True Healing

Rating: PG

Feedback: Constructive criticisms will be kept close to the heart, and flames will be used to power the balrog that I’ll be sending after you. LOL!

Beta: Karri

Spoilers: None

Archive: Feel free to do so. :D

Disclaimer: Not mine. Will never be. Have no money. Don’t sue me :P

Summary: Aragorn tried to cope with the loss of a brother with Elrond’s help. Written for the MC Mellyn “Sorrow” Contest. Word limit: 1000.

Warning: Character death.

Words: 982

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There were no words to describe how Aragorn felt. Day by day, he continued living simply for the sake of staying alive. There was no joy and no happiness. All that was left was a painful emptiness in his heart, like his soul had been cruelly ripped away, leaving him an empty shell. He no longer left his sleeping chamber, for everything he saw in the house reminded him of the brother that he had lost -- a brother who had forfeited his immortal life to save him.

He shivered and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, even though the sun was burning brightly in the afternoon sky. A tray laden with his favorite foods lay untouched on the table beside his bed, for the food tasted like sand in his mouth. If it were not for his father, he would have stopped eating completely. Death felt more welcoming that what he was feeling right now. It had been one month since the death of his brother, but to him it felt like it had just happened yesterday. Every night, the same nightmare haunted him, forcing him to relive the moment again and again, tormenting him every time he closed his eyes.

He had refused to speak to or see anyone since he was released from the healing ward, except for the two visits by the healers to dress his wounds everyday. His injuries were severe when they first found him and, combined with his grief, the healers were worried that he might not survive. But the Lord of Imladris was a great healer himself and was able to mend the grievous injuries, although he could do nothing about the sorrow that his foster son felt, for he, himself, was much grieved by the loss of one of his twin sons.

Elladan had perished in an attempt to save Estel, the hope of men, and he had done so willingly. Elrond did not blame Aragorn for the death of his eldest son. It was a difficult choice, but Elladan had chosen to save his human brother and the elf lord had accepted his choice, for they all knew that the fate of Middle Earth depended on this man. No one knew what happened exactly because Aragorn had refused to speak about it after he regained consciousness, for he could not bring himself to recall the incident without breaking down. Elrond, although grief-stricken, did not force his foster son for the details. He knew that when Aragorn was ready, he would confide in him. But until then, they would grieve separately for the one that they had loved and lost.

Elrohir was devastated when he received the news of his twin’s death and Elrond thought it would be best for him to leave this place of sorrow. Therefore, he had sent him off to Lorien to heal with the help of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. He loathed sending Elrohir away, but he thought it would be best for Arwen to be with her brother in this difficult time.

Elrond stood outside the door that led to Aragorn’s sleeping chamber and hesitated. He requested entry every day but was denied each time. The elf knew that his son did not shut him out out of spite but because he was unable to face him after causing the death of a loved one. Elrond understood Aragorn’s feelings, but he could not allow his human son to wallow in grief for the rest of his life. Raising his fist, the elf lord rapped on the door.

“Please, leave me alone.”

The voice inside the room sounded raspy and it broke Elrond’s heart to see his son suffering alone. He wanted so much to comfort him, yet he, himself, wanted to be comforted. But Aragorn had shut everyone out and resolved to mourn alone.

“Estel,” Elrond pleaded gently, “please let me in.” He waited for an answer, knowing very well what it would be, but he hoped that Aragorn would change his mind today.

“Ada… I can’t…” the human sobbed piteously. “I don’t know how…” he trailed off unable to finish the sentence.

“I know it’s hard, but you need to talk about it. We need to face this together if we want to start healing.” Elrond rested his forehead against the smooth wooden door. He knew that true healing could not begin until one learned to accept what had happened and come to terms with one's losses -- and that included a certain elf lord. “Estel, listen to me. What happened to Elladan was not your fault. Although I am sadden by his loss, I do not blame you, so please do not make this more difficult for me. I love you and it pains me to see you like this.” Elrond paused and waited for a response, but when none came, he pressed on. “Please help me help you -- help us...” The elf lord swallowed the lump that suddenly rose in his throat. When no answer came forth, Elrond's shoulders slumped in defeat and he heaved a heavy sigh.

Another day, another failure.

As he turned to leave, the door behind him creaked open. Turning around slowly, he came face to face with a weary human, his eyes red and puff, no doubt from countless hours of crying. Elrond stepped forward hurriedly and caught his son as the exhausted man staggered towards the elf lord.

“Adar... please... please help me heal...” Aragorn whispered brokenly as he collapsed into Elrond's embrace, burying his face in his father's tunic as he wept.

‘Yes, ion nín, I will help you heal,’ thought Elrond as he rubbed Aragorn's back soothingly. ‘And in turn, you will help me heal.’ With that, he let his own tears fall unbidden down his face. Father and son had at last come together to mourn as one.

- The End -