Chapter 8: The Sons of Elrond

But to the wizard's eye there was a faint change just a hint as it were of transparency, about him, and especially about the left hand that lay outside upon the coverlet.

'Still that must be expected,' said Gandalf to himself. 'He is not half through yet, and to what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell. Not to evil, I think. He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.'

Many Meetings, Fellowship of the Ring

Elrond placed his fingers along either side of the thin white mark, but exerted no pressure. The decrease in temperature and a slight pulsation indicated the shard was beneath his forefinger. Using a knife with a fine blade, he carefully cut into the scar. He needed an opening no greater than the width of the fingernail of his small finger, for the shard was not large.   He ignored the blood that seeped from the wound, allowing other hands to absorb it into cloths.  Motioning for Mithrandir to draw near, he turned Vilya’s full strength against the shard.  He felt Narya’s song join Vilya’s, and their harmony became a powerful crescendo that caused the shard to move unwillingly to the open wound.

Glorfindel grasped the bloody splinter with small forceps as it appeared, and the metal hissed and steamed at the touch of the Mithril tongs.  He dropped it into a small box and when Elrond nodded to him, took it from the room.

“So small,” said Mithrandir softly.  “Was that all of it?”

Elrond nodded, his eyes never leaving the wound.  He could sense no further evil and the temperature of the skin was returning to normal beneath his hands.  The wound no longer bled.  He kept his hands in place around it and his concentration focused on it as Arwen gently cleansed the area.   When she stepped back, he again turned Vilya’s attention to the lesion.  Before the eyes of those watching, the wound edges knitted themselves together and closed, and the irritation and redness faded.  Elrond ran his fingers down Frodo’s shoulder and arm, pressing along the junctures where bones and sinews met, then lifted the hobbit’s hand and gently massaged the palm and each finger. Function and strength returned, though Frodo did not yet know it. 

Yet the translucence remains, he realized.  His hands shook slightly and he stilled them, but he could not chase away the sadness that pervaded him at this thought.  He smoothed Frodo’s hair back and gently probed his mind. The hobbit rested untroubled now, though the Ring hovered near the edges of his heart, as if staking its claim.   That Elrond could not remove, but he sensed no desire for power in Frodo’s heart and knew that that lack of desire was a power Sauron had not considered, and one his Ring could not easily conquer.   He drew Frodo up from the depths of unconsciousness where he had pushed him into a deep natural sleep, from which the hobbit could awaken naturally.

Elrond started to rise from where he sat at Frodo’s beside, then felt Arwen’s arm about him and realized he needed her support.  Slowly, Adar, she whispered in his mind. You have saved him.

Elrond’s ability to shield his own thoughts was diminished by the effort he had expended, and Arwen was dear enough to his heart to sense his thoughts immediately.  I see it too, but let us wait until he awakes before we judge. Hobbits are resilient creatures, she reminded him.

He let her boost his spirits, enough that he could smile when Bilbo clasped his hands and thanked him with tears in his eyes.  She stood at his side, her arm wrapped about him, as Aragorn opened the door to admit the rest of the hobbits, who nearly ran him over as they rushed into the room.  Elrond took comfort in seeing Frodo among his friends; Sam was already examining the wound and exclaiming over the lack of cold feeling to Frodo’s shoulder and arm.

“He’s sleeping natural like now,” said Sam gratefully.  He looked knowingly at Gandalf and then at Elrond. “I will stay with him tonight. You both look like you should sleep some yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so. You’ve been at this all day.”

Gandalf laughed. “Indeed we have, Samwise. We will entrust him to your care.”

Elrond watched as the hobbits sprawled out around Frodo, Pippin on the bed next to him and Merry lying at the foot, while Bilbo was in the comfortable chair next to him and Sam sat near his head.  They were a simple people, yet their loyalty and love knew no bounds.  Frodo was in the best of hands.

Arwen escorted him to his chambers, guiding him inside. She pulled the covers back from the bed and poured him wine while he changed, and he returned to his bedchamber warmed by a fire on the hearth and candles lit around the room.   Arwen turned as he entered, smiling, and taking him by the hand, she led him to a table where a light meal awaited them.   She ate with him in companionable silence, then said, “Now you must sleep, Adar. There are many people in Imladris suddenly, all of whom wish to speak to you.  You must rest and refresh yourself.”

