’ Walking over to the ancient elm, which stood majestically over the marble bench where the scrap of bandage from Estel had been found, the Elven prince placed his hands respectfully against the bark. It was the same tree from which the three elves had perched outside Elrond’s window searching for sight of Estel when banished from the house, and the tree had shared their laughter and their cares. Taking a deep breath, Legolas asked the ancient life for permission to experience its life force. Receiving permission, Legolas allowed himself to relax into the flow of life which emanated from the tree. The ancient had withdrawn into himself when he had felt the unusual touch of evil. Many lives of man the tree had lived in Imladris, and never had it felt such evil at its base. Unsettled, the tree had pulled within.

Becoming one with the tree sobered and awed the prince, as it always did when he had the rare opportunity to have this experience. Quickly gathering himself before he became too caught up in the moment and wasted time that Estel did not have, Legolas searched the tree’s memory for images of the child. What he felt and saw were visions of joy and laughter, of unruly dark curls and infectious laughter. He quickly pushed past these memories, seeking the ones that might aid him now. Finally he came to what he sought. The elf was dressed darkly and Legolas could not make out a face. He could see them jump from the window. The elf and child had landed hard, and the boy rolled against the marble bench, tearing off the bandage in the process. The tree had reacted in distress at the damage to the child’s lip and Legolas shared its compassion. The dark elf had jerked up the child and run off through the garden, in the direction of the archery fields.

Now certain that he was on the right track, Legolas thanked the elm and quickly withdrew. It took him a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings. He gently laid his forehead against the tree and closed his eyes, deeply moved by all that he had seen and experienced. ‘Hannon le,’ he breathed before turning to trot off through the garden leaving some very confused looking guards behind.

“Silvans,” sighed one to the other, “they’re a strange lot.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan scowled down at the human at his feet. “I asked you a question.”

Helcar kicked the man’s boot. “Answer Lord Elladan or I’ll...”

“Enough! He will answer me!”

The two elves and the human turned to see who had just thundered the warning. Two of them smiled and one’s eyes grew wide as the angriest Elf they’d ever seen approached.

“Glorfindel,” breathed Elladan, relieved that he would now be able to get on to his rendezvous. He knew that it was an elf that had Estel and he also knew that his best hope of finding him might be waiting even now at the archery range.

Helcar just smiled down at scar-man. “That is the Balrog Slayer, human.”

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas was hurrying across the archery field when he felt a touch of evil entering his senses. He stopped, scanning the forests around him. The touch was feathery light and nebulous, but definitely there. He opened his mind to the trees trying to focus on what they might be attempting to tell him. He could feel the trees at the end of the field calling to him in their distress, and it was the familiar call he’d felt before. But now he was also sensing distress and darkness in the trees to his left, where he had not felt any before.

A frown marred the fair being’s face as he puzzled through this new development and to discern what the trees were attempting to tell him. It was as thought they were all agitated and he was having trouble making sense of all the messages he was receiving.

“What is it, my friends,” he called out while turning in a circle. “Where is the child?” He closed his eyes and attempted to still his thoughts as he let the messages wash over him. Undeniably the strongest calling came from the far end the field. “Hannon le,” he cried, “Lead me to the boy.” He stared walking in the direction of the pond.

“Prince Legolas,” called a deep voice behind him.

The surprised prince turned quickly. He was chagrined to realize that he’d let his guard down while so focused on the trees. He was glad that Falathar was not here to share in his embarrassment, for he would never have let his friend live down the failing. “Quenthar, did Elladan send you after me?”

“No, Elladan did not send me.”

Legolas was slightly confused by the presence of the elf. “I am going to find Estel. The trees are leading me.”

“I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Prince Legolas,” snarled the elf.

The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on Legolas. “Quenthar?”

“That’s right, your highness,” jeered the elf.

Legolas gazed at the stable master in astonishment. Quenthar’s face was so twisted in rage that he was almost unrecognizable as the same elf that had always been so kind and attentive to the horses of Imladris and her guests. If the look on his face was indefinable, the sword in his hands was not. Its burnished surface mocked the prince and he had a sudden longing for his weapons, which were back in his room in the Last Homely House.

Resolve crossed the prince’s face and he repeated, “I am going to find Estel.”

Quenthar actually laughed. “Estel, if he’s not already dead, is going to die in that hole where I left him, and you are going to die right here.”

“You will not kill me,” said the prince softly.

“Oh? You are not even armed, in case you’ve failed to notice. So tell me, high and mighty prince, who will stop me?”

“I will,” promised a voice from behind him.

Quenthar spun to look upon the elf who had dared to cross him. He was so close to all his dreams now; he would not allow anyone to interfere. “Elladan…”

Elladan looked past Quenthar to Legolas. “Go, mellon nin, find my brother. I will deal with Quenthar.”

Quenthar sneered at the twin. “I should have known that your father would be too afraid to come. I must say that I’m surprised that he would send you of all elves. You have failed at everything else in your life, Elladan, what makes you think you will succeed now?”

Elladan forced himself not to listen to the doubts the words conjured up. That was the first lesson Glorfindel had ever taught him, not to let the enemy distract him or put doubts into his mind. “Why, Quenthar, that’s what I want to know. From what source has this evil come?”

“Why?’ screamed Quenthar. “Why could your father not protect Celebrían? Why could you not reach her sooner? Why did your failures force her sail?”

Elladan was dumbfounded by the Elf’s tirade. What in all Arda did his Nana have to do with all this…with Estel? “My father welcomed you to make your home with us…”

“Your father,” interrupted Quenthar, “is why Celebrían had to sail. He was unworthy of her then and he is unworthy of her now. I will make her happy. She will be my lover.”

“You will cease speaking of my mother with such familiarity,” warned the twin, who was quickly losing his temper under the vile ramblings of Quenthar. He fought his emotions back under control, acutely aware that Estel’s life still hung in the balance. He had to give Legolas the time he needed to find his baby brother. “Why Estel? What has he to do with any of this?”

“Estel is simply a means to end. I knew that Elrond was a coward, but I thought he would face me for his precious human.”

“My father is no coward,” thundered Elladan Elrondion, “and Estel is more than you will ever know or understand. Enough of this bandying of words. Stand down and tell me where I can find my brother, and you may yet live to sail.”

