Chapter 14, Sorrow and Joy

It was a testament to the sad state of affairs that Elladan’s departure was a blessing to Rivendell’s inhabitants.  Normally the presence of even one of Elrond’s twins brought great joy to the realm, but the lone twin that had roamed the valley was no longer capable of bringing happiness to anyone.  Where once the twins would lighten spirits with their cheerful ways, now Elladan’s perpetual gloom had quite the opposite effect.  And although he had not allowed his pessimistic outlook and brooding to directly hamper the search for his twin, Elladan’s certainty that the hunt was futile had made it difficult for others to keep up their spirits--despite what they might quietly believe of their chances to regain Elrohir, it was hard to even pretend to hope for his recovery when his mirror image clearly believed otherwise.  And so, it was with a sense of relief that everyone noted Elladan’s departure and then put their tireless efforts back into finding his missing twin.

It was three long weeks after Elladan left that the hardworking elves finally received their first real ray of hope.  The twins’ friend, Belder, had been making inquiries at several nearby settlements and in the small village of Willowpond had been led to an unkempt group of traders.  There had been rumors that these men had found a dark-haired, wounded elf who did not seem to know his name.  Unfortunately, the traders had been most uncooperative with Belder and had refused to give any meaningful information when questioned by the tall, imposing elven warrior.  Thus, Belder had been forced to bring their leader back to Rivendell to ‘discuss’ the situation with Lord Elrond.

Robard, as the man was called, was brought directly to Elrond’s main council room where the elven lord was meeting with the leaders of his search teams.  The disappointing news he was hearing from them had put him in a dark mood, and so all were grateful for the distraction when Belder requested permission to enter and brought in the scruffy human. 

Bowing deeply, the elven warrior announced his purpose, “My lord, I bring you the human, Robard.  He is a trader from Willowpond who had been heard speaking of finding a wounded elf.  The description of that elf matches Lord Elrohir, but this man and his compatriots refused to provide further details and say where the elf was now.  He said he would only speak to “the man in charge,” thus I brought him here, my lord, so that you might question him.”

When Elrond was displeased, his gaze could make even the stoutest quail, and right now he was very displeased.  But despite his untidy appearance, Robard was a man that few could intimidate.  Standing as tall as he could, he glared back at the elven lord, ignoring all the others in the room as he stated pompously, “I am Robard, a free trader.  I can see that you do not appreciate my position, but I was certainly not answerable to your underling, here.  I make it a point to speak only with those in positions to negotiate a fair trade.  So...now that I am here, what information do you require and what are you willing to bargain for it?”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed and Glorfindel, who was standing beside him, drew in his breath.  This was not the way to speak to an elven lord and the human wouldn’t win any points by being so blatantly greedy.  Glorfindel opened his mouth to rebuke the bold man but Elrond spoke first, “It would have been best for all concerned had you simply answered my warrior’s questions and saved yourself a journey.  If any compensation were due you, you can be assured that you would have received it.  But as you are here now, it is useless to discuss what might have been.  Let us instead get on with the business at hand.”

Elrond gestured to a chair, which Robard took with a haughty sniff.  Then the elven lord continued abruptly in a hard voice, “My son is missing.  We have seen no sign of him in over a month.  And now it seems that you may hold the key to his whereabouts.  That is why you were brought here—to tell us what you know.”

Neither Elrond nor Glorfindel missed the sudden gleam that flickered in the man’s eyes as he took in what had just been said.  The missing elf was the lord’s son—that was even better than he’d thought!  With a suddenly confident smile, Robard leaned casually back in his chair and said, “Yes, I can see now that you would be most interested in my story.  It’s such a shame this unmannered fellow of yours didn’t think to explain to me earlier what was at stake.  But no matter.  It is still better this way, for it allows us to come to some...arrangement...before we discuss the fate of your poor, missing boy.  After all, I sincerely doubt that you would wish hardship on me after all I’ve done.  You see, my hardworking wife has been caring for the elf for some time, so it has become rather...costly, as I’m sure you understand.”

Belder wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look off the man’s face.  This cretin held one of his best friends, who just so happened to also be the son of his lord, and now the man wanted to be paid to tell them where Elrohir was!   He clenched his fists and took a menacing step toward the trader before being stopped by a sharp command.

“Hold!” ordered Elrond.  He certainly understood Belder’s frustration with the repulsive man, but wasn’t going to allow emotions to get in the way of finding Elrohir.

Turning back to the trader, he forced himself to remain impassive as he said, “I understand your position.  And now you must understand mine.  I will do what is necessary to regain my son.  If your cooperation can facilitate it, so much the better.  And if compensating you for that cooperation is in order, I accept that as well.  But first, I will hear details of your encounter.  I must know if it is indeed my son that you have found or some other unfortunate soul who requires our assistance.  To begin, how did you come across the elf in question?”

Recognizing the need to appear cooperative, Robard put on a more serious face as he said, “Well, your lordship, my men and I came upon a group of dwarves camped on the side of the road—we stopped to trade with them and after we’d bartered for some goods, they asked if we’d be interested in trading for an elven slave.  Now, you understand that we were shocked to hear that they had an elf for a slave!  Naturally, we immediately decided to do everything in our power to rescue him.  So, we settled on a price and...well...then I took him home and my sainted wife has cared for him ever since—him being in a bad way, you see.  He’d been badly beaten, although the dwarves said it wasn’t them that did it.  Anyway, we would have come to you sooner if we’d known where he belonged, but he’s only said one word, ‘Dan,’ and it didn’t mean anything to us.”

Glorfindel and Elrond shared a look as several of the other elves in the room audibly murmured at the man’s last words.  It had to be Elrohir!  Elrohir, calling for his twin!  The excitement in the room was tangible as all contemplated finally finding the missing elf.  Like a dose of cold reality, however, Robard added, “Now, before we go any further, how about we discuss that ‘compensation’ you mentioned?”

Elrond, a master of remaining composed during the most trying of times, was able to keep himself from revealing his thoughts, but he wanted so badly to shake Elrohir’s location from the greedy man.  Extortion was the only word to describe Robard’s actions, but Elrond wasn’t about to let his disgust over the man’s greed get in the way of finding his son.  For although he sensed a certain level of deceit, it was clear that the man’s words rang with truth and he believed that Robard had somehow come across Elrohir.  Now he only had to determine what it would take to draw the answers out of him.  He supposed he should be grateful that Elladan wasn’t around, for if he were here, there wouldn’t be enough elves in all of Arda to keep him from simply trying to choke what he needed out of the man.

Sometimes fate has a bizarre sense of humor, however, for no sooner had Elrond finished being grateful for his good fortune that Elladan was absent, than he heard a disturbance out in the hall followed by Erestor’s sharp call, “Elladan, stop!  You may not enter!”

Not a moment later, the door flew open and there, without further fanfare, stood Elrond’s son—filthy, tired, and looking rather disreputable with a scraped up chin and black eye, but there he was!  The young elf began to smile in greeting as he started into the room, but then stopped abruptly when he saw the trader and slowly his features twisted into a deep scowl.  Elrond was dismayed.  Oh Valar!  Apparently Elladan had heard somehow that this man held his twin—Elrond knew that he had to get Elladan out of the room before he said something to damage their chances of finding Elrohir!

“Elladan!” said the elven lord as he rushed across the room, “I did not expect you back so soon!”

When he reached the young elf, who was standing frozen, still glaring at the man, Elrond grabbed his arm and instead of a giving him a welcoming hug, started to pull him out of the room saying rapidly, “Elladan, it is good to have you home.  But you look tired.  You should clean up, get some food, and rest awhile after your journey.  There are a few things I must attend to here, so I cannot join you immediately.  But you should run along and I will join you later.”

Distracted by the presence of the trader and caught off-guard by his father’s actions and uncharacteristic babbling, the surprised, tired young elf allowed himself to be dragged toward the door until he regained his wits and tried to pull away.

“Ada, I must speak to you. I...” he attempted.

But Elrond cut him off with a, “Not now, son.  I am truly pleased to see you and wish to hear all about your trip, but I must complete something first.  Now wait for me outside.”

By that point, they were at the door and Elrond had almost succeeded in pushing his son out when the young elf surprised the elven lord by grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him out, shutting the door firmly behind them, and then blocking the entrance with his body.

“I am required inside right now,” began Elrond alternating a glare between his son and the closed door.  “This is not the time for any theatrics.  Truly.  Your news will have to wait.”

The look he received was a mixture of frustration and...amusement?  “Ada,” said the obviously weary elf, “is that to be my only greeting?”

“You must forgive me, but I really am busy right now,” tried Elrond again as he began to push his son aside and reenter the room, but once again found his arm held tight.

“Ada, stop,” demanded his son.  “I do not believe you have truly looked at me.”

Suddenly worried that Elladan might need some sort of medical attention—after all he did have that gloriously discolored black eye—Elrond paused a moment and looked his son over.  He seemed ready to fall over from fatigue; his hair was in complete disarray; and his clothes, clearly not his own, were muddied and torn, but other than the black eye and scrape on his chin, Elrond could see no visible signs of injuries.  There was obviously some kind of story here, but each of his sons had come home in the past looking far worse.  What exactly was it that he was supposed to be seeing?

“Elladan,” said Elrond, taking a deep breath and at last regaining his normal, cool composure, “It is imperative that I attend to the business awaiting me inside.  It regards a matter of the greatest importance.  You must not detain me any longer.”

When all he received was another frustrated, “Ada!” from his son who still didn’t move, Elrond tried his most stern glare.  After all...what if that greedy trader decided he had been insulted and wouldn’t bargain for Elrohir’s return!?  Bringing himself up to his full height, the elven lord stated firmly, “I will explain all to you later, but for now you must not demand any more of my attention.  You have not been so vexing since you were an elfling,” he finished with obvious irritation and once more tried to push past.

But his arm was still being held firm.  He tugged on it, but to no avail.  He opened his mouth to soundly scold Elladan, when unexpectedly Elrond found himself drawn into a tight hug, followed by a short chuckle and words murmured into his shoulder, “Ada, the last time you mixed us up was when we were elflings.”

Elrond froze in his son’s embrace.  “What?” he gasped before finding the strength to push back and look at his son again.  Really look at him.  “Elrohir...?” he whispered.

