Always The Same

Part2: peredhil

Elrohir suddenly ceased the practice movement that Glorfindel was teaching him, sank to his knees and clutched the right side of his face with a pain-filled cry, the sword falling from his limp hands.

Shocked Glorfindel lowered his own sword and quickly stepped toward the younger twin not sure what had happened. He could see no obvious wound or anything else that would explain the odd reaction and was not aware that the twin had injured himself somehow.

Or was it his fault? Was he responsible for the sudden distress? He had not even raised his sword. Quickly he knelt by the moaning youngster and gently pried the hand away from the right side of his face, anxious to see what lay beneath.

Surprised he saw… nothing. No wound, no scratch, nothing. And yet Elrohir’s face was contorted in agony. Just as he wanted to ask what was wrong he knew the answer. With rising dread he squinted across the training field toward the spot where Elladan was practising. As he spotted a crowd gathering around someone lying on the ground he knew the source of Elrohir´s distress. Stretching out a helping hand toward the still kneeling youngster, he pulled Elrohir to his feet. Having regained his wits and also having registered what had happened, Elrohir turned and ran down the field.

As Glorfindel reached the scene shortly after Elrohir he inhaled sharply at the sight presented to him. Elladan was lying on the ground unconscious and bleeding heavily from a large head wound at his right temple. His brother was already kneeling and trying to staunch the blood flow with a ripped piece of his shirt but to no avail.

Before he was able to act or say something he earned another shock, as Elrohir glared at a fellow novice standing in a cycle around them and shouted. “Thirion are you completely mad?” Glorfindel´s head jerked toward the accused and recognized the sword the young elf still held in his hand dripping with blood. Judging by Elrohir´s reaction, it was Elladan’s blood.

Not able to comprehend Elrohir´s anger at first, Glorfindel too addressed the novice. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded with a stern tone, trying not to let his voice tremble with worry. As he received no answer only downcast looks from the other novices he addressed the sword master kneeling beside Elrohir aiding him. “What happened, Celan?” With a sigh the sword master rose and straightened before his captain. “Thirion struck Elladan down.” Glorfindel looked aghast. This should not happen at such an early stage of practice and surely not with a trainer nearby.

Apparently sensing his lord´s thoughts Celan sighed again. “Unfortunately it was no accident.” Now Glorfindel was really confused. “You are saying that he did it on purpose?” Glorfindel asked in a low voice. As the sword master only nodded, Glorfindel whirled around and knocked the sword from the youngster’s hand and pushed him backwards, onto the ground.

“We’ll talk later”, he said with the same low voice and turned to kneel beside Elrohir. “Let me see,” he demanded gently. As Elrohir didn´t react he carefully lifted the younger twin´s hand from the wound on his brother´s face and checked for a pulse with the other. Thankfully it was there. But then he gasped. He had expected something, considering the great amount of blood, and head wounds always bled heavily but the extent of this wound he had not anticipated.

A long and deep gash ran along the older twin´s temple gaping and pulsing with blood. Instantly he knew that this wound was life threatening and that they had no chance to transport Elrond´s eldest without killing him right away. Putting Elrohir´s hand back in place to apply the pressure again he jerked his head up at a novice at random. “You. Fetch Lord Elrond and tell him to hurry,” he demanded.

The dark haired youngster paled at the sharp tone and turned quickly on his heels and ran toward the house. Seeing the tears streaming down the younger twin´s face Glorfindel laid a gentle hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “Your father will be here shortly, don´t give up hope,“ he reassured the dark haired young elf his voice sounding more confident than he felt as he looked at the completely still form of Elrond´s eldest, the puddle of blood growing with every minute.

……………………………………..

Glorfindel´s worry grew with every passing minute. He had seen many wounds in battle and at practice, but head wounds were always difficult. He was by no means a healer, but even he could distinguish a severe wound from an ugly looking but otherwise harmless one and this one did not look harmless.

He was now applying the necessary pressure, after Elrohir had sunken back on his haunches shaking too badly to perform the task properly. Golrfindel knew that Elrohir was in some sort of trance trying to reach his brother and take off some of the pain. What concerned Glorfindel the most was the total lack of response from the older twin irregardless of if he pushed a little harder to finally stop the bleeding or at least reduce it a bit, or if he looked again at the gaping wound to take in the damage done. Growing nervous he looked up across the field. Where was Elrond? How long could he possible need to cross the short distance from the Last Homely House toward the training grounds?