“No, it is you who will not sail, young fool, for I am more powerful than you realize. I will kill you here, now, and then I will go after your twin. When he lies dead at my feet, your father will be next. The half Elven should never have been allowed to breed. I will remedy that mistake tonight. Then, then I will go to your mother. She will have me, or she will join you in death.”

The enraged elf swung his sword with a force that would have cleaved the twin’s head from his shoulders had it struck true, but the blow was blocked by Elladan’s sword. The two elves were equally sized and their swords crossed and parried with like force and speed.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond was wrapping a bandage around the arm of an Elven warrior when Sariboril approached the bed with Elrohir in tow. “My Lord, Erestor is awakening. Your son will finish this for you.”

“Thank you, Sariboril,” nodded the elf Lord. “Ion nin, his wound is stitched already, just finish with the bandaging.

“Yes, Ada,” the twin replied.

Walking to the corner, where Erestor’s bed was located, Elrond scanned wounded as he made his way down the center aisle. Even in his haste to reach Erestor, Elrond still made the time to pause occasionally to speak to any patient that seemed to want his attention. Whether it was a spoken word, a pat to a foot in passing, or even just a reassuring smile, the Elf Lord made time for each of his warriors.

As he reached the corner, where an apprentice had been sitting with Erestor, Elrond was gratified to see his friend making an attempt to reach consciousness. This was the closest he had come to waking, and Elrond was pleased with his progress. Elrond nodded to the apprentice, signaling that he would stay with the seneschal for the time being. He placed his hand on Erestor’s forehead and was pleased to find it cool to the touch. “Very good,” he soothed, “come, Erestor, begin to awaken, mellon nin.”

Sariboril walked over to join Elrond at Erestor’s bedside. “How is his fever?”

“It has brok…” Suddenly the Elf Lord jerked to a halt, a shocked look on his face as he strongly felt the evil that had penetrated Imladris. He closed his eyes, reaching out and seeking with all his ability and foresight.

Sariboril was stunned as she watched the color drain from Elrond’s face. “What is it?”

“My son…he’s in danger.”

Confused, Sariboril turned to look back at Elrohir, who was continuing to bandage the arm of the warrior.

Suddenly all of the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place for Elrond, the diversion, the absence of Elladan, the sword under Elrohir’s robe that he thought his father would not notice, and he shook his head at his own inattentiveness.

“Sariboril, I must leave the healing wing for a while. I need you to keep Elrohir and Curufin occupied. Will you do that for me, my friend?”

The wily old healer smiled and nodded her head. “Just leave it to me, my Lord.”

Elrond placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “Thank you. I’ll wait in your apothecary until you have diverted their attention.”

Sariboril narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “All right, just do not touch anything!”

Elrond had been shocked to his core by all that he had seen with his foresight and it took all of his ability to maintain a casual air as we walked to the apothecary.

“Elrohir, Curufin,” bellowed Sariboril, “get over here. I need you.”

Both of the young elves hurried to Erestor’s bedside, unwilling to risk Sariboril’s wrath, for her tongue lashings were famous and no one wished to be on the receiving end of one of her lectures. So shrill did her voice become that the twins had actually joked that she could cause damage to the hearing of any such unlucky recipient.

“Lord Erestor needs to be taken back to Lord Elrond’s room. All this activity is over stimulating. I will send a healer with you to remain with him. I need you two strong young elves to carry the litter.”

Elrohir hesitated but, seeing that his father was walking into the apothecary, relaxed and decided that he would only be gone for moments. There were still warriors in the room guarding the humans, so there was no apparent danger to his Ada.

Carefully sliding his arms under the seneschal’s neck and lower back, he motioned Curufin to take his feet. They gently moved the unconscious Elf to the litter and then picked it up and left the room headed for the third floor.

As soon as they were gone, Elrond nodded his thanks to Sariboril.

“Just don’t you go doing anything stupid and make me regret helping you,” she grumbled.

Elrond did not reply as he hurried from the room, intent upon exiting the house unseen through the kitchen.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas was moving faster and faster as he climbed the steep path leading up the hillside. The trees were almost twitching in their enthusiasm and willingness to help the Wood Elf. Legolas was becoming excited the closer he came to finding the human child. He wanted to free the child and get back to help Elladan, although he really did not think that Elladan would need his help against a stable master. Elladan was, after all, a trained and experienced warrior. Still, he would feel easier once the child was free and this was all behind them.

The Prince stopped and kneeled on the path, his hands carefully feeling the tracks. He was close; he was sure of it. Glancing up at the trees, he smiled his appreciation to them for their help. He rose and quickly followed the tracks to where they ended. Scanning the area he noticed the skillfully prepared brush covering what looked like a trap door. ‘Success,’ he breathed, ‘now, please Elbereth, let the child be alive.’

Legolas began pulling the bush and dirt away from the door using as much speed as he could. At last he had the door completely cleared and he gently pulled at door. The door was stiff and creaked ominously as it was pulled clear. A vile stench assailed the prince’s nose but he forced himself to ignore it as he peered into the small cramped space.

Curled unmoving in the corner was the child. Legolas feared that he was too late. Carefully he reached in to pull out the child and was relieved to feel the warmth of his skin. The child lived! Legolas quickly assessed the boy’s condition. He was obviously dehydrated, covered in scratches – several of which appeared infected – and had a raging fever. The prince pulled off the soiled pants the child wore, swearing to himself at the horror he was seeing. If Elladan did not finish off Quenthar, then by all the Valar, he would for the torment this innocent child had been put through. Legolas pulled off his outer tunic and wrapped the child in the soft material.

“Come on, little one, awaken,” he crooned softly to the child, as he smoothed back the dark curls stuck to Estel’s face.

Estel’s eyelashes batted slowly as he finally managed to open his eyes. Silver blue eyes looked fearfully at the Prince.

“Saes, tithen pen, you are safe now.”

Estel tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “Ada?” he managed to say.

Legolas smiled down at the tot. “We will go find your Ada and your gwadors. Would you like that, little one?

Estel’s eyes rolled back into his head and violent tremors began to wrack his small frame as his body gave itself up to the seizure that had claimed it.

“Estel?” cried the prince as he tried to hold the child through the seizure. Grabbing up the boy, Legolas began to run. He had to get the child back to Lord Elrond. It was his only chance.