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Yes, it was Elrohir who had made his way home.  And it had been a long journey that had brought him there...one that began weeks earlier on that fateful night when he had disappeared. 

On that long ago night an elf—an elf who Elrohir had always counted as a friend—had snuck into his home, had slung the comatose elf over his shoulder, and then he had knocked Elladan (who in fact never saw the face of his assailant) unconscious before carrying Elrohir away. 

After that, Elrohir lay unaware for the better part of a week while Kalen, the elf who had stolen him, and his brother Matias kept him hidden in a back room of the stables.  Elves, needing horses to search for their missing prince, time and again had come within just feet of the unconscious elf, but they never thought to doubt the word of the stablemaster when he said he’d thoroughly searched all of the stables himself and so Elrohir remained undiscovered. 

It was Matias who was on hand when his young lord finally began to awaken.  Elrohir had lain as one almost dead, not moving at all even when they forced him to drink water, so the groom was startled when he heard a sound from the small room where they had Elrohir hidden. Glancing around to make sure that there was no one else around, he pushed open the door, and pulled away the feed bags in front of the little box that they used as a makeshift prison.

Elrohir wasn’t finding his path toward consciousness an easy one.  His thoughts were in complete disarray.  Darkness...despair...pain...anguish...nothing clear except for an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.  As he lay there, shifting restlessly, Matias knelt down and gazed at his captive.

Matias was alarmed to see Elrohir struggling toward consciousness.  For days, Elrohir had been completely still as he lay in the cramped confines of the little wooden crate, with his hands tied and mouth gagged.  But instead of lying there motionless, the young elven lord was now tossing back and forth, his eyes tightly closed as his aimless motions rocked the crate.  It had been the creaking of the crate that had drawn Matias’ attention, and he bent forward to try to settle Elrohir.

As he tentatively reached for the ailing elf, Matias asked himself for the thousandth time if he was doing the right thing.  It pained him to see Elrohir like this.  He had always admired the younger son of Elrond, not only for his exceptional skill with horses, but also for his friendly, winning ways.  Long ago Elrohir had befriended Matias, but more than that, he had worked his magic on Kalen and had become a good friend to the older groom as well.  It wasn’t everyone who could charm Kalen into being their friend, and Matias had treasured the knowledge that his lord’s son had thought well enough of his temperamental brother to strike up a friendship.

“Shh...quiet Elrohir,” said Matias as he gently pushed down on Elrohir’s shoulders and tried to hold him still.  He heard a confused whimper, muffled by the gag, and felt his throat tighten as he continued to try to calm down his old friend, who was clearly not fully aware.  It had been a sound of mindless pain and it struck Matias like a blow, suddenly causing him to ignore Kalen’s order to treat Elrohir like an enemy and instead pulled his friend to him.  He held him comfortingly in his arms, murmuring soft words until Elrohir finally stopped shaking and after many long minutes, seemed to fall back asleep.  Settling the now-quiet elf back down where he was before, Matias gave Elrohir a sad look of apology before closing the door, glad that Kalen had not seen his act of kindness.

Elrohir wasn’t so lucky the next time his confused mind struggled toward consciousness.  It was in the dark of night several days later when he once again began to fight the shadows that imprisoned his mind.  But it wasn’t the sympathetic Matias who heard his movements this time, instead it was the stablemaster himself, Kalen.  He shared quarters with Matias in rooms adjoining the stables and had been just going to sleep when he heard a thumping sound that drew him into the barn.  Softly cursing as he saw that it came from the tiny room where they kept Elrohir, he pulled open the door, opened the crate, and glared at his captive. 

“Quiet!” he hissed, as he saw Elrohir kicking the side of the crate.  When he didn’t stop, Kalen reached down and grabbed his foot, jerking back in surprise when his touch caused Elrohir to erupt in a panicked struggle. 

It was unfortunate for Elrohir that it was the middle of the night, for the noise that he made as he fought Kalen would have been enough to alert one of the many other elves that frequented the stables during the day.  However, only Kalen and his brother were around at night and Matias was out tending to a sick horse, so there was none to hear the short-lived battle.  Hands tied, weakened, and not even fully aware of what he was doing, Elrohir was no match for the strong groom, and he was soon pinned tightly to the floor.

“You are determined to be difficult!” growled Kalen, breathing heavily after his efforts to subdue his prisoner.  “I suppose I should have expected that.  Your family is nothing but trouble.  Clearly you need some more ‘encouragement’ to be silent.  Now stop it!” he ordered as he backhanded his captive, who had once more begun to twist beneath him.

The brutal blow slammed Elrohir’s head backward into the boards of his box, but only caused him to increase his struggles.  Not really aware of what he was doing, but somehow knowing that his situation was desperate, he writhed in a vain attempt to dislodge his tormenter. 

Another short-lived battle followed, with Kalen once again the clear victor, but this time he had moved beyond irritated and was now seething in anger.  “You never listen, do you?  None of you do.  All of you insist on having your way, regardless of who gets hurt, don’t you?  Well, not this time.  This time we do things my way,” he hissed, punctuating his words with several vicious punches to his captive’s stomach.

Gasping for air, Elrohir was unable to fight as Kalen roughly untied his hands and after shoving him on his stomach, tightly relashed them behind his back.  The angry elf then proceeded to tie Elrohir’s legs together and blindfold him before pushing him back into the small crate.  With jerky, angry movements, Kalen then stuffed feed bags around him to ensure that Elrohir couldn’t make noise again even if he wanted to.  Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, the elf closed the crate up, relatched the outer door and with a grim, last look, went back to bed.

Elrohir was left in the dark, only marginally aware of his surroundings, but aware enough to be frightened.  As he worked on controlling his breathing—a difficult task in the stuffy, dark little box—the young elf tried to force his thoughts into some semblance of order.  He still didn’t understand what was happening, but the harsh treatment had brought an unexpected, priceless gift.  No one, not even Galadriel or Elrond himself would have predicted it, but as scenes of past torment blended with the present, linked together by the identical face and voice, Elrohir’s mind slowly began to focus.  Kalen’s anger had unexpectedly sparked something within Elrohir and the young elf calmed down as realized with something akin to shock that he could think.

Hours passed as he lay there, hovering between consciousness and oblivion as he desperately tried to claw his way fully back to his senses.  He was unable to force his thoughts to completely focus, but still stubbornly refused to accept the comfort of the void that beckoned him.  No...it would be easy to sink into unconsciousness, but Elrond’s sons were never known for following the easy path.  For short little snippets of time, Elrohir was able to think clearly and those moments were enough to keep him trying for more.  He latched onto those moments as his lifelines to sanity, and hour after hour was a spectator to the myriad scenes that flew through his mind.  Some dark and grim.  Some so horrifying that they almost made him ill.  But some were of joyful times.  Some were full of light and love.  It was those scenes that he tried to grab onto.  Those scenes that helped drive away that overwhelming hopeless feeling that he had awakened to.  After unknown hours passed, he finally was able to latch onto one image that he knew would help him keep his grip on reality.  It was the dark-haired elf who featured prominently in so many of his memories.  An elf whose very image filled him with a feeling of wholeness.  He didn’t know who this elf was, but with a determination born of desperation, Elrohir made himself focus only on that image and the comfort it brought to him, ignoring all the other horrors that tried to crowd in.  Somehow, that gave his uneasy mind enough peace and at long last, he gave in to his weariness and slipped into an exhausted sleep. 

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The next several days turned out to be quite miserable ones for Elrohir.  He was awake more and more as the days went by, but that only meant that he suffered more from the physical discomfort of being stuffed in the little box and tightly bound.  That didn’t help his mental state either, which continued to be rather cloudy even as he clawed his way back to his senses.

As he lay there day after day, he would run through all that he’d been able to work out.  He knew...he knew his name was Elrohir.  That much he was certain of.  Not only was that what he was called by the elves who periodically gave him food and water, but he also knew it inside himself.  Yes, he was Elrohir.  It was reassuring to know one’s name.  And Elladan...he had finally put a name to the dark haired elf and merely the thought of him brought immeasurable comfort.  He hadn’t determined precisely who Elladan was, but he had remembered the name at last and knew that this particular elf was very dear—that was also a certainty.  His mere image was a comfort and he felt deep within him that they were closely bound to each other. 

What else did he know?  He knew that the elves who tended him had hurt him in the past.  They were mixed up in some of those dark visions that he’d had.  But he also thought that he remembered them as friends.  How could both of those memories be true?   It made it quite difficult to trust what he thought he could remember.  And...he had thought that someone had been torturing him, but although he was desperately uncomfortable, he didn’t think he was actually injured, so that memory definitely was flawed.  And dwarves.  Where were the dwarves?  Somehow he thought they had been holding him...hadn’t they?  So why was he a captive of elves?  So much was confusing! 

One day as he lay there patiently trying to work things out, Elrohir jerked with alarm as he heard the faint whinny of a horse nearby.  A new thought suddenly broke through.  Horses couldn’t be trusted!  His beautiful horse—Raumo was his name!—had recently attacked him...well...hadn’t he?  But...but he remembered a cracked shoulder as a result of that attack and his shoulder was fine.  So this was another flawed memory.  Or were these memories at all?  Or just nightmares—figments of his imagination?  He was so confused.  And his head always hurt.  And he was tired.  Weary and unable to make sense of things, the young elf eventually slipped into a troubled sleep as he always did when the fight for his sanity overwhelmed him.

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For uncounted days that same pattern repeated itself.  Elrohir would lie awake, cramped and hot, while piece-by-piece he would try to recreate his shattered thoughts.  After struggling with that task for hours, he would have worked out one or two new “truths” about himself, but would have also have given himself an unbearable headache, which would nearly make him ill.  Only by concentrating on the image of Elladan, who represented in his mind all that was good in life—loyalty, friendship, security, strength, peace, joy, love—could he eventually fall asleep.

This pattern was broken only by the occasional visits from the two elves who held him.  He recognized them from the short glimpses of the past that he’d remembered and had at last put names to their faces, but couldn’t remember much more about them—important little details like why they were holding him!  He knew, however, that these two had been unspeakably cruel to him in times gone by, so he said nothing to them during those first days—nothing that would provoke the brutality that he knew they were capable of.

