Elrohir

Elladan suspects something. His questions I have so far avoided, but he sees deep – in this regard closely resembling our father. I both long and dread clarity, but for now, dread has the upper hand, and I keep silent. Perhaps my fear is unfounded. Perhaps. Yet... what if it is not?

The Sun has already disappeared behind the trees when we reach the clearing. Carefully we search the ill-ordered camp that nonetheless appears to be used for quite some time. The ground is trampled, a thick layer of soot covers the firepit. Things lie scattered around – dirty clothing, shards of crockery, broken gear.

“It is a wonder they succeeded to hide this long,” I say with disgust, shoving aside remains of a tattered coat. “Do you know what we are looking for, brother?”

Elladan shakes his head. “I still do not know why I turned back. But there was that strange feeling…” Suddenly he falls silent, his gaze bent on a patch of ground beside the fireplace. He takes a step closer, then kneels, surveying it intently. “Someone crawled away from here,” he quietly says and picks up a stone with darks stains on it. “Someone wounded. I think we should have a look at this track.”

Slowly, step by step we follow the trail in the fading light. The ground around the camp is uneven, with patches of withered last year’s grass and stones. The further we get, the more bloodstains we discover. At length, after a few hundred paces of tracking, we halt before a large boulder. The tracks go around.

Suddenly rocks shift beneath our feet. Elladan nearly loses his footing, and I pull him away from the edge of a deep pit with steep sides at the last moment. The night has almost fallen by now, as we peer in the shadows below.

“There is someone there,” I whisper. “Not moving; dead or senseless. I will go down.”

Elladan lights a torch and sticks it in the ground on the edge. I tie a rope around a nearby tree and descend.

The light that reaches the bottom of the pit is too meagre to give a clear view, but I discern a prone figure and hear a shallow breath.

“Whoever is down here is alive! You will have to lift us both up.”

After a while, some effort and help from my brother, I climb over the edge of the pit with the unconscious body of the stranger. We carry him towards the midst of the camp and lay upon one of our blankets. While Elladan lights the fire, I turn to assess the stranger’s wounds.

He has suffered most cruel beating. The stranger’s face is so swollen that it is nigh impossible to discern the features, his skin is a tapestry of dried blood and blackening bruises. His wheezing breath speaks of several broken ribs, his left wrist is shattered, and the awkward angle of the arm indicates broken or dislocated shoulder.

“How… is he?” Elladan asks hesitantly.

Pushing back a sudden flare of irritation and a biting remark, I reach for the stranger’s spirit with all the gift and skill I possess, painfully aware how scant they are. Still, I am the healer here. This is my duty.

My brother does not repeat the question, but his eyes are intent on my face. After a while I release the breath I have apparently been holding.

“He is very far from being well, but not in mortal danger either, if his injuries will be duly tended.” 

“Do you think he is one of those cut-throats?” Elladan is eyeing the stranger somewhat suspiciously. Yet he has already prepared bandages and set a kettle of water to heat over the fire. The strong scent of athelas rises in the air.

“Their victim, I think. King’s soldiers likely interrupted their… sport.” I grit my teeth. “Depraved beasts! He barely escaped with his life; it is a wonder he could crawl that far.”

Elladan nods and sets to help me clean and dress the stranger’s wounds. “I never thought to witness something like this again,” he softly says. “Not in this Age. Such cruelty… I doubt this poor man was hiding any riches. His clothing is little more than rags, his boots are all but falling apart.”

“Maybe that was exactly what angered them - that there was nothing they could take from him. Unless…” I have just noticed that stranger’s right hand is tightly clenched into fist. Gently I pry open his fingers, and gold gleams in the firelight. “This,” I say softly. “They wanted this.” Elladan regards the golden band with such distrust that I laugh shortly. “I think it is just his wedding ring, brother. His only treasure the robbers tried to take. Look closely.” I point to his hand, to the tell-tale imprint on his finger, and slip the ring back in its place.

“You are right.” Elladan smiles, but his smile vanishes almost instantly. “His hands…”

I sigh and nod. Both his palms have been severely burned and poorly healed, so that the skin and flesh are drawn tightly and unevenly over the crooked fingers. I shudder to even think about the agony of such burns and about the consequences. At best, he does not have any feeling in his fingers now. At worst, the old injuries still cause anguish.