He smiled at her indulgently when she held out her hand to him, but did as instructed and let her lead him to his bed.  She slipped his dressing robe from his shoulders, and when he was in his bed, she drew the covers over him and kissed his brow.

“It has been long since I have been tucked into bed like an elfling and instructed to sleep,” he informed her teasingly.

She studied him thoughtfully. “I promised Naneth, you know,” she said finally.

He looked up into a face that was a feminine reflection of his own, and was suddenly grateful she did not resemble her mother in looks, for he did not think he could bear to look upon a mirror of Celebrían in her absence. “What did you promise your Naneth?”

Arwen touched his face, then took his hand in both of hers, stroking his palm and rubbing each fingernail in turn. “It was one of her most lucid moments, not long after you told her she needed to sail.  She had those few days of strength, as you remember, when she made some preparations of her own. She sat with me one day in the garden and told me that it was not often that you truly needed to be taken care of, but those times would happen and I should be watchful for them.” She paused as tears filled her eyes. “I realized at that moment, Adar, how much we meant to her, that the only thoughts that could rouse her from those days of torment was her concern for you and for us. I promised her I would be watchful.”

Elrond drew her hand to him and kissed it, but did not attempt words, for from his heart his love overflowed to her and she drank it in and returned it.  “Sleep, Adar,” she commanded softly.

She glided from the room with a grace inherited from her grandmother, her blue-black hair glinting in the firelight before she disappeared from the room.  Warmth from her love still blanketed him, and as he slipped on to the path of dreams, he was reminded of the first time after Celebrían’s departure that Arwen had been ‘watchful’, as she termed it.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond was drawn to the courtyard by the clamor of raised voices and pounding hooves.  He arrived in time to see Elladan’s stallion skid to a halt before the front porch, with Elladan on his back, grasping the bloody, limp body of his twin.   Glorfindel reached him before Elrond and pulled Elrohir into his arms, then paled visibly, sending Elrond’s heart into his throat.

Wordlessly they raced to the healing rooms, where Glorfindel laid Elrohir upon a table, He kept his hand over the bandage on Elrohir’s thigh, but blood dripped from between his fingers on to the white sheet below.

Elrond quickly determined that the leg wound was going to steal his son’s life first and turned his attention there.  As the healers gathered around Elrohir, lending him their strength, Elrond worked to repair the damaged tissues and vessels with a combination of tools and the power of Vilya.   Still, the amount of blood lost was appalling and the beat of his son’s heart had slowed to an impossible cadence.

He leaned over his son, pouring his healing strength into him, but felt no connection to his son’s fëa.  Fighting down panic, he took his son’s face in his hands and demanded, “Live, Elrohir!”

Elrohir’s spirit did not respond, and Elrond pushed all of his will and strength on to his son.  While your body yet has life, you will stay here! he commanded.  Never before had he been so harsh with Elrohir, or taken so commanding a tone.  Elrohir had always responded better to gentleness, and his desire to please allowed him to be cajoled with love from any mood.  But now as his body failed, his fëa prepared to flee.

Elrond suddenly felt the presence of another, of someone who had a closer bond with Elrohir than even he did. Elladan had stubbornly placed himself between Elrohir and Námo, blocking the road to the Halls of Mandos.  His sons were in a battle like none he had seen before, for despite the weakness of Elrohir’s spirit, he was not acquiescing to his brother.  Rather than siding with Elladan, Elrond placed himself to one side, calling to Elrohir as well, but more gently now.  He became aware of Arwen then, but she did not have a bond that allowed her to reach her siblings, and he instead allowed Elrohir to see her through him.

In a tone so humble it shocked Elrond, Elladan begged for Elrohir’s forgiveness and pleaded with him not to leave him.  Elrond’s heart nearly broke at the anguish in his son’s outpouring of grief and remorse. Elladan’s cry reached Elrohir too, and Elrond felt the first spark from Elrohir since his twin had brought him in. It was not with joy that he took back his damaged body, but with something akin to guilt.  But even this Elrond accepted gladly, for he would rather Elrohir find healing for his sorrow among his family than in Námo’s Halls.

