I grab another arrow, string it and watch it fly. I have been doing this consecutively for the past hour. Arrow. Aim. Fly. The rest of the class has stopped and they are now looking at me as if frightened. I do not care. I have found a way to replace my grief with anger, and it feels great.

       Arrow. Aim. Fly. Master Gwesthilol has tried to approach me, but he doesn't get very far. He sees the fire in my eyes, the anger in my heart, and it scares him. I grab another arrow. I string it. I then hesitate. Glorfindel has stepped between me and my target. He glares at me concerned, but still showing his authority. All I want is for the grief to go away. Would I shoot Glorfindel, the elf that helped raise me, that cared for me, to make the torment lessen? Yes. I would. I close me eyes, trying to ease the inner turmoil.

          "Move!" I order threateningly, hoping to avoid the fighting between my heart and my head. My head keeps telling me to ignore Glorfindel and just hit the target. My heart tells me to stop, Glorfindel is trying to help me.

          "I won't," Glorfindel says stubbornly. I feel my arm pull back on the string and I am ready to fire. I hear the arrow fly by and then I look at Glorfindel. His eyes glare at me in shock and disbelief. The arrow is embedded in his heart and I watch him fall as if time has stopped and it takes all of eternity for his body to hit the ground, broken.

          I open my eyes shaken. Glorfindel stands as stubbornly as ever, the class and Master Gwesthilol still watch in fear, and my anger is gone. Somewhere in the middle of my dilemma, I had a vision. All I needed was to see it happen for my heart it to finally win the battle. I almost killed him, I almost killed my protector, my friend. Grief flows through me like poison. I drop my weapon and fall to my knees. I no longer have the strength to stand. Glorfindel comes rushing over to me, embracing me like I am his own. My own emotions break as I realize Glorfindel's eyes are tear-stained. My own tears can keep themselves in no longer. Valar knows how long they have needed to be shed.

           I hear Glorfindel yell some orders at Master Gwesthilol, but I can not determine what the words are. I find myself weeping into Glorfindel's shoulder. I can not believe what has just transpired. My anger nearly killed him! I nearly killed him.

            "Elrohir!" I cry in dismay. I can't live without him. My father is caring for him. I always thought that if we died it would be on the field of battle, side by side. I can't bear to see Elrohir like this, with a horrid mortal sickness! I can't help but think that it should have been me. I should have realized. No. I never imagined that we could get sick. I didn't know. When father told me that the human blood in us allows it, I felt anger toward everyone. How come I was not told of this? How come it was Elrohir who got sick and I was spared?

            Elrohir caught pneumonia on a peaceful winter day. It had begun to snow that very morning and we always loved to play. It is something that went along with being an elfling. We both went out without coats or protection from the cold.. We lost our way and were out, alone, for quite awhile before Glorfindel found us. It was Elrohir who caught pneumonia and all I got was a cold. It was my idea to go out, Elrohir wanted to make sure Ada knew first. I didn't even listen to him. I should be the one with pneumonia. Why was it not me? That is where my anger came from. My guilt. I was angry at myself.

       "Elrohir!" I cry again into Glorfindel's tunic.

      "I know, elfling. I know," says Glorfindel. He is crying as well, I can tell.
     It feels as if all hope has left us and all we have to hold on to is memory. Elrohir. My Elrohir. We are still crying when father arrives. He takes me from Glorfindel sweeping me into his own loving arms. Stroking my hair he sings a song. It is a lullaby from when we, Elrohir and I, were younger. It comforts me for awhile, but the horrible reality comes back to me worse than before. My brother is dying, and it is my fault.

      "Oh, Elladan. My wonderful Elladan," my father says in dismay. He knows, as a healer and as twin himself, what is about to happen. I have stopped weeping, but my grief is still present. Horribly so. It hurts, like a knife was stabbed through my heart and twisted.

        "I can't live without him, Ada," I say. I feel my father's tears fall onto my face before my vision clouds and I fall into darkness. My twin and I, we both still breathe. Only Elrohir can make me return, and only Ada can save Elrohir. It is all up to Ada now. If he loses one of us, he loses us both.