Elrohir

I exchange yet another worried glance with Elladan and lead the way into the small cabin. There is no change. Since the ship crossed the invisible boundary, the stranger has been sleeping calmly, free from nightmares and fits of pain.

A sudden flicker of alarm from Elladan makes me turn. Father has frozen amid the small space, staring at the sleeping Elf. Yet within heartbeats he draws a deep breath, takes a step towards the berth and kneels beside it.

“What happened to him?”

Father’s voice bears that deceptive calm he always assumes when things are dire, and the shadow of dismay on his face grows darker as he sets his fingers on stranger’s wrist to count the pulse.

“We pulled him from a pit after he had been beaten senseless by highway robbers. Broken wrist and ribs, dislocated shoulder, numerous bruises,” I list the injuries. “That was on the day before our departure. We could not leave him, and we could not tarry, for the weather was about to change for worse, so we took him with us.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing coherent. He was senseless when we found him and remained so while we treated his wounds. After that he ran a fever, oblivious where or with whom he was. Also, I tried to keep him asleep during the journey, to spare at least some discomfort, even though he calmed fully only when we turned upon the Straight Road.”

“I see.”

Do my eyes cheat me, or is it indeed relief on his face? But why would he be averse to us speaking with the strange Elf? I cast a glance at my brother. Elladan has that slight frown which always appears on his face when trying to solve some mystery. Yet the time for reflection is short. As soon as father has finished assessing the stranger’s condition, he rises with a short nod.

“Let us get him to the house. There I can look at his injuries more thoroughly.”

***

The house is very beautiful, built of wood and painted pale yellow, with intricate carvings adorning windows and doorframes. It stands in the middle of an orchard. The branches of fruit trees are full of flower-buds; within a day or two the garden will be in full bloom. 

We bring the stranger inside and lay him in bed in a room with white walls and large windows facing the garden. Elladan remains by the door.

“Tell me what you need, father, and where I can find it,” he says.

Having received directions, my brother shortly returns with warm water, bandages and father’s medicine bag. He stands for a while watching us with a frown.

“I cannot help you here. I will only be in the way.”

Saying that, he turns away abruptly and leaves the room. I am about to follow him, but father restrains me.

“I would be thankful for your help here,” he softly says.

And I stay, anxious to hear father’s judgement of the treatment I have given the stranger. Father likely senses my unease and lays a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“You have done very well, son. I already saw that.”

I breathe in relief, yet somewhere in the back of my mind remains a shadow of sadness. We could have done more, if only we could have worked together, my brother and I. Like we once did.

“You have done the best you could do,” father cuts off my unguarded thought firmly. “Considering circumstances, both of you have. I will not have you belittle your skill, Elrohir, for with it you surpass some who have great gift but less diligence.”

“Elladan would not have lacked diligence,” I reply and blink swiftly to dispel the prickling sensation in my eyes.

“No, he would not have,” father says quietly. “Still, it is as it is. He is not in this room now, but you are.”

One look at his face tells me he would say nothing more on the matter, so I turn back to tending stranger’s bruises, many of which have already healed. Father is looking to his more severe wounds. When he has finished examining the broken wrist, he turns to me.

“With how you splinted and treated his hand, the bones have already knit together.”

“Have they?” I fail to hold back a pleased smile.

The journey seems to have done no lasting damage, even though the strange Elf has not yet come to his senses. When the last bandage is in place, father squeezes my hand.

“Thank you, son. I will watch him for a while now. Go and take rest.”

I know a dismissal when I encounter one. Ere I close the door behind me, I look back. Father stands by the bed, his gaze fixed on the stranger. The set of his shoulders is rigid and his face bears that expression of mingled anger and sorrow I know so well, having seen it on every occasion when facing mindless cruelty. Yet there is something else this time too, something I cannot unravel. Questions are piling in my mind, and none of them has a satisfactory answer. I go to look for my brother.

I find Elladan in a spacious sitting room that likely serves as library as well – the walls are lined with tall bookshelves. My brother has lit fire in the large fireplace and sits, staring at the page of an open book on his knees, his face strangely blank. When I sink in a chair beside him, Elladan puts the book aside and raises his eyes.

“See, you did well enough without me.”

I glare at him. “Why are you acting like this? It hurts father!”

“I know and I am sorry.” He looks away for a moment. “The more sorry because it is all my fault,” he then states flatly.

“What?” The meaning of his last words eludes me completely. “What is your fault? Why? I am weary from the road, brother, so please, speak plainly.”

“Very well.” Elladan is tracing a carving on the armrest of his chair. “Had I been able to heal him in Endor, there would have been no need to take him here.”