As Elladan protectively surrounded his twins fëa, Elrond drew back to focus on Elrohir’s barely-alive body. The healers had been working on him continuously, and when Elrond turned his attention back to the physical wounds he found they had removed his son’s clothing and he could see how pale Elrohir had become, as if no blood flowed in his veins.  Elrond poured himself into his son, who now accepted his aid, using his own innate power enhanced by Vilya to strengthen Elrohir and heal his wounds.

When he finally looked around him, he saw Arwen and Elladan sitting at Elrohir’s head.  While Arwen stroked his head and sang to him, Elladan sat completely motionless and silent, his head touching his twin’s, his hands on Elrohir’s undamaged right shoulder.  Someone had managed to replace Elladan’s gore splattered clothing and wash his face, but though his hair was pulled back and tightly braided, Elrond could see dirt and blood spotting the strands.

As the minutes passed, he felt the beat of Elrohir’s heart strengthen and grow regular, and saw the slightest of color return to his skin.  Hours passed, and still they did not leave his side, for he waned without constant support.   Elrond orchestrated the song of Elrohir’s spirit, focusing it on making new blood and knitting up tissue. Through it all he was aware of Elladan supporting Elrohir’s fëa.

Elrond had lost all track of time and was pulled back to the present by Arwen’s voice.

“Elladan, drink this,” she said softly.  When he did not respond, she laid her hand on his shoulder, kneading the stiff muscles. He was rigid, having not moved for many hours. He seemed to resist her, but Arwen persisted, grasping his chin and pulling his head upright.  She held a flask to his mouth, and when the liqueur touched his lips he roused and drank as she directed.

Elrond took what she offered him, drinking gladly as he felt the Miruvor warm and strengthen him.  She moved next to Elrohir, patiently dripping in one drop at a time through parched lips, the fluid just wetting his mouth. She crooned to him, stroking his cheek and to Elrond’s relief, Elrohir turned into her hand, seeking that comfort.  It was the first movement he had made.

Hours passed into days. Neither Elrond nor Elladan left Elrohir’s side except under necessity, and Arwen tended to them all.  It was to her that Elrohir responded most, seeking her touch and comfort, and accepting the liquids she worked diligently to drip into him.

When hours uncounted had passed, Elrond felt Arwen’s hands cover his, then she gently but firmly removed them from where they rested on Elrohir’s chest.  Too weak to resist, he let her push him back on to the chair that someone had set behind him.  Across from him, Elladan struggled briefly against Glorfindel, but the warrior’s greater strength and iron will could not be resisted.

“You both must rest,” she informed them gently.

Elladan looked ready to protest, but Elrond spoke first. “Elrohir will live,” he agreed. “Others may now attend him.”

“I will stay here while you both bathe and rest,” said Arwen. When Elladan opened his mouth to argue, she added, “I will send for you if he worsens.”  As Glorfindel shepherded Elrond and Elladan from the room, Arwen organized the helpers to properly bathe Elrohir and then move him to a more comfortable bed in a quiet alcove.  Elrond stood in the door for a moment, watching her quiet efficiency, then he felt Erestor at his elbow, guiding him away.

* * *

Elrond was awakened by Elladan, who had entered unannounced and seated himself at the foot of the empty side of the bed.  The deep shadows under his eyes had lightened, but the shadows within had not. Elrond stretched, then propped himself up on the pillows and waited for his son to speak.

“I apologize to you, Adar, and ask for your forgiveness,” Elladan began. “I did not listen to anyone who warned me that I was causing more hurt and grief to the ones I love most. I have made life more difficult for you, and I am sorry.”

“I forgive you, Elladan.  I likely speak for everyone when I say that I hold no offense against you, but wish more to hear that you have forgiven yourself,” replied Elrond evenly.

Elladan’s eyes filled with tears. “I think I have, Adar, but I am so ashamed that I pushed Elrohir nearly to his death before my eyes were opened to what I was doing.”

Elrond felt his heart twist at those words, and a part of him did not want to know what had happened. Yet, if he was to help both of his sons, they needed to speak of it and he needed to listen.  “What happened?” he asked, opening the door for Elladan to bare his heart.