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan was seriously tiring. Never could he have believed that Quenthar would have this ability with a sword. He was by far the most experienced opponent that the twin had ever faced. How was this possible? Elladan’s breath was coming harder and harder as he fought to deflect each blow.

For the first several minutes of the fight the twin had held his own, but slowly the advantage had shifted to Quenthar. The twin was now completely in defensive mode as he struggled to block the lethal blows raining down upon him. Sweat streaked down his face and burned his eyes. His arms were so tired that it was all he could do to keep them raised and able to block Quenthar’s strikes. Nearing exhaustion, Elladan fell to his knees.

Amazingly the attacking elf did not even appear tired. He laughed evilly as he stepped back and allowed the twin to struggle to his feet. “You thought I would be easy, didn’t you?” he sneered. “You thought that the stable master would be no contest, but you were wrong! I told you that I was more powerful than you knew.”

Elladan had made it to his feet but was leaning heavily on his sword, bleeding from several cuts. He wiped quickly at the sweat blurring his eyes. He was sickened to realize that Quenthar was toying with him and he forced himself to stand erect. He had to keep this mad man away from Legolas and Estel, not to mention Elrohir and his Ada. “Ho…How,” he stammered.

Quenthar laughed again. “How? It is a spell, Elrondion, placed on me by the wizard who gave me the enchantment. He was a blue wizard who was misunderstood by those who were inferior to him too. He understood what my life was like. He recognized the greatness in me!”

Elladan frowned. “The Blue Wizard disappeared…”

“No,” roared Quenthar, “he left¸ of his own free will…as I will leave for Valinor once I have completed my mission to free Celebrían from all of you. Enough! It is time to die, foolish elf.”

With a fury and a speed that scarcely seemed possible to Elladan, Quenthar attacked in a relentless flurry of blows and strikes, anyone one of which would have killed the twin outright if it managed to get through the struggling elf’s defenses.

Elladan blocked the blows the best that he could as he weakened. Finally the twin stumbled and fell. He lay there panting, looking up at Quenthar, and realized that he would be unable to help Legolas after all. “Forgive me…” he whispered to all those he loved.

As though in slow motion he watched Quenthar raise his sword above his head. It seemed to Elladan that the evil Elf paused a moment and took a breath before starting the downward blow…the death stroke.

Elladan forced himself to keep looking, preferring to embrace death with his eyes open. The blade sliced down towards him with gathering speed, but never reached the mark.

So close was it to his head that the twin could read the fluid script on the sword that had blocked Quenthar’s blow. Aen estar Hadhafang I chatholhen thand around dan I thang an arwen. Hadhafang…his father’s sword.

TBC

Translation on Hadhafang: This blade is called Hadhafang, a noble defense against the enemy throng for a noble lady.

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

The Power of Love

A/N: In honor of Father’s Day I decided to post this chapter a bit early, for it features a very special father.

A Prayer For My Son: Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory…Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the meekness of true strength. Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, "I have not lived in vain." General Douglas MacArthur

So close was it to his head that the twin could read the fluid script on the sword that had blocked Quenthar’s blow. Aen estar Hadhafang I chatholhen thand around dan I thang an arwen. Hadhafang…his father’s sword.

Chapter Fourteen

“Ada,” breathed Elladan. Unbelievably, his father’s arms shook with the force he was expending to hold back Quenthar’s blow. “Beware, Ada, he has had a warrior spell cast on him.”

Quenthar withdrew his sword and stepped back. An ugly smirk transformed the well known and respected face into that of a virtual stranger. He relished the fight to come and wanted to savor every moment. “Hello Elrond, prepare to join your youngest in Mandos’ Halls. Oh, I forgot,” he mocked, “your youngest won’t be there will he? He is simply worm’s meat.”

The Lord of Imladris never took his eyes off of Quenthar as he discarded his outer robe in one fluid motion. “Elladan, roll out of the way, ion nin.”

“Ada…”

“Stay out of this, Elladan!” commanded Elrond. Hadhafang was gripped firmly in front of him in a ready position as he side-stepped carefully away from his son, pulling Quenthar’s attention completely to himself. “Estel is not dead, Quenthar. I have seen this.”

“No matter,” growled the Elf, “you soon will be, as will your sons.” With a powerful swing he lunged at Elrond.

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor began to moan softly as he was gently moved from the litter to Elrond’s bed by Elrohir and Curufin. The healer was moving around the room lighting the lamps. The seneschal’s eyes fluttered as they tried to open.

“Erestor,” coaxed Elrohir, noticing the movement, “come, open your eyes. Open your eyes for me and I promise not to let Elladan bring in a snake for Estel.”

Elrohir’s heart gave a lurch at the sound of Estel’s name, and it seemed to have an effect on Erestor as well. The Elf was obviously trying to maintain his tenuous hold on consciousness. Slowly his groggy eyes cleared enough to focus on the twin. “Elrohir?”

Elrohir could not hold back the smile on his face and he squeezed the Elf’s shoulder affectionately. “Welcome back, my Lord.”

The twin turned back to his companion. “Curufin, quickly, go get my Ada. Tell him that Erestor has rejoined us.”

Erestor was struggling to speak, and Elrohir shushed him. “Rest, Erestor, Ada will be here soon.” The Elf Lord was obviously agitated, but Elrohir could not understand what he was trying to say.

“Here, let me get you some water,” soothed the twin as he reached over to pour water from the pitcher on the bedside table. The healing apprentice had moved to the other side of the bed and was smoothing a light blanket over the injured Elf. Easing Erestor’s head up a bit, he helped the Elf Lord to swallow the liquid. “Easy, Easy, not too much to begin with.”

Erestor finished drinking a bit of the water, closed his eyes, and leaned back onto the pillow trying to marshal his strength while the twin handed the cup to the apprentice healer. Erestor took hold of Elrohir’s robe, trying to pull him down.

Frowning, Elrohir wrapped his hand around Erestor’s and leaned down close to the seneschal’s mouth as he strained to hear and understand what the seneschal was trying to say.

“Quenthar…” Erestor, exhausted by the effort, closed his eyes and was lost consciousness once more.

Stunned by what he had heard, Elrohir met the startled eyes of the healer across the bed. What did he mean? Quenthar was the one who stabbed him and took Estel? How was that possible?

Running steps could be heard racing up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom where Elrohir and the healer tended to Erestor. Curufin burst through the doorway. “Elrohir, Lord Elrond is gone!”