Eventually he came to realize that one of the two elves didn’t seem to be very happy about his captivity.  Matias always spoke quietly and was rather gentle with his captive.  And although the elf never said it outright, Elrohir could tell from his expression that he was ashamed of his part in what was happening.  Elrohir tucked this little bit of information away and tried to decide how he could use it later on—perhaps when the time was right he might be able to convince the sympathetic elf to let him go.

The other elf, Kalen, was the more dangerous one.  This was the one that Elrohir connected in his patchy memories with the most brutality and that one was obviously still terribly angry, for he was rough, harsh, and clearly begrudged even taking the time to bring water.  His words were always filled with hate and he would often backhand or punch Elrohir without any seeming provocation.  Yes, this was the one to watch.  Not only was he the more dangerous one, but Elrohir also had a feeling that this one might be goaded into telling him what this was all about—why they had taken him prisoner.

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Elrohir finally got his answers several weeks after he’d been taken.  The intervening weeks had taken their toll on him as he suffered through endless hours in the suffocating darkness.  During the day when other elves were around the stables, he was left completely alone and it was only in the dead of night that one or the other of his captors would open up the box to give him food and water, affording Elrohir a small measure of relief.  Now after many weeks of this treatment, he was worn out.  Infrequent and inadequate food and water, agonizingly cramped muscles from being constantly bound, and precious little fresh air had left the normally strong elf listless and weak.

Thus the night that he finally did get his answers, he was in quite sorry shape.  In fact, he was in worse condition than usual because it had been three days since either of his captors had checked on him, nearly at the limit for an elf to be without water.  He was barely aware, therefore, when his little crate was pried open and he was pulled out onto the ground.

As Elrohir was still blindfolded, he missed the look that came over Kalen’s face as the typically ill-tempered elf looked down on his captive.  Kalen actually felt guilty as he saw the limp, sweat-soaked body of his lord’s son and for just a fleeting moment, he found himself feeling sorry for causing Elrohir’s discomfort.  He shook his head in anger at himself.  It wasn’t his fault that both he and his brother had been called away for a few days to help with some ill horses.  If Elrohir suffered as a consequence...well, that was just unfortunate for Elrohir.  No, he couldn’t afford to falter now due to misplaced feelings of guilt.  It was hard enough to keep Matias under control.  For the past couple of weeks he had been having daily arguments with his little brother about Elrohir’s fate and he knew he’d be unable to keep Matias in line if he showed any signs that he also questioned their actions.  No, he had to be the strong one if they were ever to achieve their long-sought goal of avenging their family.

Elrohir was completely unaware of any of Kalen’s thoughts and in fact wouldn’t have cared much if he had been aware of them.  He was too busy breathing in air that for once wasn’t stale and was overwhelmed by the need to quench his thirst.  Thus, when his blindfold and gag were removed, he didn’t even take a moment to note that it was the cranky Kalen that crouched before him, since all he could see was the cup of water that was being held in front of his face.  Forcing himself not to gulp it too fast, he accepted the water from his captor with a profound sense of gratitude and after he’d had his fill, nodded his thanks and then laid his head wearily back down on the ground.

Kalen noted Elrohir’s look of thanks with renewed anger.  Why did the stupid elf have to make this harder?  Why couldn’t he act more like his obnoxious twin?  If Elrohir had been overbearing and rude, it would have been so much easier to pretend that it was Elladan they held captive, which in truth was a little charade he played with himself in order to keep his anger finely honed.  But when Elrohir seemed grateful for just a simple cup of water, he had to face the fact that it wasn’t the lordly older twin they held, but the younger one—the one who had been his friend.

Damn him anyway!  The niggling sense of guilt made Kalen feel even more on edge than usual and suddenly he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Elrohir’s lost eyes for even one moment more.  Ignoring the way Elrohir was still gasping in the fresh air, he grabbed the blindfold and gag and started shoving his captive back into the box, deciding not to even feed him first.

But Elrohir wasn’t ready.  He had been completely alone, motionless and nearly suffocating in his little prison for days and couldn’t bear to be put back in so soon.  Before Kalen could cover his mouth with the gag, Elrohir asked in a husky, dry voice, “Not yet...please.  Let me breathe the clean air for a moment longer.”

Elrohir didn’t really expect that his plea would be answered—after all, this was the angry elf before him—but surprisingly Kalen growled out a response, “Why should I?”

Normally the younger twin would have been able to come up with a quick, clever answer, but he was too drained to think of anything useful to say so instead simply whispered, “Please?”

Abruptly, Kalen stood and walked to the door and stood there, pressing his forehead into the hard wood, his thoughts in a whirling frenzy.  What in all of Arda was he doing?  He shouldn’t be allowing Elrohir to speak, much less answering him.  It would only make things harder for them all in the end.  But for once, he just couldn’t summon the white-hot rage that had sustained him in the past.  This was wrong.  He couldn’t continue doing this.  NO!...he had to stay strong.  Dahvos and his father were counting on him!  Oh why was this so hard?  Why couldn’t Elrohir have simply died years ago?  Then this would all be over and he and Matias could finally rest.  Fool dwarves!  If only they hadn’t come when they did.  Stupid little dirt-dwellers had ruined everything!  If not for them he wouldn’t be facing the daily ordeal of having to torment his old friend.  What could he do?  What could he do?!  Maybe if he could get Elrohir mad...yes, maybe then he could feed off of that anger and be able to pull this off.

Making his decision, Kalen turned back around just as abruptly and faced Elrohir, none of the indecision and doubts reflecting on his face.  Carefully creating his usual angry mask, he grabbed Elrohir beneath his arms and propped him up against the wall, then sat down across from him.

“There,” he snarled.  “You wanted to breathe.  So breathe.”

Elrohir studied his captor carefully.  Just what was going on?  For weeks the two elves who tended to him had followed exactly the same pattern when they fed him, never deviating at all.  Why had the other elf sat him up and given him a respite from his cage?  Not trusting this change, he looked warily at the other, reflecting that he didn’t know if this unexpected reprieve was a good or bad thing, but knowing his luck, it was probably the latter.

Nothing happened for the first few minutes while Elrohir enjoyed the chance to breathe fresh air and the two of them sat in silence until he decided to take a chance and asked quietly, “Can you tell me why?  What have I done to you to cause you to imprison me thus?”

Truthfully, he wouldn’t have been surprised to receive a kick or a fist to the stomach for daring to ask such a question, but instead the other elf, who had been waiting for such an opening, unexpectedly responded.

“How predictable.  You peredhils always think it is about you.  If you must know, this has little to do with you.  You are merely a means to an end,” he said, an answer which made no sense at all to Elrohir.

Elrohir said nothing for a moment, doubtlessly thinking that it was only natural for him to think this had something to do with him since he was the one that was currently being forced to live in a box!  Instead of pointing out that rather obvious fact, however, he asked again, “Then why?”

“Do you not remember?” Kalen asked him suspiciously.

“Nay,” whispered the young elf lord.  “I remember almost nothing of who I am nor my life.  Thus, I beg of you to tell me why I am here.”

“I owe you no explanation,” snarled Kalen, suddenly regretting his impulsive decision to talk with Elrohir, since doing so was causing him to once more feel sorry for him.  He had thought that Elrohir would remember the long ago beating and would thus be full of rage.  Instead, his old friend was obviously still suffering from whatever had rendered him unconscious in the first place and had a rather lost look in his eyes.  This wouldn’t do!  He couldn’t let himself fall into the trap of feeling badly for Elrohir.  Leaning forward, he reached over to pull the gag back up but was stopped when Elrohir jerked his head away. 

The desperate elf said hurriedly, “Perhaps you do not owe me an explanation, but what would it hurt to tell me?”

Kalen paused for a moment, staring at Elrohir until he seemed to make a decision and then leaned back again and shook his head.  “Nothing.  Nothing would change by you knowing.  The outcome will still be the same.”

“Then tell me.  Please.  I cannot believe that I do not at least deserve to know how I earned your hatred,” said the young captive intently.

For the very first time he saw a lighter look flit over the other elf’s face as Kalen said with a humorless laugh, “I do not hate you.  In fact, I have always counted you as one of a select few friends.”

“Friends?” echoed Elrohir in surprise.  This elf was his friend?  He felt lightheaded with the sudden thought that he must have done something utterly horrid to warrant such treatment from a friend.  Is that why he’d forgotten his past?  Because he didn’t want to remember that he, himself had done something unspeakable? 

Kalen folded his arms and stared off, unseeing.  “I do not expect you to understand, but yes, we have been friends for many a year.”

Elrohir said nothing at all in response, his own thoughts in turmoil.  He wasn’t sure any more that he wanted to know why he was being held.  He may not like what he found out.

But the other elf wasn’t watching his captive’s expressions.  Momentarily forgetting his aim of making Elrohir angry, he lost himself in reflection as he spoke of his hidden pain.

“It all began years ago,” reminisced Kalen, “when my older brother, Dahvos became one of the Imladris Guard.  My adar was the head groom and we had all assumed that Dahvos would follow in his footsteps, but he chose to follow his own path and became a warrior instead.”  Kalen took a slow breath before adding, “It was not a bad choice, as he enjoyed the excitement of battle and found protecting our lands immensely fulfilling.  He made my family proud.  Thus it was left to Matias and I to learn our adar’s craft, but we did not mind and all seemed well in our family.  We were so happy.  None of us could envision what was to come.”

He glanced over at Elrohir before frowning and continuing in a darker voice, “Then came the mission that changed everything.  It was not meant to be a difficult one—a quick trip to bring a herd of horses from Rohan.  Dahvos was one of a small group of warriors that accompanied my adar...and your brother was their leader.”

Elrohir listened intently as his captor spoke.  His brother?  He had a brother?  One more ‘truth’ to tuck away and explore later.

Kalen’s lip curled as he continued, “Aye, it was Elladan that led the group.  Elladan who led my family to destruction!”

His heart suddenly beat faster as Elrohir understood the implications of what his captor was saying.  Elladan was his brother!  He felt a sense of satisfaction as he took that in.  Yes.  It fit perfectly with how he saw the other elf in his mind.  Of course Elladan was his brother!  His joy was short-lived, though, as the other continued.