“We left here with Glorfindel and rode out with the Rangers. We went expecting battle and found it, and we fought well. I enjoyed it, Adar, I enjoyed killing each orc I came across.  I did not torture, but I showed no mercy. Elrohir enjoyed it too.  He would fire arrow after arrow, never missing. I think he killed an orc for each arrow he possessed.  Glorfindel watched us closely, but we were both careful to give him no reason for concern.

“Every orc that died was vengeance for Naneth.  Each time I looked upon one, I saw the merciless beasts that tormented her. I had to use every vestige of self-control I possessed not to become like them and enjoy hearing them die.  But I thought I was justified in bringing death upon them.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I still feel justified bringing death upon them.

“After our task was complete, we became aware of a great movement of horsemen out of the north, riding south east of the Anduin.  The Eagles said they rode to war, to the aid of Gondor, who was fighting the Balchoth and the orcs of Mordor. I wished to ride with them, for riding to war seemed both glorious and worthy. Glorfindel wished us to seek your leave, but I would not be persuaded. I said he should go home and bring you word while we continued on to learn the news.” Elladan’s voice faltered. “I think Elrohir wished to go home too.  We fight better together though, and so I goaded him privately into coming with me. I led him to believe I would go off on my own.

“We left Glorfindel and crossed at the Old Ford, joining the Northmen in their ride south. Gondor’s need was dire and Eorl’s coming brought them relief and salvation, for all would have been loss.   In honor of their aid, Cirion was to give to Eorl the land of Calenardhon. We left before the ceremonies, heading north through Lothlorien.

“Daeradar and Daernaneth had recently returned and were already aware of the war to their south and the deepening shadow of Dol Guldur.  A light had shone from the Golden Wood, pushing back the darkness and mists near that evil place when Eorl passed by. But while light shone from the Wood over the Anduin vale, a shadow rested still on our naneth’s parents.” Elladan’s voice broke, and he drew in a ragged breath.  “They wished only to comfort us, but Elrohir would not speak and I did not wish for comfort.  I am ashamed to admit that I argued again with Haldir and we left soon after, to the despair of those who love us.”

Elladan lowered his eyes then and paused.  “We came home through the Redhorn Pass.  Our daeradar rode with us to the east end, and I am sure he sent a patrol ahead to scout out the whole pass.  Riding through there was agony, Adar.  All of the rage I thought I had expended on the orcs in the High Pass and in Calenardhon returned to me, and I wanted to seek them out.  Unfortunately, I found my chance.

“We came across a patrol of orcs midway between the Hollin Ridge and home.  There were too many for us to challenge, and they had not detected us.  We should have skirted them and continued.  That is what Elrohir argued for.” Tears began to stream down Elladan’s face. “I challenged my brother, called him a coward, and asked how he could let our naneth remain unavenged. In a rage I rode forward to engage the enemy. I could see their captain and in my mind I saw a twist of silver hair tied into his. I did not see the orcs closing in behind me, encircling me, as I raced forward.  Elrohir protected my back, his arrows felling each orc in turn, while I challenged their captain. I removed his head as if I were slicing a ripe melon and I laughed as it rolled into the canyon behind him. Then I heard Elrohir’s cry, and I turned to see him fall.  The blow that nearly severed his leg killed his horse. I raced forward and grabbed him from their hands as they shouted their plans to sever his limbs and eat them before his eyes.  I held my fingers over the spurting blood until I had enough distance between us and them to stop and bind it.  We rode without stopping until we reached home.”

Elladan had begun his story sitting rigid and erect, but as his tears started he slumped in despair and Elrond reached for his son, pulling him into his arms.  The dam broke as Elladan himself was broken, and great heaving sobs poured forth.  In all of the centuries of his son’s life, Elrond had never seen his son like this. His heart was laid bare and his tears cleansed and purified his soul. Elrond let him cry until he was limp and quiet, then gently probed his son’s mind, which remained open and vulnerable.

“No longer will guilt possess you and anger rule you,” said Elrond quietly.  “I am glad to have my son back.”