O-o-O-o-O

The full moon cast a silvery glow that painted the surrounding forest in a hoary hue. Rocks trickled down the hillside as Legolas slid down the path in his hurry to reach the bottom. Thankfully Estel’s seizure had ceased, but the prince feared that the fever might cause another one and was anxious to hand over his precious bundle to a trained healer, preferably the boy’s father.

The disquiet of the trees alerted him before the sound of metal on metal reached his ears as Legolas started on the path that circled the goldfish pond. He paused, trying to place the position of the sounds of battle. “Hold on, Elladan,” he murmured, “I’ll be back as soon as I get Estel to the house and retrieve my weapons.” Emerging from the woods behind the archery targets, Legolas’ heart skipped a beat when he saw the older twin lying on the field and Lord Elrond himself in a pitched battle with Quenthar; a battle that he did not appear to be winning.

Legolas was momentarily frozen, his warrior’s instincts urging him to come to the Elf Lord’s aid while his heart reminded him of his responsibility to protect the child in his arms. Looking down at the innocent face he was surprised to see serious blue eyes gazing calmly back at him with such trust that he was humbled and amazed at the wave of protectiveness that washed over him. A small hand reached up to touch his cheek and it was as though the Valar had granted him the foresight of Elrond to affirm that he would forever be bound to this child. It was at once unsettling and comforting. Legolas would never speak of it again, but ever after he would think of this as the epiphany…the moment that defined his lifelong relationship with Estel. “Come, little one; I will get you to safety then I will return to aid your Ada and Gwador.”

The prince cut back through the woods to circle the archery field. The last thing he wanted to do was distract Lord Elrond or alert Quenthar to his presence.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir burst into the healing wing intent upon seeing for himself that his father was not there. Racing down the center aisle between the twin rows of beds he skidded to stop at the immovable figure of Sariboril. “Where is he, Mistress Sariboril? Tell me, please. I’m supposed to protect him.”

Softly and deliberately the ancient spoke. “Young one, your father is a great Lord. He was a warrior before you were even a dream. Trust his ability.”

The twin’s mind heard her wisdom, but his heart knew only fear for his father and remorse that he had failed in his responsibility. Shaking his head in frustration, he turned and fled the healing wing intent upon finding his father.

“Young ones,” sighed Sariboril, shaking her own head thoughtfully.

Elrohir raced down the hallway where earlier he and Elladan had shown Legolas the note. He launched himself through the front door nearly giving Helcar a heart attack in the process.

“My Lord Elrohir,” stammered the startled guard. Torch light flickered from the sconces located on each side of the front entrance. The look on the twin’s face made Helcar’s blood run cold. “What has happened?”

Elrohir was nearly desperate, grabbing Helcar by the shoulders. “My father, Helcar, did he pass this way?”

Helcar’s worst nightmare was taking place before his eyes. Had the enemy somehow breeched his defenses to strike at Lord Elrond?

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar slashed repeatedly at Elrond as the two maneuvered in their uninterrupted dance of death. Elladan, who had always thought that Glorfindel was the greatest warrior he’d ever seen, was awestruck by the exhibition of swordsmanship he was seeing. Moonlight reflected off the blades as they swirled in a macabre beauty. The bleeding gashes adorning his body, however, bore testament to the seriousness of what was taking place; this was no sparring match. From one unbelievable position to the next they moved, each one anticipating the actions of the other. Elladan gasped as Quenthar’s sword drew blood with a cut to Elrond’s arm.

“Ah,” the Elf purred, “first blood. Rest assured it is only the first of the blood you shall spill this night, Elrond. I shall drink your blood before we are through.”

Elladan was disgusted by what he was hearing but his Ada seemed unaffected. He listened to his father speak as calmly as though he were lecturing the twins on table manners.

“A warrior spell does not make you a warrior, Quenthar,” declared Elrond. “Overconfidence is your weakness.” He did not add that Quenthar was, by far, the best he’d faced.

The Elf’s face twisted in rage. “Was it overconfidence when I stood over the human’s bed night after night?” Quenthar spat. “Any one of those nights I could have ended his miserable existence, but I waited for the right time to strike at you. You, Elrond!” He thrust forward attempting to catch the Elf Lord off balance. Elrond shifted to the right barely avoiding the strike as Quenthar continued his taunts. “Was it over confidence when I shoved a knife in Erestor’s back and took your so-called child from your own bed? He is buried alive, Elrond; did you know that?”

The Elf Lord did not know that and his breath hitched at the news, but he forced himself not to react outwardly. He was too seasoned a warrior to allow Quenthar that advantage. He kept his concentration on his opponent, diligently watching his shoulders for an indication of where his next strike would be. Quenthar thrust to his left and then immediately spun around to catch Elrond in a blow to his ribcage.

Elrond side-stepped enough to keep the blow from being fatal, but not enough to completely divert the sword from wounding him. He automatically placed his hand over the wound, drawing it back only to see it covered in blood.

O-o-O-o-O

“No, Elrohir, no…I have not seen him,” Helcar responded. Glorfindel has been questioning a prisoner; perhaps he is there though I should have seen him leaving the house.”

Elrohir and Helcar hurried around the house to the garden where Glorfindel was questioning scar-man. So skillfully had Helcar prepared the man with descriptions of his doom at the hands of Glorfindel that the miscreant virtually tripped all over his own tongue in his rush to tell that he knew.

Like I told you before, the man confessed tiredly, “I don’t know nothing about no Estel; we came for the gold.”

“Gold?” exclaimed Glorfindel. “We have no gold here. What gave you that idea?”

“It was the Elf that visits our town. He told us about the riches you horde here.”

And so the story had come out. On several of his trips to procure oats and feed for the horses, the Stable Master of Rivendell had visited the seediest taverns to spread the tale of vast riches awaiting any group that wanted it badly enough. He even let it be known exactly when the warriors were supposed to be away, leaving the valley vulnerable.

Glorfindel was sickened as he thought about the line of dead humans he had seen today, of the wounded Elves and humans even now being tended upstairs, and all for a lie calculated to incite the greed of men. Glorfindel felt his stomach drop as the truth hit him in the face. Quenthar had set the trap and he had walked, nay, run right into it. It was all a diversion to deflect his attention, but for what reason? Estel had already been taken.