“Polinas, my closest friend, was another of the guard, and he told me the story of your brother’s inept leadership and cowardice on the day that changed my life.  On their way home, the group ran across a band of orcs and your brother led them straight into a trap!  Instead of staying in the trees as was prudent, he rushed forward in some misguided attempt at heroics, which warned the orcs and allowed them to gain the upper hand.  Dahvos was hit almost immediately as he tried to protect the group and was cut off from the rest when he fell.”  Kalen began to shake with suppressed hatred as he continued.  “Then your brother, Lord Elladan,” he spat the name as if a curse, “would do nothing to help him.  He fled back to the trees in terror, abandoning my brother in order to save his own skin.  It was left to my adar to try to save Dahvos, but he was no warrior...and soon fell under the orcs’ blades as well.  And just like that, my life ended.  When she heard of their fate, Naneth could not bear the sorrow of their loss and, along with my sister Ritea, chose to leave for the undying lands.  Just like that, my family was gone.  All but Matias, who remained here with me to see justice served   Every other joy in my life was gone, leaving nothing in my heart except the desire to see your brother pay for his cowardly betrayal of those warriors.”

The look that Kalen gave Elrohir made the young elf shiver as pure hatred reflected in the older elf’s eyes.  “Polinas told me of how several other warriors were killed as Elladan hid in the trees and sat there, paralyzed with indecision.  Elladan,” he hissed, “is the one who must pay for their loss.  He is the one who should die, but death would be too easy.  Instead, hemust feel the unending sorrow of losing his brother.”  He concluded with intense satisfaction, “And he is the one who will wish to die himself once he knows you are lost forever.”

Elrohir actually felt cold as he listened to the other elf.  He had no time to feel glad that he hadn’t committed some monstrous act of his own in the past.  Hearing of his brother’s part made him feel just as ill as if he’d done it himself.  His image of Elladan had been his lifeline for...well, as long as he could remember, even if that was only a few weeks.  He couldn’t reconcile the feelings of strength, compassion, and love that he felt for his brother with the image that his captor had painted of a weak, self-serving elf who led his warriors to their doom.  No...he just didn’t believe it.  That couldn’t be right! 

So strong was that feeling that Elrohir was compelled to voice it, “You are wrong.  Elladan would not have done what you said.”

Kalen glared at his captive as he snapped, “I thought you said you did not remember.”

“I do not,” stated Elrohir firmly.  “But I remember enough of Elladan to know that he would never leave a warrior to die just to save himself.  He would not!”

Kalen stood and towered over his prisoner, “Shut up!” he cried.  “You know nothing.  Elladan destroyed my family and now I will destroy him by taking that which he loves most—you!”

Absurdly pleased to hear that he meant as much to Elladan as the other elf meant to him, Elrohir nonetheless realized that he had made a tactical error in contradicting his captor.  Making him mad would only cause more hardship.  Still, he was tired of playing the role of the helpless prisoner and threw caution to the wind as he contradicted with calm dignity, “You are the one who knows nothing.  Your ill-advised attempt at vengeance will not bring back your family.  Moreover, it is not the way of our people and in the end, will only bring you more grief.  You would be better served by joining your family yourself than to spend your days here plotting my brother’s downfall by destroying me.”

“You are a fool!” shouted Kalen, punctuating his remark with a kick to Elrohir’s shins.  “Elladan is a coward.  A filthy, stinking, worthless excuse of an elf who has never been punished for his failures, just because of who he is.  I know this will not bring back my family, but when Elladan receives his just rewards, I know they will rest easier.”

Elrohir regarded the angry elf with a certain amount of dismay.  Although it hadn’t been said explicitly, he realized, of course, that the other elf meant to kill him.  It was just a matter of how and when.  He wasn’t afraid exactly, but the thought wasn’t precisely a pleasant one, either.  But that aside, he still wanted more answers and he knew that he’d have to calm down the other elf in order to keep him talking.  Thus, he softened his voice and said quietly, “You have clearly put a great deal of thought into your plans and I can understand how the loss of your family has hurt you.  But I still do not understand how it is that I ended up here.  How did I end up your prisoner?” 

At first Elrohir didn’t think Kalen was going to answer, as he remained towering over his captive, face set in an angry scowl.  But then he turned away and walked over to a barrel by the wall and faced his captive again as he sat on it.  Then he answered in an almost conversational tone, “The ‘plans’ that you speak of are far more detailed that you imagine and the reason you are here now is only because we were not able to fulfill our original plan.  Your presence here is simply due to an opportunity we saw to complete our mission.  But before…” Kalen paused as the memories of earlier times flooded his mind. 

“Aye,” he reminisced, “we had worked out every detail of our original plan.  We had to, in order to fully avenge my family’s loss.  At first, after the death of my adar and brother, Polinas, Matias, and I spent our days trying to console my naneth and Ritea.  Polinas was like another brother to us and was also betrothed to Ritea, so he was an integral part of that effort.  In the end, though, we failed and Naneth could not accept the loss…and…and she decided to leave.  And as she left, Ritea chose to go with her.” 

It had been years since his mother departed, but Kalen still was heartbroken as he thought of her leaving and for a moment lost his voice.  It had been so hard to see her walk away and know that he may never see her again.  Forcing himself to move on, though, Kalen grimly continued with his narrative, “After that, Polinas was inconsolable.  I suppose he felt it worse than Matias and I since he’d seen first hand the senseless nature of their loss due your brother’s betrayal.  Regardless of why, he soon began making plans of ways to pay Elladan back for ruining our lives.  His first thoughts were more direct…he spoke of elaborate ways to injure and maim not you, but your brother.  But then one day he saw the two of you together, joking and teasing as you were wont to do, and he realized that the far greater hurt would be for Elladan to lose you—and that is when he formed the main plan.”

Kalen glanced over at Elrohir to see how he was taking all this, not surprised to see the other elf simply looking at him impassively.  His old friend always was good at hiding his feelings when he wanted to.  But even though he wasn’t eliciting the anger that he needed from Elrohir, Kalen wanted to continue.  For some reason, he was finding it helpful to put into words all that had happened.  It helped him justify once again to himself why they were doing this.  Thus, he continued on.

“Polinas approached Matias and I one night and we talked into the wee hours of the morning, debating what we should do about Elladan’s treachery.  And it was that night that we swore an oath that we would find some way to make him pay.  Polinas, of course, had already come up with the perfect plan and told us of an elaborate way to trap you the next time you rode out on your own and then leave you at death’s door for Elladan to find.  It was a well thought-out plan and we executed it almost to perfection.  Your next unaccompanied trip actually was one to buy horses from Rohan—poetic justice, I felt, since it was a similar venture that doomed my family—and we were able to lure you off the main path and into a small clearing on your way home.  You were so naïve, never suspecting anything as you rode up to us.  But you soon learned of your mistake.”

During Kalen’s calm recitation, Elrohir still let no emotion flit across his face, but inside he was almost sick with dread.  He didn’t remember all the details…indeed, he could only remember small flashes of the scene that he knew Kalen was about to describe, but what he could recall made his blood run cold.  He stared unblinking as his captor told more.

“At first, once we saw you ride up, cheerfully greeting us, I admit Matias and I were almost hesitant to carry out our plan, but fortunately Polinas did not falter.  He knew what we had to do to avenge our loved ones.  So, he signaled me and I had your horse throw you, then he stripped you of your weapons, bound you, and then we all proceeded to give you the beating that would destroy your brother.  Yes, as the blood rage overcame us, it became easier and easier to do what we needed to do and eventually we all found ourselves participating fully in his destruction.”  With that, Kalen paused to savor the sheer joy they’d all felt as they worked to fulfill their oath to avenge their family.

Elrohir, though, felt his stomach churn as he remembered that time.  How could Kalen describe it so matter-of-factly?  How could he so calmly talk about their descent into pure depravity?  He remembered enough of that ‘beating’ to know that it was so brutal and thorough that by all accounts he should not have lived through it.  Not just fists, but…but stones…and…and whips.  And the taunts…they had enjoyed what they were doing!  Unable to keep himself impassive as he felt again the horrid sense of betrayal that he’d experienced, he gasped a shaky breath, drawing Kalen’s attention to him.

The other elf narrowed his eyes as he, too, relived the moment and relished the feeling of power that had come with Elrohir’s torment.  Seeing the same elf before him though, still not destroyed, reminded him that he still had not fully satisfied his oath—they had been interrupted and thus Elladan still needed to pay through the death of his twin. 

A little more emotionally, Kalen stated, “You were spared when a stupid band of dwarves came through the woods, drawn, I imagine, by the sounds.  You had hit your head on a rock and were unconscious and we thought you’d soon be dead, so we left you and ran, unwilling to have the dwarves see us.  I do not know what exactly happened to you after that.”

Elrohir, who by now was trembling with the horror of those remembered scenes, had to ask, “And how did you think that you would get away with it?  If the dwarves had not come, how were you going to explain what you’d been doing in the woods?  After all, once I was found, our warriors would have been able to backtrack you to Imladris.”

Kalen smirked at his captive, “Aye, we knew we would caught eventually, but we did not care. Our plan was to go home and plant enough clues to entice Elladan to come find you and while he was gone, we would leave to join our naneth and Ritea.  But the dwarves messed things up since we did not know if they would leave you there…and, of course, they apparently did not, since you disappeared.”

 “At any rate, after we left you to the dwarves,” Kalen mused, “we hid Raumo in a safe spot and simply came home.  We expected that your body would be found in time or that if you survived, the dwarves would send you back.  But we never heard anything more about you.  You had just vanished.  At first we lived in daily fear that you would return and expose what we had done, but in time we came to realize that everything had worked out for the best.  Not only did Elladan suffer tremendously with your disappearance, but we were able to enjoy watching his suffering, as we were not forced to leave.  Oh yes, the weeks and months that he and most of Imladris spent looking for you were glorious!  We had to take great care to act appropriately worried when anyone came by, but it was even better than we’d planned when we saw Elladan so visibly distraught all the time!” he finished with a satisfied smile.

