The two horses swept over the plain to the river, running in smooth synchrony, the dark hair of their riders streaming out behind them. As they approached the ford they reined in their horses, coming to a stop as if their thoughts and intentions were in unison. Together they leapt off their horses in swift and elegant motion.

Elladan reached out a gloved hand to steady his mother on the tired horse. She needed medical attention and fast. Elrohir did not know it yet, but her breathing was becoming shallow and her pulse was weakening. He also knew that he could not go on much longer without aid. For the past few hours he had felt warm blood trickle in a stream down his chest, and although it was not visible under his armour he knew it was there. He knew what he had to do, but not whether he had the strength to do it.

He wished now that they had not been so foolish, so rash. They should have thought of herbs and blankets. It was obvious that they would need bandages. For a split second Elladan felt like falling to the floor and crying like a child. Why could Elrond or Glorfindel not be there? Someone who would take responsibility and relieve him of this terrible burden.

"Elladan!" From Elrohir's raised tone it was obvious that this had not been the first time he had called. The older twin shook his head slightly and looked up from the ground.

"I shall light a fire. We must warm some water." Elrohir frowned as he spoke. The water should be boiled with carefully selected herbs and roots, but they had no medicines and the water pouches would take little more than gentle warming.

Elladan nodded absentmindedly, eyeing a wider area of the river where the flow was less strong. It would be good to wash, to allow the fresh mountain water to sweep away the sweat, blood and grime. And since hot water was likely to be at a premium it might be wise to attempt a preliminary cleaning of the wounds before dressing them.

"I. . . we shall wash." Elladan reached up to lift his mother down from the horse and patted its dark flank, allowing it to rest. Elrohir nodded his acquiescence; eyes on the ground as he searched through the lush grass for any suitable plants.

She had not expected this pain. The ache had been growing with every second of freedom. The dull throb had been tolerable, but the sudden shards of pain that now shot down through her body at intervals left her gasping for breath. She did not remember much pain during her capture but now every scratch and bruise was crying out for attention.

Elladan had his back to her, long fingers fumbling behind his back to untie his armour. She should offer to help but she doubted that she could even control her thumbs. Finally he succeeded, the clang of metal on the shingle causing her to wince slightly. His movements were slightly awkward, almost embarrassed to be undressing in front of her. She would have smiled at that, had she been able to smile. It did not seem so very long since the tiny boys had had to be watched during their bath lest they should decide to escape during the corridor and intrude on their father's council.

Something was not right. He seemed determined to face away from her, giving his brother guilty looks, ensuring that he was not watching. Finally when dressed only in leggings and undershirt he waded into the river and sat on a stone, allowing the water to flow around him. Only then did he remove his shirt, dipping it into the water and using it to wipe himself clean. Celebrian was not tricked; the crimson stains on the fabric had been visible even after several dips in the water. Faintly she began to feel alarm, the fear creeping in through her misty consciousness. If Elladan was hiding it from his brother it meant that he was hurt too badly to ride. Or at least thought that he was. They should never have come. Where were the others? Could not more soldiers have been spared?

"Ammë." The voice was still cold, but undeniably that of Elladan. Rather reluctantly Celebrian focused on the figure kneeling by her side, shifting her attention to his bare chest. It was not as bad as she had feared. The wound below his shoulder was deep but the blood was beginning to gel, beginning to heal. His mail had shielded him from most other injuries but when the bruises came up she doubted that he would be comfortable for days.

"Would you. . .I need to. . ." His cheeks flushed and eyes looked to the ground, suddenly appearing quite dark and troubled. Finally he took a deep breath and spoke in a voice devoid of feeling. "Your wounds need to be washed."

Unable to either assist or agree Celebrian sat mutely as he set about his task with surprising gentleness. She could feel his unhappiness and awkwardness while he worked, removing all traces of the blood and filth that covered her body. The grey eyes were kept lowered, not even meeting her own as he gently wiped her face, removing grit and dirt from the grazes. She longed to tell him that she understood. That he was not shaming her in anyway. Elladan would never be a healer at heart. Insisting of doing everything for himself even when physically impossible to do so, he found it as hard to give personal help as it was for him to accept it. She did not think that this would change now. Not until he had a child of his own to love and care for. The sudden wave of emotion hurt so much that she could scarcely breathe. She wanted to be there to see her sons grow up, there when they first brought home a bride. She wanted to know her grandchildren. And there was no reason to take this from her. But they had tried.

Something warm trickled an unsteady path down her cheek. She did not recognise it as her own tear until Elladan reached out, wiping it away with a single finger. He paused and looked at her, halfway through helping her into his own tunic. There was something going through his mind, but what she did not know.

"I love you Ammë." The words were whispered as he kissed her on the forehead. For that he had surprised her. Elladan rarely showed affection. Rarely needed affection. How could he touch her after what happened? He may have washed away the signs as well as he could but he knew. And she knew. She would always know.

The water was warming now although the search for herbs had been futile. Elrohir let his fingers linger too close to the flames, hoping that this would ease the coldness that had gripped his body. His cheeks were still wet from tears and the breeze made the damp streaks feel cold against his skin.

There had been so many orcs. They had worked together in silence, slaying them in co-ordinated motion in a manner that he could barely remember. It hadn't hurt at the time but now every abused muscle was shrieking its objection. And there was yet a long road ahead. Seven days and seven nights. Hope faded with each day without help and there was no light on the horizon.

Then they had come upon a fork in the passageway and with little time for thought his brother had pushed him in one direction and taken the other himself. Looking back on it he suspected that Elladan had known what road he had taken. The caverns he had cleared had smelt distinctly better than that from which Elladan had rescued their mother.

"Is the water warm?" Elladan reached out for a water pouch. Elrohir barely paid him any attention beyond a glance at the torn flesh on his chest as he eagerly moved over to sit by their mother.

She had not seen what she had looked like earlier, but if this was the best Elladan could do to clean up he was glad that he had not. Her cheeks were pale and hollow and eyes deeply shadowed. Every bone was visible, jutting out painfully from the white skin, highlighted with angry red sores and scratches, or the blue-purple of bruises. The blonde curls, so pale as to appear almost silvery, hung back in damp tangled clumps from her face.

"Oh Ammë." He wrapped her into a gentle hug, holding her while tears ran down his face, splashing onto her bare arms. He was not sure how long he held her, not stirring until Elladan interrupted them, his wound now bound tightly.

"Elrohir." The voice was broken, the pain echoing in every syllable. A firm hand found his shoulder and squeezed. The younger twin looked up at the face so like his own, the jaw set in an expression of defiance but the eyes soft with concern.

"What?" His voice seemed to be filled with an anger that did not belong to him. An unfamiliar jealously, wanting to keep his mother all to himself for whatever time they might have left. The hand recoiled as if stung.

"The wounds must be dressed. Here." The concern was now overwhelmed with hurt. He almost wished that his brother would become angry or excited. That they could fight. With an effort Elrohir shook his head and spoke calmly.

"I am sorry. I am tired." He accepted the water and set about dampening strips of fabric torn from Elladan's undershirt as makeshift bandages.

"Elrohir." Elladan's tone was indecipherable but held some sort of warning that filled his brother with dread. The older twin gently drew back the tunic revealing a long deep wound in his mother's side, the ragged edges a furious red colour.

Elrohir's grey eyes reluctantly moved up to meet the mirror of his own. Something was breaking inside of him and he no longer felt as if he could go on. Both knew what the wound was, and both knew that this was beyond them.