Elrohir could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Quenthar had caused all this too? “Glorfindel, Ada is not in the house; he is gone.”

Glorfindel’s head snapped up. He now had his answer. “How long?”

“Not long, within the hour,” answered Elrohir.

“My Lord,” volunteered Helcar, “my warriors have been diligent. We did not see him leave the house.”

Glorfindel snorted. “When the Lord of Imladris wants to leave his home unobserved, he knows how to do it.”

“Someone approaches,” called a sentry.

Glorfindel, Elrohir, and Helcar all looked up at the announcement.

It was Elrohir that reacted first to the sight of Legolas jogging through the garden. “Estel!”

“Elrohir!” Legolas was relieved to find the twin outside, and with Lord Glorfindel. “Quickly, take your brother. Lord Elrond is fighting Quenthar on the archery field. I must return.”

“What of Elladan?” beseeched the twin as he took his baby brother from the prince.

“He was down; I could not see how badly he was injured. I’m sorry.”

“Prince Legolas, go upstairs with Elrohir and Estel,” commanded Glorfindel. His voice brokered no discussion. “Helcar, with me!”

Legolas was irritated, but not suicidal. There was no way he was going to disobey the Balrog Slayer, so he sighed and looked at Elrhoir. “I will help you with the little one.”

Elrohir tore his eyes away from the path down which Glorfindel and Helcar had just disappeared and looked at Estel with a tender smile on his face.

The child hiccupped as he cried softly. He had started to cry when he was placed in his brother’s arms; so dehydrated that his eyes could not even make tears. “Ro…”

He knew he should move, but Elrohir simply stood there for a moment hugging the boy to him, thanking the Valar, the trees, Legolas, everyone he could think of for the child’s safe return. “Thank you, Legolas, thank you.”

The smile on the Prince’s face said it all.

“Don’t cry, Estel. You are safe now; you’re home,” crooned the twin, as a tear marked its path down his cheek. Elrohir hesitated, torn for a moment between the joy of his brother’s return and fear for Elladan and his Ada.

“Why don’t we get this little one upstairs?” suggested Legolas, realizing how the twin must be feeling. “I will draw him a bath. He will need to be cleaned up before you can tend his scratches. Your Ada will have our hides if we attempt to treat him as he is.”

Elrohir seemed to snap out of the lethargy that had gripped him. “Yes, we need to get him cleaned up, and he needs water to fight the dehydration and fever. Draw the bath in Ada’s washroom. There is water by his bed that I can give Estel to drink. I think that Erestor will be relieved to know that he is back as well.

O-o-O-o-O

Quenthar, sensing his victory, closed in for the kill, tracking the Elf Lord with the patience of a predator. For his part, Elrond was trying to keep Hadhafang up while protecting his wounded right side. The blood loss was severely affecting the Lord’s ability to move or think.

“I have you, Elrond,” goaded the stable master, circling his weakened foe. “Now is the time for my revenge.”

“What have I done to garner such hatred that you would strike at my sons, at Erestor?”

“Celebrían, Elrond,” snarled Quenthar, “you failed to protect her. You never deserved her. She left Lớrien because of you and she sailed from this world because of you. I loved her; I would have protected her. My hatred for you has made me powerful. Now you die!”

Elrond watched as the enraged elf swung with all of his force towards his wounded right side. Ducking his head and swirling around to his left in one swift motion, the Lord of Imladris came up and drove his sword through Quenthar’s stomach. For one frozen moment the two adversaries were face to face; one astonished, one resolute.

Panting from the exertion, Lord Elrond stepped back and pulledHadhafang from Quenthar’s body. “You’re wrong,” Elrond whispered as the elf sank slowly to the ground, mortally wounded. “And my love for my sons has made me powerful.”

“Ada?”

Elrond dropped his sword and limped over to Elladan’s side as quickly as his own wound would allow. He sank to his knees. “How badly are you hurt, Ion nin?”

At the rapid approach of Glorfindel and Helcar, both the wounded Elves looked up.

“My Lord,” greeted Glorfindel, as he knelt beside Elrond and his son. “How badly are you wounded? Helcar, go back and summon litters.”

“No!” both Peredhils insisted at once. “We can walk.”

Glorfindel and Helcar both raised eyebrows at that, but wisely held their tongues.

“Helcar,” requested Elrond, “will you help my son to the healing wing? Tell Sariboril that he has lost a lot of blood and seems to be suffering a mild case of shock.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” nodded the warrior. Taking Elladan’s arm over his shoulder, Helcar helped the twin to his feet. Elladan leaned heavily onto the guard as they started slowly back towards the Last Homely House.

“Estel, he…he’s buried somewhere Glorfindel. I must find my son,” panted Elrond.

“Your son is safe,” assured the golden haired warrior as he calmly ripped Elrond’s robe into strips. “He was rescued by Prince Legolas. He is presently being cared for by Elrohir and the prince.”

“Thank the Valar,” breathed Elrond, as Glorfindel wrapped the strips of cloth tightly around his Lord’s injured side.

“Come now, let’s get you back to the house. You no doubt want to see to your sons.”

“His condition, Glorfindel,” questioned Elrond. “How is Estel?”

“Why don’t we go see,” coaxed the warrior with a smile. “I think Sariboril will be anxious to see to your wound as well,” he added with a chuckle.

“Oh no,” groaned the Lord of Imladris, “I will never hear the end of this.”

TBC

Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Fifteen

The Greatest of These is Love

A/N As we come to the end of this little tale, I want to thank all of you who have read and especially those of you who have taken the time to leave reviews. I started out to write a nice fluffy little story of about 3 or 4 chapters and look what happened? I hope that my getting “off message” from the original summary is not a problem. What I would like for all of us to take from this story is that love is more powerful than hatred, and that the love of a family can be the greatest love of all.

I hope now to finish the other two stories I’m working on, “The The King” and “Tristan’s Story”, and then I will be back to continue the tales of Estel and Legolas. Of course, my characters of Celos, Celon, Curufin, Helcar, Falathar, Beling, Illuin, and Sariboril will continue to make appearances in the coming stories.

Tenna’ ento lye omenta, I Melain berio. Ithilvalon

Now these three things remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

Elrohir supported Estel’s weight in the bath while Legolas washed the child as gently as he could. He winced when Elrohir made him go back to more thoroughly clean a particularly nasty looking scratch on the child’s upper leg. The Prince had treated many battlefield wounds on himself and his warriors, but never on a child and it pained him to think he was causing more hurt to the already traumatized child. Estel lay quietly in his brother’s arms while Legolas worked on getting him clean.