Elrohir regarded his captor angrily.  It was bad enough…yes, more than bad enough…to hear how he’d been trapped and tortured.  It was agonizing just to hear of what they’d done to him and even now he almost couldn’t believe that it was true, except that his patchy memories corroborated Kalen’s story.  But worse than that, how could the other elf so callously talk about the anguish that he’d caused and seem so…so gleeful about it?  He still didn’t remember all that had happened, but he knew enough to be sure that his disappearance had caused more than just Elladan’s suffering.  There was the rest of his family to think about and all his friends.  How could a fellow elf not care about how his actions hurt so many others?  He wanted to ask that very question in the most scathing way possible, but there was still one more thing he wanted to know first.  What had happened to that wretched elf who had been the driving force behind this all?  Unable to completely keep the anger out of his voice, he ground out, “And what of Polinas?  Why have I not been graced by his presence as well as yours?” 

Kalen looked sharply at his prisoner.  He’d forgotten his original aim of making Elrohir angry until now, but hearing the tension in the other’s voice and seeing the naked hostility in the other’s eyes, he realized that he’d succeeded in spite of himself. 

“Polinas left!” he said coldly, not realizing that his irritation was not only with his captive.  In fact, it always bothered him that Polinas had vanished after leaving them a note one day saying that he was going to join Ritea—he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.  But Kalen had never fully explored his feelings concerning Polinas’ departure, and thus was ready to turn his anger to Elrohir who was leaning forward with a scowl on his face.

“So, he took the coward’s way out and never faced his part in all this?” Elrohir accused.  “He left you and Matias here alone to accept whatever penalty may come?  For you know, sooner or later you will be found out, your treachery exposed, and you will be held responsible for what you have done.  In truth, I do not understand how you could follow a vermin that would leave you to face the consequences alone!”

Kalen’s eyes narrowed in anger.  How dare Elrohir call his friend a coward and vermin?!  Elladan was the coward!  “Take care with your words, Elrohir,” he warned.  “I regret that you were caught up in all this, but I will not have you maligning one of the noblest elves I have ever known.  He left because he could no longer live in this wretched world.”

“Noble!” Elrohir shot back in disbelief.  “How can you call one ‘noble’ who goads his friends into attacking someone who, by their own admission, had done nothing wrong?  I do not believe I have ever known of a more treacherous, wicked act!  He lured you into attacking me with the pretext of hurting Elladan, and then abandoned you to whatever retribution ended up on your heads.  That is no friend and certainly not one I would call ‘noble!’  In fact, hearing of his despicable character makes me question if he was even telling the truth in the first place of Elladan’s supposed incompetence.  Maybe he had something to hide and was merely trying to shift the blame!” 

Elrohir finished his rant and waited for the explosion.  He knew he’d crossed the line when he saw the look on Kalen’s face go from anger to mindless fury.  But regardless of what was to come, he felt pleased that he’d had his say.  In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he suspected that his supposition was true and was glad he’d voiced it.  It made sense considering what he remembered of his brother’s personality and what Kalen had told him of Polinas—Kalen should think about what had possibly motivated his friend’s actions.

He didn’t have much time to consider that thought, though, for Kalen, overcome with rage, leapt forward and wrapped both hands around Elrohir’s neck, pressing down with all his might.  As he crushed the life from the elf beneath him, he hissed, “Polinas was right to involve you in this!  For you to accuse that noble, decent elf just tells me that you are just like your brother.  When Elladan finds your broken body and knows the crushing despair of losing you...I will join Polinas and rejoice in your demise.”

Elrohir tried to pull away, but was unable to and after a short time, his struggles lessened and his vision began to fade as the air was choked from him.  That would have been the end of the young elf, but just as he started to lose consciousness, Kalen saw his eyelids fluttering closed and realized with horror what he was doing.  Sanity came back with a rush and he knew that, no, he didn’t want Elrohir dead just yet.  They wanted Elladan to find his tortured, lifeless body.  If he were to die now, Elladan would be spared that sight—something that Kalen just wasn’t willing to let happen.  So, he’d have to wait until Elladan returned.  Frustrated, the now coldly furious elf took his hands from Elrohir’s throat and with an angry growl, grabbed his shoulders, picking him up and slamming him into the ground with a shout, “Elladan must pay!”

The young lord’s head smashed against the ground with a whack!, nearly knocking him unconscious.  Between the near-strangling and the blow to his head, Elrohir was finding it hard to keep his wits about him, but struggled against the pull of darkness as he realized with shock that Kalen’s violence was once more blending with memories of what he’d endured years ago.  Even more incredible, though, was that he suddenly remembered being trapped in the clearing—not just a flickering glimpse of a memory, but the blow to the head at just the right moment had jarred loose his trapped memories and without warning, he remembered everything that had happened. 

Kalen didn’t know what to make of his captive’s sudden silence as he fell limp in his hands.  He knew that Elrohir wasn’t unconscious, but couldn’t decide just what the stunned look in his eyes meant.  Still angry and upset, he decided that he really didn’t care and he quickly replaced the gag and blindfold and then unceremoniously drug him back to his box.  He saw the bowl of food sitting on the ground and noted that Elrohir still hadn’t eaten, but decided that he also didn’t care about that!  Any suffering on Elrohir’s part was just payment for what his family had done and Kalen found himself content for once to add to his discomfort. 

After he’d been left once again in the darkness, Elrohir didn’t even notice at first that he was scrunched back in his box.  He was too busy trying not to drown in the deluge of memories that washed over him.  Not only the scene from his capture and torture, but everything that happened since…and everything that happened before raced through his mind.  Thousands of years of memories that had been locked away were suddenly there for the taking and he reeled from the shock of their return. 

For hours the young elf explored his memories and rejoiced in the returned sense of self that they gave him.  No longer was he confused and lost.  Instead he was overjoyed with the memories of his family, his friends, and the many wonderful times he’d experienced in his long lifetime.  It was a gift?="" about="" information="" more="" for="" click="">gift">gift">gift beyond price to have them back and he was grateful that Kalen’s actions, painful as they’d been, had prompted their return.

As he sifted through his past, he thought about the time that Kalen had described—the mission when his father and brother had been killed.  Elrohir remembered it well.  He had not been able to accompany Elladan since he’d been slightly wounded in a previous mission and their father had wanted him to stay home and recuperate.  He remembered how angry he’d been with his father for keeping him from Elladan’s side—the twins preferred to train and fight as a pair and he feared for Elladan’s safety if he wasn’t there to watch his back.  Of course, when Elladan returned and told of how they’d encountered orcs, Elrohir was even more upset with his father since he hadn’t been there to help.  He’d long ago overcome that anger, of course, but what was left behind had been a sadness that several friends had been lost because Polinas had acted as a fool and had given away the location of the elves before they were ready to fight.  Yes, he had guessed right and it had been Polinas who, for whatever reason, had run forward against Elladan’s orders and had warned the orcs of their presence.  Many of the other warriors in Elladan’s party had told Elrohir later of their disgust with his actions and he had never been welcome on patrol again.  Elrohir wondered how Polinas had explained that to Kalen and Matias.  Clearly he had twisted the truth in other things…he probably never even told them that he’d been dismissed as one of the Rivendell Guards.  

Elrohir lay there for some time and had to work hard not to let his fury with Polinas’ lies overtake him.  Not now when he had so many other things to think about!  After awhile, he calmed down and reflected on the actions of Kalen and Matias, two elves that he’d always counted among his friends.  They had been so cruel, but had done it out of a misguided belief that they were honoring their lost family.  He couldn’t bring himself to hate them.  Yes, he hated what they’d done, but overall, he could only feel desperately sad for the two unhappy beings.

-------------------------

The next morning when Elrohir woke up and realized afresh that he had all his memories, he remembered to his dismay that the sorrows his new awareness brought back would once again be a part of his daily thoughts.  No longer could the young elf put aside the overwhelming grief of his mother’s fate.  Or the despair that all elves felt over the encroaching darkness that crept over their beloved Arda.  Nor could he disregard the pain that his recent adventures must have caused his family and friends.  When he thought of what his family must be going through due to his current disappearance, he was beset by such a feeling of sadness that he almost allowed his grim thoughts to overcome him.  Only by focusing on ways to extricate himself from this mess could he stop his gloomy thoughts from overpowering him.

While this new awareness was occupying Elrohir’s thoughts, however, a thoroughly unexpected awareness was seeping into Kalen’s being as well.  The other elf found to his utter dismay that the violent rage and anger that had sustained him and allowed him to commit appallingly cruel acts, had completely deserted him just after his attack on Elrohir.  After he’d left the room, still at that point full of righteous anger, he’d rushed to his quarters and dunked his head in a water bucket to cool his flushed face before someone else saw and questioned him.  The water had done its job?="">job">job">job admirably and he was able to finally calm himself after awhile.  But then…then to his consternation came the doubts all over again.  He had hoped to rekindle his burning rage by making Elrohir angry and had thought he’d succeeded too!  But then…why did he feel only that empty, hollow sensation of despair?  It couldn’t be that he believed Elrohir’s accusation of Polinas!  No!  His friend did not deceive them!  It just…couldn’t be true…   

But after several more days passed by and things only got worse—days full of crippling self-doubt, Kalen was about to explode.  He dreaded going to see Elrohir, for his captive’s eyes would seem to bore into his very soul even if he didn’t remove the blindfold.  And the feelings of guilt that those eyes inspired threatened to overwhelm him.

He tried to think it through and logically determine why he was feeling so wretched.  When they’d caught and beaten Elrohir years ago, it had been with the thought of punishing Elladan and in the passion of the moment, Kalen had been able to push aside his friendship with Elrohir for the ‘nobler’ cause of vengeance.  He had ignored that it was his friend he was hurting.   Polinas’s goading and hate-filled words had been critical in helping him overcome his reticence.  But now Polinas was gone and Matias certainly wasn’t helping anything with his own looks of reproach and heavy sighs.  But if he changed his mind now and admitted that what he was doing was wrong, then he’d have to admit that what they’d done years ago was even more despicable.  How could he live with himself if he accepted that as truth?  No!  There had to be another answer!

As Kalen felt the guilt grow day by day without that answer, he became even more short-tempered.  Remorse made him angry and he unfairly blamed Elrohir for making him feel that way.  Although Elrohir never said another word in reproof, Kalen just knew that the other elf must be judging him and he had to find a way to stop it!

Thus, Kalen thought long and hard before coming up with a plan that he decided would keep Elrohir from blaming him.  Having worked through all the details in his mind, one night Kalen carefully pulled a small pouch of herbs out of a secret hiding spot and resolutely took it with him into the room that housed Elrohir’s box.  Opening the crate, he looked in, just for a moment losing his resolve as he once again saw his old friend, hot, limp, and exhausted from his unending ordeal.  He turned his head away and swallowed hard.  This was harder than he’d thought.