Elladan was quiet for a long moment, and Elrond continued to stroke his hair, imparting peace and calm into his son. When Elladan next spoke, his concern was for his twin. “I fear for Elrohir, Adar.  I saw Námo open the doors to his Halls, and Elrohir would have gone willingly,” he choked out, rising up. “I fear that I have made Elrohir’s life unbearable to him.”

Elrond held up his hand. “Stop, Elladan.  You are responsible for your own actions. Elrohir is responsible for his.  He must face the consequences of his own choices, and his healing lies in his own hands.”

Elladan sank back down. “I hope he wishes to heal.”

“As do I,” answered Elrond softly.

* * *

Elrond entered the healing rooms early one evening several days later to see Arwen sitting at Elrohir’s side.  She was speaking to him, holding his hand in one of hers while stroking his hair with the other.   He felt his heart lift and relief fill him, for they had waited nearly a week for Elrohir to waken.

Too weak to hide his emotions or shield his thoughts, Elrohir’s eyes spoke his sorrow. Elrond laid his hand upon Elrohir’s chest and was pleased to find his heartbeat strong, yet he could feel that that heart beneath was still deeply wounded.  Elrohir looked at him silently, as if unable to find any words to greet a father he had not seen in many months.

“Hello, Elrohir,” he said gently, and leaning forward he kissed his son’s brow.  “Words are inadequate to express how glad I am to see you awake.”

“I do not remember much of what happened,” replied Elrohir suddenly, and Elrond could see him cloud his mind, though he could not shield it. He decided he would not be put off so easily.

“I believe you remember what is important,” said Elrond easily, but despite his casual tone, he felt Elrohir tense at the meaning of his words and knew his son understood.  He intended to strike while his son was vulnerable, for he knew if he allowed Elrohir to strengthen his will and mind with his body, he would close them out again. “Just as you remembered that Elladan struck you and knocked you unconscious.”

Elrohir’s eyes flicked to Arwen in search of support, but she took his hands in hers and met his eyes steadily. He looked away, over their shoulders at the room beyond, but there was no escape.  He finally returned his gaze to his father.  “Will you not speak to me, Elrohir?”

“Adar, I . . .” Elrohir turned his head away and studied the wall, but turned back when Elrond and Arwen waited patiently.  Tears appeared in his eyes when they both remained firm, holding him with loving but unyielding gazes.  “Adar, please.”

“Please, what?” prodded Elrond gently. When Elrohir caught his breath but did not speak, he asked directly, “Elrohir, do you think you are responsible for what happened to your naneth?”

Elrohir squeezed his eyes shut as tears slipped down his cheeks.  Arwen brushed them away, and he leaned into her hand.  She comforted him, but when he did not respond, she prodded him, “Do you, Elrohir?”

“What I think is irrelevant! I was the scout; it was my responsibility to make sure the path was safe before anyone ventured into the pass,” spat out Elrohir hoarsely.

“Your responsibility for the patrol is established, then,” agreed Elrond. “You failed in your responsibility. Why?”

Elrohir went pale at Elrond’s words, but the harshness of those words was belied by the gentle touch of father and sister upon him.  Still, he was shocked enough he could not answer.

“Were you complacent? Did you not take the risk seriously?”

“No, Adar!” protested Elrohir, horrified.

“What, then?” challenged Elrond, unmoved.

“There were no signs; they were high up on the cliff,” explained Elrohir. “I did not see any sign of them on my first trip through the pass. I . . .” His voice trailed off as a sob shook him.

“You are one of the best scouts in Imladris; Glorfindel says so,” added Arwen. “Would anyone else have done better?”

“Perhaps, by chance,” allowed Elrohir.

“So the enemy outwitted us. That has happened before, and it will happen again,” said Elrond calmly. “All that has ever been asked of any warrior of Imladris is that they perform to the best of their abilities.  Did you do that, Elrohir?”

Elrohir struggled with his answer, and Elrond could see his dilemma clearly: in honesty he would need to admit he had, but he was not ready to absolve himself of guilt. “Did you do that, Elrohir?” repeated Elrond.

“Yes,” hissed Elrohir in a low voice, his eyes again closed.