“He is in shock, is he not?” queried the Prince softly.

Elrohir met his concerned gaze and simply nodded his head sadly.

“Were you able to get him to drink very much water?”

“A bit,” admitted the twin worriedly. “Hurry, Legolas, I want to get some tea made to treat his fever.”

“It is being prepared as we speak,” came a weak voice from the doorway.

“Erestor!” breathed Legolas, raising his head from his work to peer over Elrohir’s shoulder. “What are you doing out of bed.”

“Forget that,” insisted the seneschal as he made his way carefully over to the edge of the bath, “Estel, I need to see Estel.”

“Careful, Lord Erestor,” Elrohir said, as the seneschal leaned rather heavily on the twin’s back. “I do not want you pulling your stitches.” He looked up to see the Erestor’s eyes swimming with tears. “It’s true then, my little lamb is home. Hantale Valar. Blessed be the Valar.”

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel pulled Elrond’s arm over his shoulders and helped him to his feet. “Hadafang,” cried the Elf Lord, looking back to where he’d dropped his sword. “Please, I cannot leave it out here.”

“Worry not, I will come back for it and send warriors to retrieve Quenthar’s body.” He could feel the Elf tense. “Trust me on this, old friend.”

The pair had laboriously moved only a few yards when the strength of the Elf Lord gave way and he surrendered to the blackness of unconsciousness.

“Finally, you stubborn Elf,” grunted the warrior fondly, as he swept his friend up into his arms to carry him, grateful that he would be able to get the wounded Lord to the healer much more quickly.

As Glorfindel made his way through the garden with his precious cargo he picked up a protective entourage of warriors, who now made sure the path was clear and watched for any sign of attack. Seeing the Elf Lord in this state was a fearful thing. Any Elf in Imladris would gladly trade his life for that of his Lord.

At the hurried approach of the warriors, Celon, who had been making his way down the side of the house as he sampled the various flowers and fauna, raised his head from the roses to see what was going on, and sniffed the air. The stallion trotted over to the steps to add his support when he caught the scent of Lord Elrond, his master’s sire.

“Back, you great brute,” chided Glorfindel fondly as he rounded the corner. “This is Elves work, my friend.”

Just outside the front entrance Helcar, who had deposited Elladan into the care of the healers and was in the process of returning to the archery field, met up with the pair. He blanched when he saw Lord Elrond being carried by his commander. “Ed’ I’ear ar’ elenea, Hîr nín!” exclaimed the shocked young warrior. Would this night get any worse?

“Avo 'osto, young one, fear not,” soothed Glorfindel. “All will be well. It would take more than that nadorhuan to better the Lord of Imladris.”

Glorfindel instructed Helcar to summon Sariboril to the third floor healing rooms, the rooms used by Elrond and his children. He hurried up the steps and down the hallway, past the family bedrooms, to the healing suite. As he passed Elrond’s room, part of his brain registered the fact that Erestor was not in bed where he was supposed to be, but that was not his immediate concern. He made a mental note to revisit that “thought” later.

The family healing suite consisted of Lord Elrond’s apothecary, a smaller storage room for linens and such, a laboratory, a small surgery, and the main room with four beds - two situated on each side. Glorfindel went straight to the surgery.

Gently laying his friend down onto the table, he pulled his dagger and began to quickly cut away the Lord’s silk tunic to reveal the full extent of the wound to his side. That was the one that was most serious. There was a cut on the Lord’s arm that would require stitches as well.

Sariboril, with two of her apprentices in tow, burst into the room muttering to herself. “I specifically told him not to do anything to make me regret helping him. Did he listen to me? No, they never listen!”

The healer stopped by the surgical table where Glorfindel had prepared Elrond for her the best that he could without leaving his Lord’s side. “All right, mighty warrior, clear out. We’ll take it from here.”

As Glorfindel left the room, Sariboril could be heard barking orders at her apprentices.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir and Legolas finished bandaging every last cut or scrape on Estel’s battered body. The boy was still unconscious, but he had suffered no more seizures, and Elrohir had been able to coax some herbal tea down his throat to bring down his fever.

Legolas rested his hand lightly on Estel’s forehead and was gratified to find it markedly cooler. He smiled at Elrohir. “The fever has broken, my friend. I will take the little one in to Lord Elrond’s bedroom and sit with him in that very comfortable looking chair. You go check on Elladan and your Ada. ”

Elrohir was torn between staying with his baby brother and going to see for himself the condition of his brother and father.

“Trust me, mellon nin, I will keep Estel safe. Erestor will rest better with him near as well. Perhaps he will even stay in the bed and stop pestering us,” he added with a melodious laugh.

“I heard that,” came an indignant voice from the other room, though both younger elves ignored it.

Elrohir smiled at the prince, relief and gratitude evident in his swimming eyes. The twin blinked quickly, trying to banish the tears before the prince saw them. “Thank you, Legolas. My heart is troubled for Elladan and Ada, I won’t lie, but they trust me to care for Estel.”

“And you have,” the prince assured him. “Now go, be with them and I will care for Estel. He will be safe in my arms the whole time, I promise you.”

Elrohir nodded, his mind made up. “Thanks, Legolas, and don’t worry about Erestor bothering you, I gave him a sleeping draught. He should be out any time now.”

“You didn’t!” a groggy voice sounded from the adjoining bedroom.

As Elrohir hurried from the room, Legolas settled into the overstuffed chair by Lord Elrond’s bed, where Erestor currently slumbered. Legolas could not take his eyes off the small child, reliving the profound moment he had experienced earlier. This little one had touched him in a way he did not yet understand.

As Legolas watched, Estel’s impossibly silver-blue eyes slowly opened. The child tensed for just a moment before slowing relaxing in prince’s arms. “Peace little one,” soothed Legolas, “you are home and you are safe.”

“Ada?” asked the boy softly.

“Your Ada is in the healing wing with your brothers, tithen pen,” Legolas replied. He hoped the child would think that his father and brothers were working as healers and not ask any more questions. The prince definitely did not want to frighten him with the whole truth. To his immense relief the child seemed to accept this explanation.

