Glorfindel strode back though the makeshift camp of resting riders. His entire chest seemed to feel cold, shivers crawling across his back. He had never thought that this could happen. She was so gentle, so innocent. And she had brought so much joy to his friend's life.

He was glad now that he had managed to persuade Elrond against coming. His examination of the wounds would be delayed until they could be cleaned, and a little healing had taken place.

Although it would have been reassuring to have him here now - to know that all that could be done was being done. He had never seen any other suffer pain of this magnitude before. He knew that Elrond was Celebrian's only hope, having seen the terrible wound she had received - and deep down he doubted whether his friend would have this strength.

He did not know whether he had the strength. The laughing figure that had pulled him into a dance under the trees had gone. In her place was a shadow - a fragment. The years that previously seemed to have danced past Celebrian had now come to rest heavily on her broken body. Surely death would have been kinder than this.

Unknowingly digging his fingernails into his palms, Glorfindel stepped over a discarded bow to reach the twins. He had meant to scold the boys as he had done so many times before. They should have known the effect that their disappearance would have on their father.

They had just been sitting down at the table when the messenger had finally caught up with them. He had been able to feel his friend's irritation at the absence of his sons. It was not as if they, and most of the older elves in Imladris, did not know where they were. Indeed he had had great fun teasing two identically flushed elves about the delightful view from that particular terrace on many occasions. However Elrond had not normally looked upon lateness with a benevolent eye, and judging by the way that his eyes had flashed beneath lowered brows this would not be an exception.

Together they had listened to the news, together with Erestor flanking the Lord's left and right sides. He had not really listened to the exact words that the unfortunate messenger had chosen to relay the information, instead watching the impassive face of his friend. Elrond had taken the news with impressive calm, indeed he would have been surprised at his friend's self- control had he not seen the long fingers gripping the back of a chair so tightly that every joint had paled under the pressure.

Eventually the Lord of Imladris had stirred, his grey eyes suddenly dark, and turned to face him.

"I must tell my children." His face had clearly reflected exactly what he was thinking. How would he break this news to his twins and daughter? No amount of carefully chosen words would soften this blow.

"You must." He had managed to keep calm for Elrond's sake. For their sake. For he loved the family of the Lord of Imladris as dearly as he had loved his own. With a troubled expression the half-elf had nodded and turned, only to look back imploringly.

"Will you come?" The voice had held none of its usual force, instead echoing the tentativeness of an elfling asking for an unlikely favour. But he had agreed - although he would have given much to avoid the moment - for Elrond had clearly needed him there.

They had escorted Arwen in silence from the dinner table, trying to pay no need to the din of anxious whispers that accompanied their departure. And then, leaving Arwen picking at embroidery in the sitting room under Erestor's supervision, they had searched for the twins. But there had been no sign of the boys, and by the end the absence of the two fine horses from the stables had been a confirmation rather than a shock.

Elrond had stood in one empty stall in silence for a time. And he had been happy to wait for his friend, because he had no wish to voice the thoughts that were running through his head.

"They have ridden after them." Elrond spoke in the disbelieving manner with which he usually dispelled senseless ideas in council. "The two of them alone."

"They cannot have gone far. Let me ride after them." He had wanted to leave that moment. To place himself between the little elflings he had come to love so dearly and the unknown horrors that awaited them.

"I will go." That had been an Elrond he had not seen in a while. The bitterness and determination of the hardened warrior that had seen it all.

"No." He had spoken quickly on a flash of intuition. Elrond should not be there if the worst happened. He could not see that grief through his friend's eyes as well as his own. "You must stay with Arwen."

He had watched his friend hesitate, alternating between the need to comfort his precious Evenstar and the thought of the remainder of his family in pain and danger.

"You cannot leave her Elrond." He had spoken with confidence, hoping that Elrond wouldn't guess at his ulterior motive. But then Elrond knew as well as he what pleasure the orcs would gain in torturing his wife. Taking advantage of the moments hesitation he had begun issuing orders to gather a rescue party to ride immediately. It was not a decision that Elrond should have to make.