“What is wrong with taking him here?” I shrug. “Surely, he has a better chance of recovery in Valinor. Besides, father seems to know him. Or at least something about him.”

“Oh, yes, father knows him!” My brother laughs a short, bitter laugh. “Do you not yet realize whom we have taken across the Sea?” When I merely stare at him, he shakes his head. “Indeed? Do try to put together the things you know. A Noldo, bearing the Light of the Two Trees. Mutilated hands. The profound distress his presence brings to father. Who could he be? Think!”

“I am in no mind for riddles,” I retort sullenly. “How would I know? Father did not address him by name.”

“I do not need a name to realize that we have brought to the Blessed Realm the last living son of Fëanor.”

“What?” With a gasp of horror, I spring to my feet. We know very little about father’s childhood, but there is more than enough in the history books to make my blood boil at the name. “Are you certain?”

“It is still a guess,” my brother replies. “But I am nearly certain.”

A cold fist closes around my heart. Everything Elladan has said makes sense. And if so... “Oh, what a profound mess have we created!” I rake my hand through my hair and start pacing the length of the room. “What a fateful mistake!”

“Fateful – I would agree with that. But not with the rest.”

I halt abruptly and turn towards the door where father stands, weary-faced, yet calm.

“Your guess hit the mark, but what you did was right.”

“Right?! We have brought under your roof one who killed your family and your people and then kidnapped you and your brother! And you say we did right?!”

Father sighs and sits down in the chair I had occupied but a while ago. He links together his fingers and observes his hands for a while, then looks up at me and my brother in turn.

“If there has been a mistake, then only from my part, in keeping silence,” he says at length. “Maedhros and Maglor did not kidnap my brother and me. They found us in a seaside cavern after the battle. Had they not come, we would have drowned in the high tide. Yes, they've killed.” He raises his hand to forestall my objections. “I do not deny or justify all the terrible things they did. They spilled the blood of the Elves, they drove our mother to despair. But they also took us in and gave us shelter and safety. They gave us home and education. And they loved us. Our childhood with them was not unhappy. If Maglor is here now, it is not against the will of the Valar. Do you think you would have been permitted on the Straight Road if it were?”

“Yes, but still…” I clench my hands in fists. Realization that we have brought home someone who has caused such profound misery to our people is too much for me. “How could you… why… I do not understand…” My voice trails away, and I resume pacing.

“Why I forgave our uncles? You see, we loved them, too. And we did not know the truth until the moment they sent us away. Then, my brother’s love turned into fury for he felt betrayed, robbed of all he had deemed worthy and noble. But I could find no anger in my heart, only grief. To be angry would have been just, and I long wondered - was I a traitor of my mother’s people? Was I weak?”

“I do not think so,” Elladan softly replies after a moment of silence. “Compassion and kindness are but another kind of strength.”

Father smiles sadly. “Círdan said the same.”

I halt, arms folded on my chest. “Why did you not tell us?”

“Why indeed?” He sighs. “Maybe I thought the past over and done with. When the War of Wrath started, they sent us away south to safety, to our mother’s people, and we never saw them again. After Morgoth’s fall we learned Maedhros had taken his own life. Later, there were rumours of a solitary wanderer singing by the waves. I've sought Maglor for years, but apparently, he did not want to be found, and at last I abandoned the effort. After the darkness of the Second Age and the war that ended it, we built a fragile peace. I wed with your mother. Then you, our wonderful children, were born, and we were so very happy, despite the ever-looming shadows. I am ashamed to say that, but, immersed in my happiness, I thought less and less of Maglor. He was a ghost of bygone days, a reminder of much I had left behind. But the past always finds us. To see him like he is now… What if I had been more persistent in my search? Could I have prevented this, could I have given the one who fostered me at least a semblance of home and peace? I do not know.”

Father falls silent. Outside, it has grown dark. Rain beats against the windowpanes. Fire is crackling in the hearth. My irritation has faded like morning mist, leaving sadness and compassion in its place. At last, Elladan breaks the silence.

“Tell us about your childhood with your uncles, father. Please.”

Father tears his gaze away from the flames. “Now? You have had no proper rest since you arrived. You should go to sleep.”

I exchange glances with my brother, then sit down on the hearthrug and lean against father’s chair. “Now. We are far too old to be sent off to bed, father. Consider it a bedtime story if you will.”

He laughs, and this time there is some true mirth in his laughter. “Oh, very well. You are also far too old to be carried to your beds, so blame yourselves if you end up sleeping here.”

Note. I use the version where Fëanor's sons find Elrond and Elros in a cave, not kidnap them. Thus, this story is consistent with my previous ones, "The Brink", "The Stronghold" and "Adrift".