“The bad elf…” questioned the boy unsurely.

“He is gone, Estel. He will never hurt you again. That I promise you.”

The child repeated his move from earlier in the night and reached up to touch Legolas on the cheek. A smile came to his face, as though he were greeting an old friend. “You’re pretty.”

Legolas laughed at those words and grimaced. “Do not let your brothers hear you say that, little one, for I will never hear the end of it if they do. It will be our secret.”

“I keep good secrets. Restor told me a secret too.” Estel frowned as he remembered the last time he’d seen the elf Lord.

Realizing what the child was remembering, Legolas quickly reassured him. “Lord Erestor is going to be quite well, Estel. He sleeps in your Ada’s bed. See?” He held the child up slightly so that he could reassure himself that Lord Erestor was well.

Estel’s eyes began to droop with weariness.

“Sleep, little one, sleep and dream happy dreams,” soothed the Prince as he began to sing a soft lullaby that his mother used to sing to him.

Estel smiled sleepily. Reaching down he grasped hold of Legolas thumb and snuggled it into his chest as he drifted off to sleep.

O-o-O-o-O

One week later…

Mistress of all she surveyed, Sariboril stalked down the center of the smaller healing room on the third floor. A gentle breeze blew through sheer, gauzy curtains from the far end of the room, where the entire wall was opened to a balcony overlooking the Bruinen. In cold weather, the opening could be sealed by way of folding panels, which were currently hidden away, but now the weather was mild and the scent of roses from Erestor’s prized beds below freshened the air.

Three of the beds in the room were currently occupied. Three fair beings sat on the remaining bed, while one leaned casually against the wall.

“We promise to be quiet,” Elrohir begged. “Just let us stay a while longer.”

The wily healer fixed the four Elves with a look that brokered no argument and made her pronouncement. “All right, but if I hear any one of you get rowdy, I’ll toss three of you off the balcony, and that’s a promise. And you,” she added fixing Erestor with a stare, “I will put back into bed with a sleeping draught.”

Glorfindel, from his position against the wall, held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, and Legolas just put on the most angelic and innocent look he could muster. Elrohir frowned, but nodded his head in agreement.

Erestor just smiled serenely at the healer. He had been allowed out of bed for the past three days and there was no way he was going to allow himself to be put back. “I promise you I will see that these three behave. I, myself, always behave with utmost decorum, Mistress Healer, as you well know.”

Sariboril just snorted and walked out of the room.

Looking at the bed across from where he sat, Elrohir continued the running stream of questions he’d been asking the occupant, who was currently smirking back at him. Elladan was almost completely recovered from the injuries he’d received during his fight with Quenthar. The young elf had lost a lot of blood, but his only current complaint was the irritation he felt from the healing stitches he’d received.

Elrohir looked across the room to the two beds which held his father and younger brother, who were both asleep; the older one in the Elven fashion with his eyes open and the younger one in the way of the humans, with his eyes closed.

Elladan followed his twin’s eyes and could not help but smile at the sight of his baby brother snuggled deeply within his sunshine blankey. “He’s got it wrapped around him like a cocoon,” he said softly. The Elf leaned up onto his elbow to get a better look at the tiny bundle. “He truly is healing, isn’t he, Ro?”

Elrohir affected a dramatic sigh. “For the thousandth time, yes, brother, he is healing, as is Ada.”

Nodding contentedly, Elladan settled back down onto his side once more. He propped his head up with his hand and leaned on his elbow as Legolas looked from one to the other.

“So go on with the story,” Legolas urged, somewhat impatiently. “Someone, who shall remain nameless,” he hastened to add, fixing Glorfindel with an intense stare, “would not allow me to return to the archery field and I missed the whole thing.”

Glorfindel, for his part, simply ignored the seemingly still affronted young prince and smiled softly to himself. For the better part of an hour Elladan had been trying to describe to Legolas and Elrohir the fight he had witnessed between Lord Elrond and Quenthar.

“I tell you,” Elladan continued with great enthusiasm, “you would not have believed it. I could scarcely trust what I was seeing. Ada had moves that I would not have even thought possible!”

Laughing softly, Glorfindel walked to the edge of his Lord’s bed. When he was sure that Elrond was still in a light healing sleep he nodded contentedly to himself and resumed his easy stance by the wall. “Young ones, Your Ada was not just the herald for Gil-galad, he was his second in command…and for a good reason. Such was his skill with a blade that he stood on the front line of the Elven warriors where he carried no shield and wore no helmet. Hadhafang was his defense, and the hordes of Mordor found its deadly precision in your Ada’s hands to be quite…shall we say…impressive.”

Three young sets of eyes moved from Glorfindel to the bed where Lord Elrond now lay. Glorfindel and Erestor chuckled to themselves at the awe they could see in those eyes. For all their lives the young ones had seen Lord Elrond in his chosen role of father, healer and scholar, but he was once a great warrior and Glorfindel relished the ability to enlighten them as to his Lord’s abilities.

Elladan broke the silence with his softly spoken, “Hadhafang was my defense too.” In his mind’s eye he could still see his father’s sword protecting him from Quenthar’s killing blow.

Elrohir looked back to his twin with concern in his warm brown eyes. He could feel the doubt his brother had buried since his ill fated battle with the evil Elf that had taken Estel and badly wounded Erestor.

“And it always will be, ion nin,” promised a soft voice from across the room.

“Ada!” the twins both exclaimed at once.

“We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to awaken you!” cried Elrohir.

“Sariboril will kill us,” croaked Elladan.

“I think not,” assured the Elf Lord as he gingerly sat up in the bed. “Especially after her young healers spent so long sewing up your wounds.”

Glorfindel walked over to add another pillow behind Elrond’s back.

“I have it on good authority,” interjected Erestor, “that your wounds took longer to repair.”

“Ada?” chirped a soft voice from the adjoining bed at his side. Elrond smiled at Estel as his curly head popped out from under the yellow shield like a downy new chick emerging from its shell. Sleepy blue eyes regarded him seriously.

The Lord of Imladris did not need to hear the question, he simply held out his arms to the boy, and Estel scrambled out of his bed.

Glorfindel intercepted the boy before he could plow into his father’s healing right side and deposited him into the crook of Elrond’s left arm. The Elf Lord could not resist feeling of the boy’s forehead to assure himself that his fever had finally broken.