Time seemed frozen, as he took yet another strip of cloth from the sword master to replace the blood soaked one. The pile of blood soaked cloth strips was becoming alarmingly large. Just as he was about to spring up and look for what took his friend so long, he heard a murmur go through the gathered group of young elves. “Lord Elrond is coming, make way,” a few murmured and Glorfindel sighed. Now Elladan would receive the proper care. Not a minute too early.

As the cluster of novices parted, Glorfindel raised his head and saw his friend running toward them. Did he know already what happened? What had the runner told him? Seeing the grave expression on the Elf-Lord´s face it seemed that Elrond was informed already. ‘All for the better’, Glorfindel thought. For the briefest of moments Elrond stopped and took in the sight that greeted him. Swallowing he knelt at the golden warrior’s side.

Quickly he looked at his youngest to reassure himself that at least Elrohir was alright. The younger twin was deadly pale with tears streaming down his face and badly shaking hands. Elrond resisted the urge to embrace his youngest, knowing that the older twin needed him more just now.

Redirecting his gaze at Glorfindel he asked the question Glorfindel had dreaded. “What happened”? Glorfindel sighed. “One of the novices struck him down… on purpose,” he added in a hoarse tone still unable to believe it himself.

The Elf-Lord gasped. His gaze held many emotions; anger, incredulity, and incomprehension. Knowing that they would deal with the perpetrator later the Elf-Lord gently lifted Glorfindel´s bloodied hand from his son´s face.

And then he inhaled sharply. The sword, fortunately a blunted training sword, had nonetheless done great damage. The right side of the ellon’s face from temple to chin was a mess. A gaping gash ran down the right side of his face, with split skin and shattered bone evident. At a minimum the cheekbone and the bone around the temple were broken. Then Elrond checked for a pulse and winced at the much too fast beating he could feel.

For a brief moment Glorfindel saw panic and despair flickering in the healer´s eyes, but as quickly as it had come it had vanished. As always Elrond pushed his emotions back and slipped from his role of a concerned father into the role of a healer. He steadied himself. He wasn’t considered the best healer in Middle Earth without reason. Opening his bag he retrieved a thick wad of linen and laid it gently over the still bleeding wound. Then he began winding a bandage carefully around the young elf´s head careful not to jostle the head too much.

“Was he unconscious at once?” he asked while performing his task. Not knowing, Glorfindel cast a questioning glance towards the sword master. The older elf nodded. “Yes my Lord,” he answered, with downcast eyes guilt evident in his voice. “It was not your fault,” Glorfindel said gently. Not convinced the sword master only nodded. As Elrond had finished wrapping the head he looked up and sighed relieved, as he realized that other healers and helpers of his stuff had already arrived.

“We need a litter to carry him to the healing wing and please prepare everything”, he advised one of his apprentices who had accompanied him. No sooner had he finished speaking than the apprentice had turned on his heels to do his Master’s bidding. Now with no more to do while waiting for the litter Elrond gently laid a hand around the younger twins shoulder and drew him into a tight embrace. Words were not necessary; Elrohir was enough of a healer to recognize the severity of the wound for himself. They sat there drawing comfort from each other. While waiting Glorfindel looked up and searched the crowd of concerned faces for the young novice who had caused this. As expected he was nowhere to be seen.

Glorfindel had known him from the start of his training. He was good at all what he did but he lacked self-confidence. He was always second to the twins in any contest or combat sessions, never pulling off the win in contest or combat sessions. And he was highly aggressive often only kept in check by Glorfindel´s superior skills and unquestioned authority. This day however he had overstepped his boundaries beyond acceptance and he would answer for that.

The oncoming litter bearers interrupted Glorfindel´s thoughts. The warrior rose to assist his Lord in lifting the older twin onto the litter. Elrond had meanwhile released Elrohir and now stood close to the wounded elf´s head, taking it carefully into his hands.

He looked up at the golden warrior. Their eyes locked. “On three. We must act in tandem to reduce the jostling,” Elrond instructed. Glorfindel only nodded. The short instructions and the curt replies clearly indicated the tension the healer felt.

With the help of Elrohir holding the litter in place, Elrond and Glorfindel lifted the unconscious elf carefully onto the litter. Even then Elladan did not flinch or moan in the slightest, which the healer registered with mounting concern. Elrond again checked the bandage and then two young apprentices of his staff lifted the litter and walked toward the house as quickly as possible and as carefully as needed.