Then he squared his shoulders and with firm resolve, pulled Elrohir out of the box and unceremoniously dragged him out onto the ground.  The elven lord lay unmoving.  No sun for weeks, cramped, underfed, trapped in a stifling box, he was unable for to find the energy to even try to move.

Kalen turned him on his back and removed the blindfold, hoping for once to see the hatred that he secretly knew he deserved.  It would make what he was about to do so much easier.

But Elrohir didn’t oblige him.  After blinking rapidly in the flickering light of a torch, the bedraggled elf looked up at Kalen with eyes that only beheld understanding and profound sadness.

“Stop looking at me like that!” ordered Kalen.  “Stop it!!  Just...” he faltered as his voice cracked.  For a moment he was bathing in shame and self-loathing as he battled his conscience.  “...stop it,” he finished weakly.

Shaking with unwanted emotion, Kalen pulled out the small pouch and carefully measured out a precise dosage.  He would do this!  If Elrohir was drugged senseless, he couldn’t hold Kalen accountable for his suffering and moreover wouldn’t even know that he was suffering, right!?  Pulling down Elrohir’s gag as he always did when feeding the young elf, he moved to stuff the herbs in his mouth when he noted that his captive’s eyes grow wide with panic.

“No!” gasped Elrohir in horror.  “NO!”

Instead of continuing, Kalen pulled back in surprise.  During his entire captivity and even years before when he’d been tortured, Elrohir had not once showed any sign of fear, but now it was clear that the elven lord was terrified.  How could he know what these herbs would do?

“You know what this is?” Kalen asked suspiciously.

Elrohir nodded as he roughly pulled his jaw away from Kalen’s hand.  He knew exactly what those particular herbs were.  He’d been subjected to their effects often enough.  They were the ones that stole his self will—the one’s he’d been given to make him compliant and obedient.  He’d rather be beaten senseless than be forced to take them again and lose all sense of self!

Not wanting to show the other any weakness but unable to keep his voice from shaking slightly, Elrohir begged, “Please...no.  Do…do not do this.”

Kalen hesitated at first, but then remembered why he was doing this.  He must stay strong if his family was to ever receive justice and he knew he couldn’t continue if he was forced to endure constant feelings of guilt.  So, disregarding Elrohir’s struggles, he sat on his chest to pin him down and grasped his jaw with one hand, trying to pry his mouth open while he forced the herbs in.

But the elf beneath him wasn’t making things easy.  Elrohir was terribly weak from his long captivity, but he used strength born from desperation to fight against the soul-stealing herbs.  Kalen would have to knock him unconscious before he’d swallow one speck of that hated potion!

The outcome of the struggle was probably predictable.  There was no way that Elrohir, weakened and bound, could have won against the strong stablemaster, but the fight was interrupted when Matias, drawn by the thrashing sounds, pushed cautiously into the room.

“What are you doing?” he asked his brother with concern.

“I am giving him something to keep him under control.  He is becoming too aggressive,” lied Kalen with a touch of defiance.  There was no way he was going to admit to his little brother the real reason he wanted Elrohir drugged was to quell his own, ever-increasing doubts.

Matias looked at what his brother held and gasped, “Not the cowler root potion.  While effective on horses, you know it should never be given to an elf!”

Kalen glared at his brother for questioning him.  So what if the secret potion that his great-grandfather had developed for unruly horses was untested on elves?  He told himself that there was no reason to expect that it wouldn’t have the same effect.  Since it could make even the most headstrong horses behave, it should make Elrohir compliant as well.  Yes, it was a good idea!

Still unsuccessfully trying to pry Elrohir’s mouth open with one hand while trying to hold him down at the same time, Kalen addressed his brother with exasperation, “You might offer to help, you know!”

But Matias wanted no part of his brother’s plan.  “Kalen, no!  We do not have enough experience with this.  It may kill him!” said the younger elf firmly.

Kalen almost laughed in disbelief—after all, it was their intention to kill Elrohir anyway, why quibble about how?  But he knew that pointing out that little fact would not help things right now.  No...he was sure that his brother was wavering on that point as well.  But he really wanted to use these drugs, which he was certain would cut down on those crippling feelings of guilt that he faced daily.  So he answered his brother, “You saw how effective it was with Raumo.  He followed our commands and attacked his own master...we can just use a smaller dose and get the same results.  Elrohir will no longer fight us.”

The elf in question actually stopped fighting for a moment when he took in Kalen’s words.  Raumo had been drugged?  As he realized what that meant, he experienced his first real sense of joy in ages...his beloved horse had not betrayed him after all!  He knew how those herbs stole one’s will.  He absolutely knew!  Raumo hadn’t attacked him by choice, but had been forced to do so due to the will-stealing drugs!

His hesitation almost cost him, though.  When he paused in his fight, Kalen took the opportunity to trap his head under his forearm and forced his mouth open.

“NO!” Elrohir managed in a gasping sob.

He would have been doomed, though, except that Matias had had enough.  Yanking the pouch out of Kalen’s grasp, he ordered, “Enough!  For once you will listen to me.  We will not do this!”

Trying to grab the pouch back while still trying to control his increasingly panicked prisoner, Kalen finally became fed up with the fight and with a heavy blow to the temple, subdued the struggling elf beneath him.

As Elrohir lay dazed on the ground, Kalen glared at Matias, whom he knew was not about to give him back the pouch.  So much for ridding himself of those feelings of guilt!  Angrily, he turned his back on his brother and, grabbing Elrohir by the back of his shirt, dragged him across the floor, not caring that he scraped up his chin in the process.  Then he shoved his prisoner back into the box, slammed it shut, and walked away, his very posture defying Matias to say one word about his harsh treatment!

--------------------

After Elrohir had been returned to his little makeshift prison, the two brothers, not meeting each other’s eyes, locked up the room and then left in silence, each battling his own thoughts.

It wasn’t until they were safely inside their quarters that Matias approached his brother.  “Kalen,” he said gravely, “We cannot do this.  I know I have gone along with you in this matter up to now, but every fiber of my being is telling me that this is wrong.  Tonight’s incident merely confirms it in my mind.”  He paused for a long moment to take a deep breath before concluding firmly, “We must let him go.”

Kalen had been expecting such a declaration from his brother.  Matias had been voicing doubts all along and it had seemed only a matter of time before they overpowered his need for revenge.  Thus, his words were not a surprise, but they nonetheless were hard for Kalen to hear for they only reinforced his own misgivings.  If it was wrong to hold Elrohir now, then he’d have to admit that what they’d done to him in the past was far worse—luring him into a trap, the horrific beating that had left him without memories and nearly dead, and abandoning him to his fate with the dwarves which led to years of slavery.   Yes, if this latest kidnapping and imprisonment was wrong, then he’d have to accept that he’d everything he’d done had been a betrayal of a friend for a false cause, something too horrible to consider.  So, he stubbornly refused to agree with Matias and instead responded coldly.

“You know why we do this,” Kalen said.  “We agreed long ago that this was the only way to properly avenge the loss of our family.  This was the only way to make Elladan suffer the same sense of loss.  Elrohir is an unfortunate victim, but there are always innocents lost during conflicts.”

“During conflicts!” repeated Matias with contempt.  “Aye, if he was hit by a stray arrow during a battle, I would agree.  But you know that this is not the same.  We are the aggressors.  And we are the ones that are continuing this ‘conflict.’  A conflict, I might add, that the other side does not know exists.  I…” he swallowed hard before finishing, “I do not believe any longer that what we do is honorable.  We must accept that fact and end this abomination.”

“What would you have us do?  Let him go and expect that everything would be forgiven?” Kalen barked with disdain.  “Our lives as we know them would be over,” he concluded harshly.

The younger brother looked at the floor as he replied in a voice just louder than a whisper, “I do not care.  I do not wish to continue this life as it is, anyway.  Not only is it without joy, but now you say we must add to our burden by finishing the dirty task we started years ago and kill our friend.  No Kalen, I will not do it,” he finished, his voice increasing in volume with renewed determination.

With that declaration, both brothers knew that the battle lines had been drawn.  Matias had now stated that he would not condone Elrohir’s death, while Kalen was still determined to see it through.  Acknowledging the contest of wills with a shared look, the brothers said no more about it that night and the two went to bed, although neither was able to get much sleep.

--------------------

It was a day and a half before Elrohir was visited again by either of the brothers—an intense time for all three of them.  Elrohir was once more trapped in his box, uncomfortable and on edge as he awaited his fate, knowing that one way or another his current situation would be ending very soon.  All the while, the two brothers spent the day trying to decide the very question of what that end would be.  Matias was quite clear in his mind that he wanted to release their captive, but he decided that it was important that he get Kalen’s acceptance first and wasn’t sure how to obtain that.  Kalen, on the other hand, still wasn’t convinced that they should let him go.  Again, to do so would be to negate all they had done.  They would be left with no vengeance, no justice—only an overwhelming sense of guilt.  He couldn’t allow that to happen.  Right?  Elladan still had to suffer for his ‘crimes.’

Back and forth Kalen went, one minute leaning toward letting Elrohir go, the next vowing to see this through to the end.  He avoided seeing his brother when possible, hating the look of censure he saw in the other’s eyes.  Why couldn’t Matias hold fast to their plans of retribution?  Why must he be the one to carry the burden?  He just wanted this whole thing over!

Neither of the brothers had been able to come to any conclusion by the time night fell, and so neither could bring himself to visit Elrohir that night, leaving the poor elf to suffer in lonely solitude.

