Many thanks to Michelle for all of her help.

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It had been a long harrowing day like so many before and like so many would be after it. The stench of orc blood clung to his clothes and skin, but Elrohir did not care. Glancing over at his twin brother who steadily wiped the glistening blood from arrow after arrow, he noticed that Elladan’s appearance fared little better than his own. This realization brought a grim smile to Elrohir’s face.

Are not all craftsmen covered in the evidence or byproduct of their craft? Flour for the baker, dirt for the farmer, ink for the loremaster, blood for the warrior. His father would have said blood for the healer as well.

Elrohir looked down at his hands as he steadily cleansed the spatters of blood and gore from his own weapons. He used to have the hands of a healer. Did bloodshed diminish the ability to heal? But then again, was there much difference any more between blood shedding and blood letting? Do they not both serve the purpose of bringing a healing resolution to the threat to a life? Perhaps now he was healing a different sort of wound, a wound to the life of Arda itself. Did not the death of every orc he slew bring a measure of additional peace, a balm for the life in Arda?

Did not the death of every orc he slew bring healing to the wounds in his own heart? Was not their dripping blood a tonic for the injuries the orcs had caused him, for the injuries they had caused his family?

His family.

Could one really call it a family any more?

His mother was gone now. Her physical wounds had been healed by his father’s skillful hands, but her spirit had been beyond aide. She had been the cohesive force which bound them all together. Now his father brooded in silence, buried in his work and care for Imladris. His sister resided in Lorien under the care of their grandparents. All that remained to him was Elladan.

It was up to him and his twin to be the healers for the family now. And heal they would. With knives and bows and arrows and swords of steel, they would bind Arda’s wounds, cleanse the poison from their own fëar. Then one day, when the last orc was dead, their family could be whole and well again.

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Author's Note: I have found it quite interesting to note the difference in what has glistened in the lives of each generation of this family. When I started this, I only had an idea of what would glisten for each generation and who would be involved, beyond that was the realm of my muse.