“Elrohir, Legolas, you both did an excellent job of cleaning and treating Estel’s cuts,” praised Elrond. “They all appear to be mending nicely.” He looked carefully at the healing wound to Estel’s upper lip, which had finally been deemed sealed enough so that the bandage might be left off. “Estel, I should be able to remove the stitches next week. Will you be glad to have them gone?”

Estel frowned at the news. He would be glad to have the itchy things gone, but he feared that their removal would hurt. His bottom lip poked out as the regarded his Ada, and then ducked his head without answering.

Elrond tenderly ran his forefinger down Estel’s cheek before gently gripping his chin and lifting his head so that their eyes could meet. “I will put clove oil on your lip, penneth. It will not hurt.”

A little smile touched Estel’s lips, but his father could easily discern that it did not quite reach his eyes. The sadness that still lingered there caused an ache in Elrond’s heart, and he cradled Estel closer to him wishing that he could removed the shadow from his child’s eyes.

“Ada, why didn’t you come get me from the cloud?” yawned the child, as he struggled to wake up completely. “I heard you calling to me.”

Elrond considered his son’s words. “When did you hear me, ion nin?”

“I heard you when I was in the cloud; when the dark voices were calling me. El and Dan were there too. They called me back to stay with them.”

The room had grown deathly still at the child’s words as each was lost in his own imagination of what the child must have dreamed or hallucinated.

“I could not find you, Estel,” the Lord replied. “Tell me what else you remember. What of the dark ones?”

Estel snuggled deeper into his Ada’s comforting embrace as he thought back. “I saw the man with the arrow in his eye. And then I saw the bad ones…the ones from my bad dreams. The man wanted me to come, Ada. He said I would not have to be in the box anymore if I came.”

The twins shared a glance at Estel’s words. They had not thought that he had seen his father’s death, but apparently they were wrong. At least the child did not seem to remember that is was his human father who had died in such a manner.

Elrond considered Estel’s words and how best to reassure the boy as he gently stroked his downy hair. “The man who called you was not part of the dark ones, ion nin. He was a good man. Sometimes, when we are ill our minds confuse many memories and the good ones become entangled with the bad ones.”

The moment was ended when Sariboril entered the room and began shooing out the visitors. “Out, out, I say,” she commanded. “It’s time for medicine and one last examination. Then, if all is well, I shall release my patients and they may sleep in their own rooms tonight.”

Elrohir whooped at the news.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas and Elrohir walked together to the stables. They had taken to feeding the horses and mucking out the stalls until a permanent replacement could be found for Quenthar. Elrohir lit the sconces on the walls while Legolas picked up a pitch fork and went to work. The pair worked in companionable silence for while until the mucking was complete and they had spread fresh hay to each stall.

“Falathar and I will be leaving in the morning,” Legolas remarked as he brushed down Celon. From the adjoining stall, Celos was giving him eyes like he would also enjoy a nice rub down, but the prince was not about to fall for that old trick. He had been around Celos long enough to have been on the receiving end of several not so gentle nips from the brute.

Elrohir’s head popped up from three stalls down where he was examining the hoof of his Ada’s bay mare. “Why so soon?”

Legolas considered the question as he continued the rhythmic brushing. It was a comfort to just be doing regular things again. “My father gave us permission to come so that I could ease my heart’s worries about you. Now that I know you are safe, we should be returning.”

“Don’t stay away so long this time,” quipped Elrohir as he dropped the bucket he’d been carrying. “Ah Celos, is the prince ignoring you?”

Legolas snorted. “The last time you talked me into brushing him he bit a hole in my tunic.”

Elrohir laughed as he picked up a brush and entered Celos’ stall. “You should have seen the look on your face!” The twin gave the great horse a good scratching between his eyes, just where he liked it, and then began brushing the stallion in long, soothing strokes. “You were standing there with this astonished look on your face while Celos contentedly chewed on that piece of your tunic. The big dummy would have swallowed it too if you had not grabbed it before stalking out.” Elrohir chuckled again at the memory and spoke tenderly to his brother’s horse as he continued the brushing. “You would not have liked what that cloth did to your stomach, my ornery friend.” The horse nickered in reply and shook his great head as though contradicting the twin.

Legolas finished his job and placed the brush back atop the shelf on the wall across from Celon’s stall. “Come on, I’ve worked up an appetite. Let’s go see what is being served for dinner.”

O-o-O-o-O

Dawn was just breaking as Legolas walked out of the kitchen where he had retrieved the packs of extra rations he and Elrohir had prepared the night before. His glance was pulled to the outside where long fingers of pink and gold were just beginning to paint the valley in warm hues.

His farewells had been said the night before, but he decided to go upstairs one last time just to see if any of the family was awake before taking his leave. He took the stairs two at a time, his soft footfalls completely silent on the marble steps. Gaining the top step, he noticed Glorfindel standing just outside Lord Elrond’s bedroom with a big smile on his face. All the other doors on the floor were closed. Legolas started down the hallway, intent upon saying good bye to the Balrog Slayer. As he neared, Glorfindel look his way and held up his finger to his lips, motioning for the prince to remain quiet.

Intrigued, Legolas stepped up to the doorway and glanced in to see what had so captivated the Elf. Legolas found a smile on his face as he took in the view. There, sprawled out asleep on Lord Elrond’s massive bed, were the Elf Lord, Estel, and Elladan. Elrohir was sound asleep in the overstuffed chair beside the bed, his hand resting lightly on his brother’s back.

“I came to make my farewells, Lord Glorfindel,” Legolas whispered. “Will you tell them when they awaken?”

“I will, young prince,” nodded the warrior. “Will you be returning to visit with us again soon, Thranduilion?”

Legolas glanced back inside to the bed. A bemused expression graced his fair face. “I will return in the spring, Lord Glorfindel. After all, I have a young human to get to know.”

The End

Translations:

Penneth – Young one

Hantale Valar – Praised be the Valar

Avo 'osto – Fear not

Ed’ I’ear ar’ elenea, Hîr nín – By the sea and the stars, my Lord!

ion nin – My son

Nadorhuan – Cowardly dog

Tenna’ ento lye omenta – Until next we meet.

I Melain berio – May the Valar keep you.

A/N Estel is going to have some emotional scars for a while. Elladan may have some questions and guilt of his own to deal with as well. Those will be examined in the next story.