It was mid-morning the next day when Kalen finally cracked, not because of something Matias had said, but due to a simple encounter with another elf.  He had been working diligently in the stables, trying to distract himself with hard work, when Pelondas had entered.  Kalen knew the young novice was not only the cousin of his best friend, Polinas, but also remembered how the younger elf viewed Elrohir as his personal hero and thus Kalen noted his presence with irritation—the last thing he needed was another reminder of the dilemma he was facing.  The other elf hadn’t stayed long as he was merely asking to have his horse prepared for an extended trip.  He briefly mentioned that he was starting out the next day with a group of warriors on one more search for their missing friend and wanted to be ready to go at first light.  That was the sum total of the conversation between the two, but what got to Kalen was the look on the other’s face.  It was the overwhelming bleakness in the other elf that just tore at Kalen.  He had never especially liked or disliked Pelondas—indeed the other elf was really too young for him to have associated with often—but he nonetheless was greatly troubled by the other’s look of utter despair.  Pelondas clearly didn’t expect to find Elrohir or if he did, didn’t expect that he would ever be the same inspiring warrior of the past, but still he was unwavering in his resolve to do all he could to try to find him.  Kalen felt sick that he was the one causing this visible misery in another elf—one that was in no way connected to his desire for revenge.  How many others were hurting due to the uncertainty of their young lord’s fate?

After Pelondas had left, Kalen found himself unable to do the simplest task as all his thoughts revolved around what to do with Elrohir.  A couple of hours passed as the disturbed elf paced in the stables, almost ill with contained tension.  Should he let Elrohir go?  Should he wait and then kill him after Elladan’s return for the most painful effect?  Should he simply kill him now?  Oh, what should he do?!  Back and forth he paced, his movements becoming faster and more erratic as he felt like he’d explode with the pressure of making this life-altering decision.  He wished desperately for the rage that had sustained him for so many years, but it had thoroughly deserted him in this time of need.  He certainly could have used Polinas’ intense fury right about now.  Why had he left him to finish this task alone?  Maybe Elrohir had been right in his judgment…NO!  He would not accept that!  So why couldn’t Matias be more supportive in his place?  And for that matter, why couldn’t Elrohir be as hateful as his cowardly twin?  He had been grateful for Elrohir’s earlier anger, but now his captive refused to show the slightest bit of ill temper and instead only looked at him with heartbreaking understanding.  He made it impossible to stay mad at him!  Oh….why did his father and brother have to die in the first place and leave him with this wretched life?!

It was after he asked himself this last question that Kalen made his decision.  As soon as he heard Polinas’ answer in his mind—because Elladan had been a stupid, inept, self-serving coward—a decision solidified in his mind.  It was so simple.  If he was to ever find peace, he’d have to do what he’d started out to do and carry out his plans to avenge his family.  He knew that he couldn’t, however, stomach the thought of waiting and facing this strain day after day while awaiting Elladan’s return, so he decided that he’d have to just take care of things right away.

Thoroughly relieved to have made a decision, Kalen rushed into the room holding Elrohir’s box and pulled open the door of the crate, not caring that it was broad daylight.  If someone came in on him and saw what he was doing, he no longer cared.  As long as he avenged the wrongful deaths of his family, he would be content with whatever punishment was given him.  With that thought in mind, he pulled Elrohir out of the box, rolled him on his back, pinned him down, ripped off his blindfold and gag—he owed Elrohir that much—and then pulled his dagger.

Keeping himself as impassive and unfeeling as possible, Kalen held his dagger above Elrohir’s chest, ready to plunge it into his heart.  He thought he was ready for this final step, this final betrayal of his old friend.  He had convinced himself that this was the only way to end it.  He was undone, however, by the quiet way that Elrohir lay beneath him, not struggling or even saying anything.   The expression on the bruised face that looked up at him said it all—Elrohir knew what was about to happen, but was desperately sad for Kalen.

Breathing hard as if he’d just run for hours, Kalen asked in a voice made harsh by emotion, “You know how this must end and why?”

Elrohir shook his head as he stared into his captor’s eyes.  “Nay,” he answered quietly, “It does not have to end this way.  It will solve nothing and you will not find the peace you desire.”

Elrohir knew his life hung by a thread.  Anything he said might push Kalen over the edge and he would use the gleaming dagger held in his shaking hand.  Even lying there with death imminent, though, Elrohir couldn’t bring himself to hate Kalen.  He was almost angry at himself for feeling it, but the only thing he could muster was an overpowering sorrow for his old friends.  Kalen and Matias were so wrong in what they’d done and had been so sadistic and cruel—even now Elrohir couldn’t think about the vicious beating without turning cold with dread.  And the years that followed?  The merciless eternity of the years of slavery?  They were all Kalen and Matias’s fault, too, but Elrohir still couldn’t hate the brothers.  He knew how grief could twist a soul into something nearly unrecognizable.  After his mother’s brutal torture, he had had the loving support of his family to help him survive with his spirit intact.  But if Elladan had also been lost and then his father as well…would he now be in Kalen’s place?  About to commit an act that would be unthinkable in better times?  It was with pure relief that he decided he wouldn’t—no, he would not be able to betray a friend—but he still had to admit that he could understand what had brought his one-time friends down the road to where they were now.

All those thoughts had flown through Elrohir’s mind in an instant as he waited for Kalen’s response.  When none was forthcoming and the other merely stared back at him with hollow, desperate eyes, Elrohir decided to take a chance and try to reach his old friend.

“I will not fight you,” he said calmly.  “But I do ask that you consider these words.  I…since our encounter days ago, I have remembered my past life and thus have remembered details of the patrol where your father and brother died.  Details that I believe you need to hear.  Elladan spoke of that mission to me after he returned.  He told me…well, as I had surmised, he told me that it was indeed Polinas whose foolhardiness betrayed the company, not his own.  It was a difficult time for Elladan afterward, as he grieves bitterly for the death of any of his warriors, but that time was harder than most as he felt the deaths were unnecessary.  For you see, it was Polinas, not Elladan, who caused Dahvos’ death through incompetence.  He rushed forward before the word was given and Dahvos, as his swordpartner, followed.  That is how Dahvos was killed.  He died bravely, trying to defend his reckless partner.  And your adar…he disobeyed Elladan’s order to stand fast when he saw your brother in trouble and was thus cut down as well.  Elladan told me that it was absolute suicide to try to save Dahvos, but your adar could not be stopped.  Oh Kalen, all the deaths that day were so unnecessary and it troubled Elladan for quite some time afterward.  If only you’d spoken to him and not merely listened to Polinas’ poisonous words, you would have known this and understood the truth of the matter.” 

“You lie,” whispered Kalen, but without conviction as he considered Elrohir’s words.  What if Elrohir was right?  What if Polinas had goaded them into a perverted sense of vengeance out of his own desire to remain blameless?  The thought was too horrid to contemplate…but at the same time, he knew that he had suspected that was the truth ever since Elrohir had thrown that out as a possibility days ago.

Elrohir saw the indecision in the other’s eyes and pressed on, “Kalen, I…I do not pretend that I wish to die now at your hand…and I can understand that you might believe that I would tell falsehoods in order to preserve my life.  But…I promise you that this is no lie.  Elladan never betrayed your brother and father.”

The blade suspended above Elrohir’s chest began to shake tremendously as Kalen heard and felt the truth in Elrohir’s words.  Oh Valar!  How could this be?!  Everything he’d done he’d justified by the righteousness of meting out justice.  Instead, his worst nightmares had just come true and he had to accept that he had tortured his friend for naught!  It had been barely acceptable to persecute his friend to avenge his family.  Indeed, although he’d never told Matias, he had fought long and hard with Polinas regarding that very point.  But in the end the other elf had won and Kalen had agreed.  And once agreeing, he had bought into the plan wholeheartedly, for to do less would mean that he questioned what they were doing.  He had had to tell himself that it was the right thing, or he’d have never been able to carry it out.  Now, as he was faced head on with the Polinas’ treachery and his own resulting guilt, he found he could scarcely breathe. 

It was at that inauspicious moment that Matias, who had been looking for his brother, flew through the door, suspecting the worst.

“Kalen!” he shouted, desperate to stop his brother from killing Elrohir.

He needn’t have worried, though.  As he skidded to his knees beside his brother, Kalen numbly handed over the dagger and choked out, “I cannot do this.”  Then the older brother slumped over, his face buried in his hands.

Matias was thrown off-guard by his brother’s actions.  A few minutes earlier he’d been overcome by an impending sense of doom and had raced to the stables, somehow knowing that Kalen was about to kill Elrohir.  Thus, he’d fully expected to have to fight his brother and the unexpected capitulation left him uncertain how to proceed as he tried to rearrange his thinking.

For a long moment, no one moved, each one frozen in place at the unforeseen turn of events.  Then, with a firm look of determination on his face, Matias reached over to Elrohir and oh-so-gently turned him over and cut through the bonds that had held him for so many weeks.

Although freed, Elrohir at first couldn’t find the strength to finally move his arms as the muscles refused to respond.  Seeing his predicament, Matias carefully rearranged the stiff limbs and rolled Elrohir over onto his back before starting to massage his arms and legs.  This went on for many minutes as Elrohir closed his eyes against the pain of the movement until he at last felt some sensation return and shakily tried to sit up.

He wasn’t very successful and gratefully accepted Matias’ help as the other murmured, “Here, let me assist you.”

Once he was sitting up, Elrohir carefully stretched his arms, reveling in the idea that he was no longer a prisoner….or was he?

Not expecting an answer from Kalen, who was still slumped over with his head in his hands, Elrohir faced Matias and asked, “What happens now?  Am I free?”

Matias knew that there was a whole wealth of questions that now needed to be answered.  He, too, would like to know ‘what happens now,’ but answered the immediate need, “Aye, you are no longer our prisoner.”

Elrohir blinked and didn’t make any move to get up.  In the first place, he wasn’t sure he could, but in the second, he was a bit suspicious.  Just like that, after everything he’d been through, he was free?  Just moments ago he was about to be killed…and now it was all over?  He could just walk away?

Seeing the hesitation, Matias almost impatiently said again, “You are no longer a prisoner…go!”

Suddenly deciding that he needed to take this chance to leave if he could, Elrohir got onto his knees and then shakily forced himself to stand, catching himself against the wall of the stables as he almost lost his balance.  He stood there for a long moment before he felt steady enough to move away and stand in front of the brothers.  Even then, it was difficult to stand without support.  He felt so weak.

For what seemed like an eternity, no one said a word.  Kalen remained on the ground, his hands covering his face and Matias knelt beside his brother, unsure of what to do.  Elrohir knew that he should be taking this opportunity to run as far away as he could, but found himself unable to leave just yet.  Somehow, he was hoping that someone would say something to help him make sense of everything he had been through.  Surely there was some purpose that would justify all the horror? 