Elrond walked alongside, all the while checking his son´s state. Glorfindel and Elrohir retrieved Elladan´s sword and cloak and followed the procession. After another reassuring word from the golden warrior the sword master closed the training lessons for the day and slowly the crowd dispersed.

…………………………

Reaching the healing wing Glorfindel opened the door seconds before the litter bearers rushed past him, Elrond and the younger twin on their heels. The other healers had meanwhile prepared everything so that Elrond could start immediately treating the injury.

Carefully they moved the unconscious young elf onto the examination table and removed the blood stained litter. After quickly washing his hands Elrond threw an apron over his robe and looked up. “Elrohir sit down, before you fall down”, he instructed to no avail, as the younger twin was glued to the table near his brother’s head.

Having expected nothing less, the Elf-Lord sighed and began to work. Glorfindel too was unwilling to leave the room. He knew the older twin´s life was at stake and he wanted to be here if the worst happened. Slowly the Elf-Lord removed the soaked bandage around his son´s head and took a closer look at the ugly gash. With wet towels he carefully wiped blood and dirt away to reveal the extent of the damage.

Now he could clearly see the shattered bone around the temple. As expected, the swelling was now affecting the entire right side of the young elf´s face. With a tweezers he carefully removed tiny shards of bone from the deeper skin layers, praying that no splinter had found its way deeper or, worst of all, into the brain.

Elrohir´s pallor changed from white to green, as he saw the meticulous task his father was performing. Every time his father removed something he checked his brother´s pulse to reassure himself that he still lived. From his appearance alone Elladan looked as if he was already dead.

Elrond was somehow sure that only Elrohir´s presence kept the older twin in this world. After what seemed like an eternity the Elf-Lord straightened, cleaned the gash again and then began to stitch it closed. Glorfindel swallowed and looked away. Now he knew exactly why he was a warrior and not a healer. This was not a task for him. He shuddered every time the needle pierced the flesh.

After this was done Elrond wrapped the head in many layers of linen bandage to protect the wound from further damage. Looking at the younger twin Glorfindel paled. Elladan´s younger brother seemed frozen. He did not react at all to the sight before him. Did Elrohir feel or know something they didn’t? Were Elrond´s actions already fruitless?

Elrond must have felt something too. He was still busy trying to rescue his son´s life. As Elrond said something Glorfindel cringed so absorbed was he in his thoughts. While Elrond´s assistant brought a large pitcher filled with a lukewarm fluid he knew what now must be done. The older twin had lost too much blood which needed to be replenished. The herb that would assist in this effort was usually taken orally. But how could Elrond force the unconscious Elladan to drink this tincture without drowning him? Gently Elrond forced his son´s mouth open and trickled the liquid slowly down his throat. With his other hand he triggered the swallowing reflex.

This was a painstakingly slow task, but after some time it was done. The Elf-Lord straightened his aching back and inhaled deeply. His part was done. The other healers would remove the clothing and soiled linen and then make the older twin as comfortable as possible. Now they could only wait.

Trying again to coax Elrohir into some much needed rest, Elrond failed again. Father and son settled down next to the bed Elladan was laid in and prepared for a long night.

With a nod of thanks from Erond for his having stayed, Glorfindel turned and silently left the room. Now that the immediate danger was over he was going to find a certain novice and have a talk with him. As he looked a last time at Elrond´s face he knew that the worst was not over yet. Elladan was far from stable. Sending a silent prayer the golden warrior left the room and closed the door quietly.

…………………………………………………………..

Reaching the entry hall Glorfindel stopped as he saw Erestor heading toward him. “How is he?” the dark haired councillor asked without preamble. It was instantly clear to whom he referred. Glorfindel took a deep breath and steered his friend toward his study quickly closing the door to listening ears. He wanted to not damage the little hope they had, nor did he want to raise false hopes. The rumours would spread quickly enough.

As Erestor saw the desperation in the golden warrior’s eyes he swallowed. After returning from an errand, he had only heard moments ago what happened but had not anticipated that it was this bad. Laying a hand on his friend´s forearm he looked at him with pleading eyes. “Tell me” he whispered both needing and dreading the answer. Clearing his throat Glorfindel looked up.

“The injury is very severe. A training sword hit Elladan on the side of his head. His cheekbone and the bones around the temple are broken. We do not know if or what damage was done to the brain. He has lost a great amount of blood and is deeply unconscious. Elrond worked the last two hours without rest to save his life.”

