Elladan’s Trials, For Estel

Chapter Three

Test of Trials

Our trials are tests; our sorrows pave the way for a fuller life when we have earned it.--Jerome P. Fleishman

Elrond Peredhil allowed himself to drift into a light sleep. As a healer he had trained himself to awaken instantly at the slightest need of his patients, and so it was that the slight whimper from his youngest brought him immediately to wakefulness. He stood up and leaned over Elladan to check on Estel. What he found alarmed him.

He could see that Estel burned with fever and his lip was even more red and puffy. Elrond placed his hand on Estel’s forehead to verify his initial reaction and was surprised at the heat radiating under his hand.

His touch roused the child who looked up at his father with bleary eyes. “Ada?”

At Estel’s spoken word, both twins awoke.

“Ada,” Elrohir breathed, “When did you get home?”

“Ada,” Elladan echoed, “I’m so glad you’re here. Estel…”

“I know, Elladan,” the elf lord interrupted. “Peace, it looks as though you did a fine job with the stitches.”

Elladan seemed slightly unsure of himself. “How do you know it wasn’t Elrohir?”

Elrond just smiled as he reached across his older son to take Estel into his arms. “I know my sons. Elrohir prepared the herbs and poultice, did he not?”

“Yes, I did,” smiled Elrohir fully awake now. “It has been many years since we slept in your bed.”

Elrond smiled as his hand rubbed small soothing circles on Estel’s back. “Yes, not since your mother was here and you were very young Elflings. Those were good times. I would have them again.”

“Ada? Is Estel all right?” questioned Elladan.

Elrond hesitated only a second, knowing Elladan’s tendency to take responsibility for any and everything. “He has a fever, ion nín.”

Elladan jumped up and placed his hand on his baby brother’s forehead. “Valar, Ada, he’s so warm!”

“It will be well, ion nín. You know it is the way of the mortals.”

“What did I miss?” gasped the distressed elf.

Elrond could see the doubt in his son’s eyes. “Elladan,” he assured, “in all likelihood you missed nothing at all.”

“But Estel burns,” argued Elladan.

Elrond wished he could convince his oldest that he bore not fault for the situation. “From what I can see you did an excellent job.”

“Ada?” came the muffled word from Elrond’s shoulder interrupting the hushed conversation between the two immortals.

“Yes, penneth, I am here,” he soothed the child.

“I’m thirsty,” murmured Estel.

“Then we will get you some water to drink. Would you like that?’

The sleepy child just nodded his head and closed his eyes again.

“I will get Estel some water,” volunteered Elrohir as he rose from the bed where he had been listening to the exchange between his older twin and his father.

Elrond sat back down into the overstuffed chair where he had been napping. He settled Estel comfortably in his lap and smiled down at the child while he better examined the stitched cut.

Elladan kneeled beside the chair. “He also has a lump on his head, just above the hairline. Along with a headache, his eyes were dilated and his vision was blurred. We could not give him a sleeping draught because of it, and we kept him awake for another twelve hours.”

Lord Elrond smiled and raised his eyebrow at that. “That must not have been easy.”

Elladan chuckled softly at his father’s massive understatement. When Estel was sleepy their sweet little brother could turn into a raging warg, unhappy with everything. “No, it was not,” agreed Elladan.

The elf lord was pleased to see that his small ploy had worked and Elladan’s spirits were momentarily lifted and diverted from the guilt that he was taking upon himself. His fingers gently probed the lump on Estel’s head as he listened to Elladan.

“It took a trip to the pond, an archery demonstration, a ride on Celos…”

Lord Elrond’s eyebrow took another hike that this bit of information, for Elladan’s stallion Celos was large, fierce, and quite a handful for even Elladan to handle on occasion. Celos and Celon were, of course, identical like their masters. The stallions were snow white and the two of the most powerful Elven horses in Rivendell. The pair had been a begetting day gift for the twins from Gandalf four years ago. Celon was everything that a good Elven horse should be, but Celos seemed to have a mind of his own. Fiercely loyal to Elladan, he still could become feisty when the mood struck him.

Seeing his father’s reaction Elladan hastened to reassure him. “I promise, Ada, Celos was on his best behavior. We only walked gently along the trails to keep Estel awake and interested.”