But there were no illuminating truths available for the elven lord.  None that would help explain away all that he’d suffered.  Finally, when no one said anything—Elrohir because he didn’t know what to say to those that he had once called ‘friend’ and the brothers because they knew that there was no way to undo the horror of what they’d done—Elrohir turned slowly and began to walk to the stable door. 

Step by step he went, each one getting easier as the unused muscles began to loosen up.  He wanted to get away to somewhere that he could think.  But before he reached the door, he was stopped by a call.

“Elrohir...” said a shattered voice. 

The young elf turned and looked back.  It wasn’t Matias who had called him, but Kalen.  Kalen, who was looking up at him with an air of one that had been completely broken.

“I…I have no reason to hope that you will ever forgive me, nor do I expect or deserve it,” said the shaking, pale elf. “But I must tell you…I am so desperately sorry,” he finished, his words barely audible as he choked on a sob.

Elrohir said nothing.  He wanted to forgive his old friends.  He really did.  But how could he forget the heartache and misery they caused his family?  Or the vicious brutality he himself had endured at their hands?  That horrible beating they’d given him (the fists...the taunts...the whips...the knife!) and the years of suffering that followed, all based on a mistaken belief that his twin had caused the death of their brother and father.  A belief that, even if true, would never have justified what they did to him.  He could understand what brought Kalen and Matias to this point.  Their family had been destroyed and they had been told it was Elladan’s fault.  So, he could see how they might want to avenge those lost—after all, as he had rationalized before, hadn’t he and Elladan focused on avenging their mother for centuries after she left?  But he also clearly saw the difference in their actions.  He and Elladan had fought against orcs, unquestionably vile beings whose only purpose was evil.  Kalen and Matias, however, had betrayed a friend who was guilty of nothing.  Elrohir knew that he could never do that.  No, not even if someone caused Elladan’s death could he turn against an innocent friend.  That was just…wrong.  So, he was left without knowing how to respond to Kalen.  In the end, he just hated this whole situation and wanted nothing more than to find his family and have them hold him for days on end! 

His eyes full of sympathy but not knowing what to say, Elrohir finally nodded once to acknowledge the sentiment and without further word, turned to leave his long-time prison.

He had almost made it through the door when he heard his name be called again, this time by Matias, “Elrohir…”

Sighing, Elrohir turned again and looked at Matias expectantly.  The other elf pushed himself to his feet and moved forward, saying almost apologetically, “Uhm…I, uh, thought you might wish to change before you left.”

Elrohir stared at Matias for a moment in confusion before he realized what the younger brother was saying.  How could he forget—he was wearing only his night clothes and no shoes.  His clothes certainly were respectable enough even though they were positively filthy, but they were bound to attract attention and at this point he didn’t want to have to stop to answer any questions before he found his family.  Once more nodding, this time to signal his agreement, he leaned hard against the door frame while Matias ran to get some other clothes. 

Matias returned within minutes with a comfortable set of work clothes and shoes and then without comment, helped his shaky young lord to quickly change. 

Enjoying the feeling of being dressed for the first time in nearly six weeks, Elrohir gave Matias a quick, sad smile and said quietly, “My thanks,” and then once more tried to think of what else to say.  But the situation was just too complicated.  After several awkward moments, he decided that his tired, worn out thoughts just couldn’t come up with the right words at the moment, and so he shrugged with a touch of frustration and then turned again and finally walked away.

----------------

The stables were not too far from his home, so it didn’t take too long for Elrohir to cover the distance, speaking to no one as, one foot in front of the other, he tiredly walked the familiar trails.  He did pass a few elves on the trail who called out in greeting to him, obviously thinking he was his twin, but other than a short nod of acknowledgement, Elrohir didn’t take time to respond.  He only wanted to get home to his family—into the arms of those who could help him find some kind of purpose to this whole, sordid mess.

As Elrohir entered the family’s private courtyard—the same one that his brothers had used when they’d brought him home so many months ago—his heart quickened as he shifted his thoughts away from troubling questions and instead envisioned the upcoming reunion.  He couldn’t wait to see his father and Elladan!  And maybe Arwen and his grandparents were still there as well.  And Glorfindel.  And Erestor.  And all his friends.  Everyone that he now remembered!  He only wished that Estel could be there as well, but he didn’t believe that his younger brother would have had time to return from his latest adventures with the rangers, and so he accepted that that particular reunion would have to wait until later.

Letting himself into the house quietly, he first made his way to the family’s private quarters, desperate to see them.  But the rooms were all empty, forcing Elrohir to wearily debate where to look next.  He finally decided to make his way to the council chambers, which was the most logical place where he might find his father and brother.

As Elrohir walked slowly through the public areas of his home—for he hadn’t the energy to move any faster and his sore muscles still protested every movement—he passed by many elves, but was once again mistaken for his brother.  He was mildly amused that they all made the same mistake—obviously everyone was ‘seeing’ who they expected to see, instead of even considering that their lost lord had found his own way home.  As before, though, Elrohir only nodded in response and didn’t bother to correct anyone, for he wanted the first real news of his return to belong to his family.  The welcoming words from the others distressed him, however, as it became clear from the surprised greetings that Elladan was not expected to be home.  Elrohir was bitterly disappointed to realize that his twin was not currently in Rivendell.  Where would he have gone?  What could possibly have called Elladan away while he was missing?  Had Elladan even tried to look for him?  Maybe his twin was tired of all the drama that seemed to cloud his life over the past few years and had given up on him.  Maybe he no longer cared.  It was a thoroughly depressing thought.

As weak and run down as he could ever remember being, for a moment the young elf allowed himself to become distraught and believe that Elladan had simply moved on with his life and pushed aside thoughts about him.  He felt a trace of tears in his eyes before he brusquely wiped them away, telling himself that he was allowing the stress of recent events to cloud his thinking.  Of course his twin missed him, he scolded himself!  He was being stupid.  Elladan had probably been called away to do the realm’s business as one of its lords.  Or maybe, maybe he was out somewhere searching for him.  Yes, that was probably where Elladan was!  After a deep breath, Elrohir nodded to himself and once more turned his focus on his reunion with his father. 

Continuing to trudge through the halls, Elrohir was just congratulating himself that he’d managed to get all the way to the outer doors of the council chambers without being stopped when he heard a surprised call from behind him, “Elladan, what are you doing home?  You were not due for another week at the earliest!”

Elrohir turned to behold his father’s advisor at the end of the hall, heading rapidly toward him.  He was the first “family member” that Elrohir had seen, so his presence filled Elrohir with a genuine sense of warmth and comfort, but Elrohir had to be honest with himself that he was becoming desperate to see his father.  Conceding that it probably wasn’t befitting an elven warrior, but nonetheless admitting it to himself, Elrohir decided that he just wanted his ada!  Everything that had happened to him was too confusing and overwhelming and he knew that no one could help him sort it all out better than his own ada.  Thus, forcing himself not to sigh audibly—he just wasn’t up to sparring with Erestor at the moment and he certainly wasn’t about to explain that he wasn’t Elladan—Elrohir paused a moment before answering politely, “Mae govannen, Erestor.”

Not wasting time on pleasantries, Elrond’s advisor continued forward, hoping to block the door before Elladan could reach it.  He had left the council chambers just moments ago on a short task for Elrond, so he knew why Belder had brought the human trader and thus also knew that Elladan’s presence could be disastrous if he found out that Robard held Elrohir.  If there was one thing that Erestor was sure of, it was that Elladan would stop at nothing to rescue his twin and he might not act wisely under the circumstances.  So he was dismayed when the younger elf turned his back on him after his short greeting and quickly pulled the door open.

“Elladan, stop!” Erestor shouted with alarm.  “You mustn’t enter.”

Ignoring the anxious elf behind him, Elrohir walked into the room and started to smile in greeting…only to be confronted with the face of one of his old tormentors.

The next moments were full of disorder, beginning with Elrohir stopping abruptly to stare at the man who had sold him to Lord Hebert years ago, and then followed by his father physically pulling him from the room.  Once Elrohir shook off his shock at seeing the slave trader and realized that his father, like everyone else, had mistaken him for his twin, he yanked his father out of the room and then blocked the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

………And so it was that Elrohir ended up outside the council chambers, facing his shocked father with amused affection dancing in his eyes.

“Elrohir?” gasped Elrond again as he held his son at arm’s length.  He knew what his eyes were telling him, but he simply couldn’t believe that it was truly his lost son standing there.  The young elf before him was not confused, not mindless, not lost.  He appeared reasonably healthy, clear thinking, and...and vibrantly alive!  But both Galadriel and he had sensed that Elrohir’s spirit had fled after the remembered attack and it was a near certainty that he would not have been able to find his way back without some kind of intervention, and who else could have provided that?  Thus, it couldn’t be Elrohir, could it?  His eyes had to be deceiving him...showing him what he wished to see instead of reality.  It had to be Elladan playing a thoughtless trick on him.  His eyes began to cloud with anger as the cruelty of such a deception overwhelmed him. 

But then his son smiled at him—a quiet, winsome smile that brought Elrond up short.  It was once that he knew so well.  It was the one that Elrohir would give him to express love, tenderness, and a touch of apology.  It was the one that said, “I am well, and am sorry I caused you concern.”  It wasn’t the kind of smile he’d ever seen on Elladan.  No...Elladan would have teasingly announced his return or would have found some other, more energetic way of proclaiming his homecoming.  This gentle approach, this smile, could only come from Elrohir.  He had to accept the truth.  Beyond all possibility, beyond all hope, his son was back...whole.

“It is you...” Elrond affirmed in wonder.  Then completely forgetting the group of elves and the human awaiting him inside his council chambers, the Lord of Rivendell finally allowed himself to believe the miracle in front of him and pulled the young elf back into his arms.  He closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation of holding his son.  He felt the strong heartbeat but also the trembling of utter weariness.  He smelled the slight musk of one who had been hot and sweaty for many days.  And he heard deep breaths, suddenly turned ragged as the emotion of the moment finally caught up with Elrohir as well.  “Ada,” he barely heard, as Elrohir tightened his hold. 

Still not opening his eyes, Elrond reveled in all those sensations as he felt the warm, loving arms of his son around him. “Oh my dear son,” he whispered with utter contentment as he strengthened his own hold on his boy.  Elrohir was home.

********************