“That brings us to the heart of the problem, my son,” continued Elrond.  “I am aware of no one who holds you responsible for your naneth’s fate.  Your naneth certainly did not. I do not, nor your grandparents, or anyone in Imladris.  That leaves only you, Elrohir.  Why do you refuse to accord yourself the same grace I know you would offer to any other?”

“I do not know!” cried Elrohir, his chest heaving with ragged breaths and his jaw clenching in an effort to hold back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Elrond squeezed the hand he had been holding hard enough to get Elrohir’s attention, and his son gripped it back as if it were a lifeline. 

He lightly probed at his son’s mind. “Will you let me in, Elrohir?” he whispered.

“It is messy,” gasped Elrohir, a grimace of pain flickering across his face as the wounds on his chest contracted with his breaths. He looked imploringly at Elrond,  and Elrond could see his misery. At the touch of his father’s mind though, Elrohir dropped his guard and bared his thoughts, as trusting as the day he had obeyed his father’s command to be born.

Elrond followed the zigzagging thoughts that rambled through the mind of his beleaguered son. He saw the points of connection that Elrohir missed, joining what seemed to be unrelated events together and providing a more coherent whole. Where confusion and despair pushed at the door to Elrohir’s mind, Elrond chased them away.  He saw something then which surprised him, and he wondered how he could have been so blind.

He first soothed his son, waiting until Elrohir’s breathing was calm and regular before speaking. Even then he considered waiting until Elrohir was stronger before pursuing what he had found, but he could see that the barriers Elrohir had erected would return quickly if not demolished now. “Speak to me of Elladan.”

Elrohir opened his eyes, a questioning look on his face though trust for his father remained visible in his eyes.  He considered the request for a moment, then said, “He let go of his anger for a while, but seeing Daernaneth and Daeradar and then riding through the Redhorn Pass seemed to trigger his rage again. He went in search of orcs to assault.  All sense fled from him, and he would have died.” Tears filled his eyes as he walked the paths of his own memories. Fear appeared suddenly on his face. “Where is he?  Is he injured?”

“He is uninjured. He sat with you this morning, until Arwen sent him to eat and rest,” replied Elrond.

Elrohir relaxed in relief. “I have tried to keep him safe, but I fear I have failed him yet again,” he murmured.

Elrond pounced on his words. “How have you failed Elladan?”

“I could not keep him from rushing into battle,” replied Elrohir simply.

“You said ‘again’; when did you fail him before?”

A shadow crossed Elrohir’s face and he tried to distance his thoughts, but Elrond held him firmly. “When, Elrohir?”

“He was my captain. His guilt is because of me.  He trusted me to scout the pass and relied on my word to enter it with Naneth. I caused him to fail,” replied Elrohir brokenly.

“Has Elladan said that to you?” asked Arwen cautiously.

“He has not needed to use words. His contempt for me is enough,” choked out Elrohir. When Arwen reached to caress his arm, he shrank from her touch.  “Do not pity me.”

“I do pity you,” said Arwen sternly. “I am also growing angry with you and Elladan.”  Elrohir grew distant, turning his eyes away, but Arwen did not let him go so easily.  She took his face in both of her hands and forced him to look at her.   “Elladan has treated you despicably, and for that he must answer. But you have accepted that treatment in some misguided sense of guilt and you must stop. I love you, Elrohir, and I want my brother back.”

The tears that ran down her cheeks moved Elrohir, but his immediate thought, easily read by Elrond, was that he was responsible for her sorrow and it added to his burden of guilt.

“Why have you followed Elladan? Why have you tried to keep him safe?” asked Elrond.

Elrohir turned his gaze from sister to father, which provided him with some relief from her sorrow but challenged him again to look inside himself. He looked nearly overwhelmed, and Elrond whispered in his mind, Let me guide you, Elrohir.

Elrohir clung to his father’s hand and forced his mind to relax. His trust was childlike in its simplicity, and Elrond was reminded of how deep their bond was, and the care needed to tend and nurture it to keep it that way.

“Do you love your brother?” he began.

“Yes,” answered Elrohir without hesitation

“Do you feel responsible for him?”

“Yes.” Slower this time.

“Do you owe him?