Elrohir came into the room then carrying a pitcher of water and a goblet for Estel. He poured the glass full for his brother and sat the pitcher down on the bedside table.

Elrond sat up straighter in the chair and spoke gently to Estel. “Here is your water, ion nín.”

Estel smiled weakly at Elrohir as the elf helped him hold the glass to his injured mouth. It was awkward and difficult for the child to drink, but he managed to get some of the precious liquid down his throat.

Lord Elrond was not pleased with how little the child managed to drink. “Estel, try some more. Your throat must be quite dry by now.”

Estel nodded for his father and tried to drink some more. It was obviously painful.

The elf lord rose from the chair with Estel in his arms. “Elladan, take Estel while I make another poultice for his lip.”

Elladan took the boy from his father’s arms.

“Elrohir, come with me please. You can make some tea to lower his fever while I make the poultice.”

Elladan soothed his brother as their father and Elrohir left the room. He couldn’t help but frown at the warmth he felt radiating from Estel. It frightened him more than he cared to admit.

“Dan?” murmured Estel.

“Yes, tithen pen, I’m here,” cooed the twin softly. “Pận natha mae .”

Feverish eyes looked up to meet Elladan’s. “I’m cold.”

“Well now, I believe I can remedy that situation.” Elladan laid Estel back down onto their Ada’s bed and crawled in behind him. Rolling them over onto their sides, he spooned his little brother up against him and pulled up the soft blanket they’d brought in from Estel’s room last night.

Elves did not suffer from the temperatures like humans did, so Lord Elrond had furnished Estel’s room with blankets of the softest and warmest quality possible. The two brothers were now cocooned in Estel’s favorite, a buttery yellow one as soft as the down of a new chick. Estel called it his sunshine blankey. “Better now, little one?” Elladan questioned.

“Um hum,” came the soft response, and Elladan’s chin was bumped as Estel nodded his head up and down.

Estel put his thumb in his mouth but whimpered when pressure was put on his swollen, throbbing lip. He pulled it back out quickly and just kept it close to his chest.

Elladan wished he could grant his brother that small measure of comfort and his heart ached at his inability to do so. “Here Estel,” he purred soothingly has he wrapped his larger hand around that of his little brother.

Chubby little fingers wrapped around the elf’s thumb and brought a smile to the immortal’s face. “Better?” he questioned.

Soft bumps to his chin gave him the affirmative answer he was seeking as the little one nodded again.

Lord Elrond worked efficiently beside Elrohir in his laboratory. As he quickly and skillfully put together the poultice for pain remedy, for he had done so quite frequently over the years for his twins as well as for many warriors, he questioned Elrohir. “How was Estel injured?”

Elrohir sighed softly as he worked to grind the Echinacea root to be added to the tea that he would make next. Waiting to be prepared and included also were the tiny white yarrow flowers. Although quite bitter when put in tea, together the herbs had proven to be effective in reducing fever in humans and especially effective when they had been given to Estel on previous illnesses.

“Estel was taking his nap, Ada, and we were on the archery field. Apparently he had another of his nightmares and was running to find us. Lord Erestor found him at the bottom of the stairs.” Elrohir carefully put down the grated root and turned to face his father. His back rested against the ancient worktable as he pleading eyes sought pardon from his father. “We came in with all speed as soon as we heard his cries, but we were too late to prevent his fall.” A tear slid silently down his cheek as he lowered his head in shame. “He could have been killed. You left him in our care and we fail you both.”

His father’s hand cupped Elrohir’s cheek and gently nudged up the younger elf’s face. The compassion in his Ada’s eyes brought Elrohir in to his father’s healing embrace.

“Elrohir,” he consoled, “I did not question you to lay blame. By ascertaining what happened I hope to understand why he now suffers a fever. That is all.”

Elrohir stepped back and nodded his understanding, though Elrond’s eye could easily see that his son was still troubled. He knew that more than Estel would require healing over this incident and he made a mental note to continue assuring the twins that he laid not blame on them for the accident. In truth he had known the moment he saw his youngest that they would both be filled with guilt over the incident, whether it was their fault or not. It was just how they were with their little brother.