While Glorfindel was speaking Erestor had paled. This could not be. Never had anyone been gravely hurt at the training lessons. There were bruises and scratches and sometimes a broken bone at the worst, but never a life-threatening injury. And Elladan was a much too skilled sword fighter for this, even at this early stage of teaching. As Glorfindel saw the incredulous look on his friend´s face he sighed. Obliviously Erestor didn´t know the whole truth by now.

“Unfortunately it was not an accident,” Glorfindel continued before Erestor could utter something. “Thirion, one of the novices struck him down with his training sword. They must have gotten into some quarrel. I have not had the time yet to sort this out.” Now Erestor looked aghast. Yes there were rivalries among the young elves and sometimes some envy, but what in all of Arda justified such a reaction? Remembering Glorfindel´s desperate look at their meeting Erestor dreaded asking his next question.

“Will he recover?” he nearly whispered. Glorfindel sighed. “I do not know. Not even Elrond was sure. He said we must wait the night.”

Again Erestor swallowed audibly. Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. “What of Elrohir? How is he taking this?”

“Need you ask?” Glorfindel answered, again seeing the pale and unmoving face of the younger twin in his mind’s eye. Sighing Erestor let himself heavily fall into an overstuffed chair but in the next second he shot bolt upright again. “What of the culprit of this mess?”

Glorfindel looked up sharply. “I have already sent for him, he must arrive shortly and then he will answer to me, that I can promise you.” Erestor only nodded. He would be present at this conversation as well, since Elrond had other worries at the moment and surely no stomach for this conversation. He wanted to look into the young elf´s eyes and hear his statement. Maybe then he could dredge up some understanding which was failing to come to him at the moment.

As if on cue a knock could be heard and a young elf poked his head around the door. “My Lords,” he addressed Elrond´s aides. “Young Thirion and his father have arrived.” Quickly looking at Erestor Glorfindel straightened. “Send him in,” he answered curtly.

Glorfindel and Erestor straightened and looked grim faced as the door opened again to reveal the young novice Thirion and a dark haired elf, from his appearance clearly the father of the young elf. Calen was his name, Glorfindel remembered in time. Knowing that some things must be done, Glorfindel gestured the two elves into two chairs standing in front of his desk and ordered the aide to close the door.

He kept standing before his desk, as did Erestor. Glorfindel studied the two elves in front of him. Thirion surely he knew from the training sessions, but Calen was another matter. Glorfindel recognized him, but he could not remember from what incident. He only knew that he had Calen in some bad memory. If Glorfindel had expected to see guilt or remorse in the younger elf’s eyes then he was bitterly disappointed.

Thirion had a cool if not arrogant expression on his face looking at Glorfindel with bored anticipation. Quickly looking at the older elf, Glorfindel saw into an expressionless mask.

And before he could open his mouth to speak, Thirion´s father moved to the front of his seat. “I do not know why we are dragged here at this hour. Surely the little incident on the training fields did not justify such orders,” he spat, his words dripping with contempt. Glorfindel blinked. This could not be, could it?

If the golden haired warrior was willing a minute before to hear the statements of the culprit this emotion had now evaporated into thin air. Hearing Erestor beside him inhale sharply, the golden warrior knew that Erestor was as angry as he was. “The incident at the training field was far from little, Calen,” he growled barely able to control his anger any longer. After Calen had chosen to skip any greetings or pleasantries, Glorfindel chose to do the same. “Elladan is fighting for his life. Elrond has done all that he can. What have you to say about this?” Glorfindel asked stepping forward.

With hope Glorfindel saw something like uncertainty into the younger elf´s eyes, but this hope was shattered by the next words. “He is always favoured by the elders and therefore… the younger elf trailed off with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. “And therefore you nearly killed him?” Erestor shouted, no longer able to suffer the arrogance of the two elves before him. “You know without doubt that this is wrong“.

Elrond had always made clear to every one educating his children that they were to be treated the same as all others, i.e. no privileges and no coddling. But if Glorfindel had thought that he had heard the worst for this evening than he was incorrect. “We must finally show these Half-elves where they stand. We are tired of being ruled by them.”

Glorfindel was at a loss. He had expected anything but those words spoken with such hatred. He redirected his gaze in disbelief at Thirion´s father who had uttered the words. And now he begun to understand what was going on here. There had always been elves who had not accepted the rule of the peredhil. They were “only” half-elves and not worthy to ‘order others around’.