The stranger is deeply unconscious; even the pain of setting his broken limbs does not wake him. When the most severe wounds are tended, I drench a cloth in warm water and start cleaning his swollen and bruised face.

Suddenly I freeze. “Elladan!” Accidentally I have brushed a strand of blood-matted dark hair away from his ear and stare at the pointed tip. “Elladan, this… this is no Man!”

My brother leans closer.  “I thought the ones from Imladris were the last,” he slowly says after several moments of silence.

“The last?” I shake my head, uncomprehending. “Many of the Wood-elves will never make the journey. And there must still be Avari somewhere to the east.”

“He is neither of the Wood-elves, nor of the Avari. Do you not feel?”

I search for the stranger’s fëa again, and after a while I sense what I should have sensed in the beginning. The Light. It is faint, nearly fading, but unmistakeably there. Only few in Imladris bore it. Calanwë. Erestor. And, brightest of them all, Glorfindel. The stranger is one of the High Elves.

I turn towards Elladan, fold my arms on my chest and pierce him with a look I do not even attempt to rid of anger. “So, you can feel something, after all.”

He flinches. “Everyone would have felt that.”

“Everyone except me, it seems!” I throw on the ground the wet rag I have been holding. “Now that you have made a fool of me, you are welcome to take over.”

“You know I cannot take over.”

The utter weariness in Elladan’s voice quells my anger at once. I have been unjust. He has sensed it, even with the residue of his gift, once so much greater than mine. “I am sorry I spoke like that.”

“No, you were right.” My brother lowers his eyes. “It was wrong of me to interfere. I will do so no more.”

“Interfere in any way you will. I do not mind, as long as it helps him.”

“I cannot help him.” Elladan sighs, takes the cloth, rinses it, then starts washing away the blood again. “What a strange turn of fate,” he says softly after a while. “That on our last journey in Middle-earth we should find one of the Calaquendi.”

“Indeed.”

I look closer at the stranger. Now, with the blood washed away, even apart from the raven hair, beyond the swelling and bruises I can easily imagine strong and proud features of a Noldo. What has brought him to such a state? What has driven him into the hands of the highway robbers? And... what are we to do with him? A cold fist closes around my heart as I tend the last hurts.

Later I sit by the crackling fire and stare in the flames. My mind is racing. What are we to do now? The grey ship lies anchored in the Havens, and spring storms will be on us shortly, but how can we abandon one of our people? Yet if we delay our departure… What if... what if this turn of events changes Elladan's mind? He has spoken of fate... Will he not reconsider leaving? Am I to lose my brother after all? Tightly I grip the hem of my coat as fear fights with bitter shame. Should I be having such thoughts while tending one so severely injured? Should I not be thinking first of my charge? A fine healer indeed! What would father say if he saw me now?

“So that is what you have been hiding.”

Startled, I look up and meet my brother’s gaze. Blood rushes to my face. The fears I have deemed so selfish and shielded from him so far are now laid bare.

“I did not wish to steer your decision, brother. You do not have to… to align your choice with mine.” I force the words, nearly choking on tears. “I would not compel you. Ever. If you think you could be happy here, love this land, this new Age— “

“No,” Elladan interrupts me. “What would I do here? This is no longer our land. No longer our age. Our people have left. A rediscovered love for fair sights would not suffice to make up for the loss of you and our parents.”

I clasp together my hands. “Ever since father sailed, I have feared you might choose to remain,” I whisper. “You have always loved Endor more than I do. And Imladris too. But I can stay there no longer. It is no longer a home. It is but a shell, a sad memory of what it once was. With everyone gone... those empty walls...” My voice breaks.

“I know.” He pulls me in embrace. “I know, brother. We shall find a new home beyond the Sea. With those who are still left to us.”

The dam of penned-in fear and uncertainty bursts. Elladan holds me close as I sob against his shoulder, and when I raise my eyes, I see firelight reflected in two distinct tracks of tears that run over my brother’s cheeks.

“You should have spoken earlier,” he softly says. “That would have spared us both sorrow and worry.”

“Yes. Forgive me.” I brush my hand over my face and turn towards the senseless Elf. There is no change. His eyes are closed, his chest rises and falls with a shallow wheezing breath. “What are we to do with him?”

Elladan regards the stranger for a few moments. “There is but one thing we can do.”