“Yes,” whispered Elrohir.

“For what do you owe him?”

“I . . . I owe him for the harm I have done to him, for failing him.”

“How do you intend to pay that debt?  With your blood?”

Elrohir’s eyes glistened with tears. “With anything I have to give.  With everything I have to give.”

“When will you have given enough? What price have you set?” continued Elrond.

“I do not know, Adar,” gasped Elrohir, as the weight of the burden settled on him.

“Perhaps,” said Elrond, his own voice breaking, “you might begin by forgiving each other? Then forgive yourselves.” His voice hoarse with emotion, he finished, “There can be no such debt between brothers, between family. There can be no continued attempts to atone for wrongs, attempts to redress injury caused by the enemy.”

Elrohir took deep breaths in an attempt at self-control, and Elrond could see the pain as his skin stretched at healing wounds. Yet he could see Elrohir’s stubborn resistance to his words, and soothing his pain would allow him to resist those words more. When Elrohir opened his eyes, Elrond could see the same cloud that had been present when their conversation had begun. Anger grew in him.

“Enough, Elrohir,” he said through gritted teeth.  He watched with grim satisfaction as Elrohir’s eyes widened in surprise, then filled with trepidation. “There is guilt aplenty to share among everyone who loves your mother.  There is pain and sorrow and grief for each of us.  Yours is not more worthy and your martyrdom is unbecoming.  You have become selfish in your grief. Let. It. Go.”

Elrond saw himself though Elrohir’s eyes, his eyes flashing and his words echoing in a staccato of anger. He felt Elrohir’s shock as the words stung him deeply, but as Elrond pressed his will on him, they had the desired effect.  The hurt gradually diminished as the cloud passed and truth dawned.

“Adar, I see,” he said suddenly. He took one of Arwen’s hands and one of his father’s. “Adar, Arwen, please forgive me.”

Arwen could only mouth ‘Forgiven’ as she kissed his hand.  Elrond, though, smoothed Elrohir’s hair back and said, “I forgive you. Will you forgive me?”

“What for?” asked Elrohir, confused.

“I expected you, even depended on you to look after your brother in his grief and anger. I did not see your pain, and I added to it,” admitted Elrond humbly.

He felt Elrohir’s heart lighten, as a deeper understanding settled in him.  He looked at Elrond with compassion, then suddenly realized a response was expected. “I forgive you, Adar.” Tears again began to fall, but this time they were not of sorrow and confusion, but of healing. 

“Am I welcome?”

All three turned to see Elladan standing in the doorway.

“Yes,” answered Elrohir immediately.

Elladan walked slowly to them, his eyes and thoughts for Elrohir only, and Elrond withdrew from Elrohir’s mind. He and Arwen both stood and stepped away from Elrohir’s bed as Elladan dropped to his knees beside it, taking his twin’s hand in his.

“Elrohir, I come to plead for your forgiveness,” began Elladan.

Elrohir’s tears still fell, but he tugged weakly on his brother’s hand. “Do not kneel before me.”

Elladan stayed where he was. Some unspoken communication passed between them, then Elladan said, “Adar and Arwen need to hear what I have to say, Elrohir. I need to speak these words out loud.”

Elrohir relented, relaxing into the pillows.

“I have treated you horribly, in ways I would not dare treat anyone else, though no one is dearer to me than you. I have struck you in anger. I have called you a coward and challenged your integrity.  I have created havoc around me and expected you to pick up the pieces, and then despised you for doing so. I did all of this in the knowledge you would forgive me, because you always do.  Everyone knows that Elrohir always forgives!  Only now do I see what a gift that is, one I do not deserve. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” said Elladan hoarsely. “I cannot even earn it, for there is no way for me to undo the hurt I have caused you.  I beg you, Elrohir, to forgive me and give me another chance to be your brother.”

Elladan was weeping openly when he finished, truly broken and humble, all vestiges of pride and anger gone.  Elrond, though, watched Elrohir intently.  He felt Arwen’s grip on his hands tighten as she also waited to see if Elrohir truly understood.