Glorfindel nearly laughed out loud. Without Elrond the hidden valley would not exist or still be in existence. Elrond alone made it possible for all the inhabitants to live in relative peace with many personal sacrifices. But these agitators never wanted to hear this. Glorfindel shook his head. These sort of elves reappeared every once in a while and Middle Earth could never be cured of them. Almost pitying the younger elf for such a father Glorfindel briefly closed his eyes. Thirion only repeated what his father preached to him.

Straightening Glorfindel was interrupted again. “I hope this will not…,” Thirion begun but stopped as he saw the dangerous expression on Glorfindel´s face. “You” Glorfindel said with the same contempt, looking at both father and son. “You can only hope, that Lord Elladan will survive and recover from your attack, otherwise there will be no place in Middle Earth where you will find peace again,” Both elves had shot upright at Glorfindel´s words glaring at Elrond´s advisors, but before they could utter another word or do something stupid, the door opened and two guards appeared. “Your orders, my Lords?” one of them asked his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Young Thirion is to be arrested until we know of Lord Elladan´s state. His father is not allowed to leave the valley,” Glorfindel ordered.

“You will regret this,” Calen spat, as he and his son was escorted out of the room.

………………………………………………..

Three weeks had gone by, but Elladan´s condition had not improved. The cut was long healed and the swelling almost none existent, but the damage done to the head went obviously deeper. Elladan did not react, to any stimulation Elrond had tried. He remained pale and unconscious.

Whereas Elrond was desperate, Elrohir was devastated. He looked as pale as his brother and grew thinner every day. He knew enough of the healing arts to know that the longer Elladan was unconscious the less likely was it that he would ever wake again.

This was the paradox of the situation. If he were dead, you could mourn and then go on, but this state was nearly unbearable. Every day Elrohir looked at the beloved face and every day he was disappointed. His friends and family did everything to distract him, but how could he forget for one minute that the other half of his soul was as good as dead? He did not live, he only survived. The anger at Thirion was long gone. It wouldn´t change anything anyway. Nonetheless he must admit that some kind of satisfaction had settled in his heart, when his father had banished the two elves from Rivendell, never to return. But the satisfaction did not last long, in fact it had vanished quickly altogether. What did this serve him? Nothing!

Of course he was glad to never again see the person who had nearly killed his brother, but the fate he was now enduring was far worse. He could still not comprehend that the state his brother was in, was the result of envy and old prejudices against his father.

Again he trudged aimlessly down the corridor from his room to the kitchen or the library or… did not matter. He must only spend another day and another…. And again he found himself standing at his brother’s bed and looking at the closed eyes a hundredth time. He turned and leaned against the window frame and stared outside as so many times before. “Elrohir”? The younger twin whirled around not believing what his ears had just let him hear.

And then he looked into the grey eyes of his brother so much like his own. He sank to his knees before his brother’s bed, tears already running down his cheeks. “Elladan”, he croaked, “you are finally awake!” As his brother smiled at him all restraints broke and the tears long held in check cascaded down his cheeks. Confused at the strong reaction Elladan reached out his hand to wipe the tears away. Elrohir leaned only too happily into the caress.

Overwhelmed with the situation the younger twin rose and said turning. “Don´t move, El. I will fetch Ada.” With one quick look back Elrohir left the room and run down the corridor toward his father´s study. Not bothering to knock, he banged the door open, yelling after his father. The Elf-Lord rose slowly from behind his desk and paled. On the one side he was pleased to see his youngest react to something, but he feared he would not like the reason behind it.

“Ada”, Elrohir repeated, “hurry. You must come with me.” Before the Elf-Lord was able to ask a question the younger twin had stormed out the room and vanished. Elrond directed an anguish stare toward Glorfindel standing at the window. What had happened? But then on Elrohir´s face there was no grief or sorrow, rather…joy? The two Elf-Lords looked at each other and sprinted after the dark haired youth.

As the two elder elves reached the older twin´s room they did not trust their eyes. Elladan was awake! Elrond rushed to his son´s bedside and squeezed a pale hand. “Elladan how do you feel?” Turning his head the older twin looked at his father and tried again a small smile.

“I’m fine, Ada,” Elladan finally said and Elrond could almost hear the rocks tumbling from his youngest heart. As all three elves laughed Elladan looked around confused.

“What have I missed?”

“Nothing”, Elrohir breathed while sitting on the other side of the bed. “You are awake and that’s all that matters.

To be continued……………………..

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.