And before leaving them, Arwen a crumpled bundle in her father's arms, he had embraced his friend as well as he could and promised to bring the family home safely. But neither had faith in the mercy of the orcs.

He had meant to tell the twins of this - to let them know what grief their actions had brought to their father. But watching them resting on the grass, every muscle weak in defeat, he was unable to find the words to use against them. For now he was just grateful that they still lived.

Elladan sank down on the meadow grass by his brother's side. He was so tired. When had he last rested? He could no longer remember. But he could not rest now. The world in which he would wake up would be a cold and alien place over which he could have no control. A world in which he would be alone. But if he could just stay awake then maybe he could beg him to stay, to linger just a little longer.

"Your mother is in safe hands now." Glorfindel sat down between them, speaking in the artificially bright voice that meant that he was in too much pain to cope if he acknowledged it's existence. "Are you hungry?"

He was when he thought about it. His entire body felt like it was starved. He tried to nod but it came out as more of a slump of the head. Someone put an arm around him and let him rest his throbbing head on their shoulder.

"You are tired Elladan." The same artificially bright tones, the melody gone from the familiar voice.

He was. He could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Aye." It was more of a mumble than a reply.

"Do you have need of dry clothing?"

Why was he looking at someone's boots? He should lift his head, but he could not.

"We have dried." Elrohir's voice came hazily.

His brother may have but he had not. How could his own twin, his mirror image, be so much warmer than he? But he was not cold, the wetness of his clothes against his skin being comfortingly warm.

"Elladan?" It was a question. He should respond. But he was so very tired. Someone was patting down his arms, testing the fabric. "Aye, you are warm enough."

How could he be warm enough? He was soaked through. He could feel his undershirt clinging in a sticky film to his body. He would have protested but he was so tired.

He could hardly breathe.

He could not breathe.

Maybe it was best for them to sleep. Their sorrow was still to keen for any healing or counselling. And to have returned so soon they must have had little rest.

But this. . . was this sleep? The steady rhythm of breaths had slowed and faltered. They resumed in a struggling rasp before faltering again - and this time remaining silent.

Glorfindel lowered Elladan to the ground, the panic rising quicker than he would care to admit, and pressed an ear against his chest. The steady orchestra of life had fallen quiet, leaving only the heart to continue in a weak and feeble solo.

What had he done? What foul error of judgement had caused him to leave the child alone? Why had he not demanded that they immediately saw a healer? He knew Elladan - he had always known him. And he should have known that this would happen. It had been in his power to stop this and he had let it pass through his fingers.

No longer knowing whether he still breathed himself, Glorfindel tore off Elladan's clothing and armour, hardly noticing as he ripped his finger open on a sharp edge of metal. That could not all be the child's blood. . . there was too much there.

The sodden shirt was cut off easily enough, followed by bandages that did little more than spread the flow of blood. Stripping off his gloves he pressed down urgently on the wound, blood trickling out from between his fingers. That could not be his voice calling for help. He did not let his desperation show in that manner.

There was a sudden movement at his side. This was not the time for the second son of Elrond to rouse from his dazed state. He should not watch this.

"Elladan. . . Glorfindel he is not breathing!"

As if he did not know.

Glorfindel grabbed at the shaking hands and thrust them down to apply pressure on the wound. Thankfully the flow of blood was now slowing, but he was not sure how much time remained. Praying that Elrohir would be able to maintain his hold, Glorfindel tilted Elladan's head back and bent to breathe for him.

He could taste the salt of dried sweat and the bland earthiness of dirt. And the unique metallic tang of another's blood. The taste of battle - a taste that had remained present for years after Dagorlad.

Raising his head slightly he was relieved to feel the soft stirring of air against his cheek as Elladan managed to take a breath for himself. Sighing with relief Glorfindel sat back, just in time to catch hold of Elladan as he began to choke, bringing up gelatinous masses of dark blood.

This was not the way it should end.