As Elrohir turned back to his herbs, Elrond sighed and returned to making the wintergreen poultice. As he worked with practiced movements, he let his mind drift back to the day when Estel had first entered their lives.

Elrond had been in his study preparing a parchment to be delivered to King Thranduil in Mirkwood when he heard a commotion coming from the front hallway. Sadly it was a familiar, if not completely welcome, sound. With an inward groan he carefully laid down the quill with which he had been writing and leaned back in his chair. Tiredly he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he wondered what trouble his twins had found this time. His hand moved from massaging the bridge of his nose to the taut muscles on the back of his neck as he sought relief from the sudden tension the return of his sons brought.

Oh, he loved his children more than anything else in Arda, but the pain and utter helplessness of seeing his sons being slowly torn apart by their grief and vengeance was becoming almost unbearable. More than anything, he wished that he could help them to understand that their mother’s need to sail to the gray haven was not a rejection of them or their family. Of course they understood that on an intellectual level, but inside their hearts had broken the day that they had rescued Celebrían from the hands of the Orcs and brought her battered and broken body home to Imladris, and it appeared to the elf lord that each new sunrise brought him closer to losing his sons as well. The bright, mischievous young elves who loved to play pranks had been replaced with two battle hardened Elven warriors who had made it their life’s mission to seek out and destroy every Orc in Middle Earth.

Elrond would have embraced that mission as well if it would have brought them peace, but he knew it would not. As an elf many centuries old, he understood that the path they had chosen would only lead his son into more darkness, but, it would seem, he was powerless to make them see that fact. The violence that began so many years ago was still as active today and threatened to destroy his entire family, for his beloved daughter Arwen had chosen to live in Lothlórien with her grandparents rather than remain here where her mother’s memory only caused her regret.

Standing up tiredly and pushing back his desk, Elrond walked from his study to see what he could salvage from this latest trek of his sons. He only hoped their injuries would not be too terribly serious this time.

Entering the hallway he was pleasantly surprised to see that both of his sons appeared healthy and uninjured, though they were both covered in orc blood. However, Elrond could also see red blood mixed in with the black, foul blood of the Yrch.

“Ada,” Elrohir greeted him. “We have news. The ranger’s camp was attacked yesterday. There were many deaths, including, I’m sorry to tell you, that of Arathorn.”

Elrond closed his eyes and absorbed the dreadful news. He shook his head sadly as he looked back to son. “These are evil tidings, indeed; the line of kings is severed then.”

“Not quite,” declared Elladan, as he walked over to reveal a tiny bundle to his father.

“This is Arathorn’s son, Aragorn. His mother is ill and has been taken to the healing wing.”

Elrond looked at the little boy trembling in his son’s arms. Large, soulful eyes looked out from the blanket in which he’d been wrapped and Elrond could see that his dark hair was a mass of unruly curls. He placed his hand on the baby soft hair and smiled sadly at the two year old. “You are all that is left of the line of kings, little one; that is a huge mantle for one so small.”

Elladan continued to soothe the child in his arms. “He saw his father fall, Ada, and has not spoken a word since. Will you see what you can do with him? Elrohir and I do not know what to do with a child such as this.”

“Of course, ion nín,” Elrond affirmed, as he took the shivering child into his arms. “He is in shock,” the elf lord remarked almost to himself, for his mind was already at work on the best course of action. “Has he any injuries?”

“No,” answered Elladan. “He was kept safe during the attack.”

“Good,” nodded Elrond. “Now, let’s see what we can do for you, little one. Elrohir, will you bring me another blanket, please? Elladan, ask Erestor to prepare some warm milk with cinnamon in it. That should help him to relax.”

“Yes, Ada,” the twins echoed as they left in different directions.

“And sons,” the elf lord added, stopping them both in their tracks, “I suggest you clean up once you have completed your tasks, for your appearance would frighten even one many years older than this child.”

The twins ruefully looked down at their bloodied cloths and nodded their assent.

“Ada,” Elrohir spoke, bringing Elrond back from his mental wanderings. “I have the tea ready.”

“And the poultice is complete as well,” came the reply. “Let us see how your brothers are faring.”

Translations

Celos:  Flowing snow

Celon: Stream flowing from the heights

Avo Osto:  Do not worry

Pận natha mae -  All will be well