“I cannot not forgive you, Elladan, for I drove you to it!” cried Elrohir softly. He tried to rise and could not, and Elrond moved forward to assist him when he saw the flicker of pain cross his face. “I do see, Adar.” He turned back to Elladan.  “I wanted you to punish me. I wanted you to expend your anger on me, for I had failed you as well as Naneth. Each time you lashed out at me I thought part of my debt to you was paid, but you see clearer than me: I cannot ever pay off that debt. I cannot undo the hurt I caused. I forgive you. Please forgive me, Elladan.”

Elrond watched as Elladan rose and carefully slid his arms around his twin and held him. As Elrohir’s tears wet his tunic, his splashed on to his brother’s head.  Relieved, Elrond lifted his head as the terrible weight that had burdened him dissipated into the air, washed away by the gently falling rain outside the balcony.  The air smelled clean and fresh, and then the clouds cleared and the stars appeared, and he wondered if they had ever shone so brightly. Eärendil appeared, and as was his wont occasionally, he dipped low over Imladris. As the stars had known of the distress and grief of Imladris, on this night they knew of the love and peace that again resided there.

He felt Arwen at his side and wrapped his arms around her. In a manner much like her mother, despite being held she imparted comfort to him. From her poured a gentle stream of praise and love that encouraged him and uplifted him.  She depended on him, loved him, and there was no weight to that burden, only joy.

Looking at his sons, he saw the physical and emotional exhaustion in Elrohir.  He had not eaten or drunk anything to strengthen him, and the confrontation with his father and sister and brother had drained him. Yet when their eyes met, Elrohir’s reflected the peace of his soul.

Arwen read his thoughts and disengaged herself from him to obtain broth and tea for her brother.   When she returned, Elrohir let her feed him and care for him, for he knew it pleased her to do so, and he let Elladan hold him as he drifted into an easy sleep.  The Elrohir they had known, the brother who could not deny his siblings anything, especially his heart, was returned to them.

“Adar?”

Elrond focused on his daughter as her call invaded her thoughts.  She laughed softly, then took his hand. He looked at his sons, now both soundly sleeping, and allowed himself to be led from the healing rooms back to his own chambers.  She sat on the edge of his bed next to him, then bent to kiss him.  “Thank you, Adar, for bringing them home.”

“They brought themselves home,” replied Elrond. “We had only to wait.”

“You are the lamp that lit their path and the beacon that guided them home,” corrected Arwen.  “Always you have said that Celebrían was the light of Imladris and she was the warm fire and heart that made all feel welcome.  But yours is the light that guides those in need to your door and helps them to find their way.”  She stood and lowered the lamp on the table near his bed. “Pleasant dreams, Adar.”

Elrond felt Celebrían’s presence the moment he entered the Path of Dreams.  She walked to him bathed in a golden light that warmed his heart, and in her eyes was love without end. He wrapped his arms about her and felt her joy surround him.  “I am home,” sang their hearts.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond entered Frodo’s room just after Anor rose. Sam slept in the chair at the bedside, and Elrond was careful not to wake him.  Mithrandir was already present, waiting in watchful silence.  Elrond examined Frodo’s wound, finding the skin warm to the touch, but the translucence remained. It was faint, and he thought it unlikely that any mortal would note the clear light that shone softly from him.

“What does that portend for his fate?” asked Mithrandir.

“Nothing evil,” answered Elrond, “but to what end it will lead him I do not know. Already his suffering has deepened his knowledge of the spirit, though he may not realize it yet.” He placed Frodo’s arm back down at his side and pulled the sheet up to cover him again. “He is stronger than he appears, yet care should be taken to not upset him with news or remembrances that may awaken his memories or the evil that hangs from his neck.  When he is strong enough, we shall hold council to discuss the fate of the One.”

Mithrandir lifted a brow in question. “Do you think he can be parted from it?”

“Yes, like Bilbo, with aid he could.” Elrond pondered the hobbit for a long moment, then visions filled his mind, of Orodruin and its fires, and the dark shadows of Mordor.  The smallest of beacons drew his eye, visible against the blackness of that land, though faint, but it grew in strength and proportion the closer it came to the red-hot fires that erupted from deep within the mountain. “The question is should he part from it at this time?”

* * * * *

 Thank you to Daw and Karri for beta reading this chapter