Aragorn lay still, enclosed by Elrohir’s arm, feigning sleep. He was mulling over the conversation he had heard. His father had not forgiven him this morning, as he had secretly hoped; worse, much worse, he still blamed him for Legolas’ condition. The only father he had ever known had said he had deserved to suffer like this. That was not the behaviour of the father he knew and loved. Elrond would never act like this unless something was terribly wrong with Legolas, yet the twins had said this was not the case. It made no sense.

Taking comfort in Elrohir’s earlier words to him, Estel had managed to snatch a few brief moments of rest, which had helped ease him immensely. Woken by the sound of raised, angry voices his still sleep-fuddled mind at first thought the twins were yelling at him. Alas no, he had awakened to hear his worse fears justified; Elrond was blaming him still. No longer could he console himself with the belief that those words had been a result of the stresses and fears of the night previous; harsh words, but ultimately meaningless. No, Elladan’s news had crushed the smallest of hopes left to him.

Those words that had been painful last night, had, after such a sleepless night left him so openly vulnerable, been excruciating. Aragorn was no fool, he had enough wits about him to realise that he frequently assumed responsibility for events over which he had no control; it was part of his nature. It mattered not how many times he was told he was not at fault, until all injuries were healed and his self-imposed penance over, Estel would carry his guilt, weighted down by it. But this situation was far worse than previous times, this time he was not hearing voices trying to convince him of his innocence. This time he was being accused, even as he was accusing himself. This time there was not even the slightest doubt of his culpability. Elrond blamed him, and he was never wrong.

Aragorn lay there, stunned into immobility. His world was literally falling to pieces. He could not believe that his father would continue to blame him for no reason, yet that is what seemed to be happening. He held little belief in Elladan’s theory about the ring controlling his father; it was utterly ridiculous after all this time that it would only now begin to have an effect. Surely it was. Elrohir’s theory about Legolas was horrifying him. Should the elf be seriously ill, it would be completely his fault. Despite the reassurance of his brothers he was unable to completely discount it. Of the two options presented to him, he was unable to determine which was the worst. One way Legolas was dying or at least very near death, and it would be all his fault; the other way, he was being put through all this for no reason other than the whim of a ring. If the second option was true, then his father suffered agonies trying to control the ring’s effects, while all he was doing do was moping about. Either way he had failed his friend and father, and endangered them with his folly. Involuntarily his anguish caused him to twitch in distress.

“Estel?” His eyelids flickered at the sound of Elladan’s whisper.

“I think he’s dreaming,” the younger twin responded, somewhat louder.

‘Oh, if only,’ thought Aragorn. ‘This is definitely a nightmare.’

“Be quiet Elrohir you will wake him.” Elladan again, attempting to silence his brother.

‘I would that were possible. There is nothing I would not give to wake up from this,’ Aragorn struggled to keep his face clear of the depression which assailed him.

“I think he already is awake, and is trying to disguise it. Estel are you awake?” asked Elrohir.

Aragorn kept silent, unwilling to betray his knowledge of their conversation. ‘It will not do to show them that I have overheard, it will only cause them to worry more, and I have already caused them far more concern over me than I deserve,’ he thought.

An annoying rocking, motion forced him to open his eyes. Managing to produce a sleepy glare at Elrohir he growled, voice hoarse from emotion. “Had your voices not already awakened me then your shaking of me certainly would have. I thought you wanted me to rest?”

Both twins glanced away, embarrassed, hearing exhaustion in his rough voice. Elrohir rested his hand on Aragorn’s forehead, checking for fever. “You nearly jerked yourself onto the floor, I feared that you were having bad dreams again.”

Estel pushed away at his brother’s hand, in irritation. “I am not feverish, and I was not dreaming, it was just a muscle twitching. It is perfectly normal and happens quite frequently.”

‘They will believe that. All elves hold mortals to be weaker than them. A muscle spasm is a very mortal thing,’ he sighed.

Elladan, who from his perch on the railing had been silently observing the two, rose up. Sweeping Estel’s feet onto the floor to make room, he seated himself on the other side of the human. Reaching out with one hand and turning his youngest brother to face him, he looked intently into the grey eyes, now rubbed almost colourless by the events. Estel tried to evade his stare, knowing that his brother was likely to perceive the truth, despite his previous statement. With a quiet sigh he did the only thing he could to hide the truth, and buried his head in his brother’s chest, feeling the strong arms wrap around him, the soft elvish material cool against his skin. Despite himself, he enjoyed the comfort of being held, of feeling safe, and loved. Knowing he was undeserving he tried to pull away but was held tighter by Elladan. A firm hand on his back, holding him down prevented him from moving backwards.

“You heard everything we just said didn’t you?” Elrohir spoke rhetorically. When Aragorn was unable to form a response, the twins had their answer.

Elladan rested his right cheek on the crown of Aragorn’s head, whispering, “Oh Estel, I am sorry, I did not wish for you to overhear me rant about Adar. There was no need for you to hear of what he mistakenly believes to be true. I should have been more thoughtful, it’s my fault.” As Elladan spoke, Elrohir was agreeing, the hand upon his back stroking calming circles.

Twisting in his brothers’ grips, so he could look them in the eyes, he gaped open-mouthed at Elladan. “What are you apologising for, you could not have known that I would waken then. The fault is not yours, I am fully aware that it is mine, you do not have to pretend with me.”

“Estel, did you not listen to what we were saying while you practised your deception? We do not agree that you are responsible for any of this. Father is wrong to blame you,” Elladan exclaimed.

Aragorn despaired. “When have you ever known Lord Elrond to be wrong?”

All were silent at this, they had never experienced him to be in the wrong, and yet he must be, else the situation was too dire to imagine. Their introspection stopped abruptly, as Estel shivered in spite of the powerful sun above. Elrohir’s hand was removed, and replaced with the coarse woven blanket, draped around his shoulders and tucked in.

“I am not an infant of two who needs to be coddled by either of you.” His words were echoed by the thought that he did not deserve such attention.

“If we do not look after you now, after a night spent out here, then you will get sick. I do not think you would like to be put on bed rest as Legolas is?” At Aragorn’s headshake he continued. “Besides, we love you, and we don’t like to see you hurting.”

Aragorn sighed deeply at this statement, and his beseeching eyes cut a hole right through the twins’ hearts. “Please stop. Father is never wrong; if he blames me then I am at fault and am not deserving of your sympathy.”

Rushing to silence these thoughts, the twins spoke over each other. “Estel he is wrong!”

“Do not blame yourself, I thought I had settled this earlier!”

Estel gazed up at his brothers, wrapped closely in their embrace. “If I am not wrong then the alternative is far worse. I would not like to contemplate the thought that Legolas is dying, especially not by my hand.”

Elladan hugged him close, willing Estel to believe him. “Legolas is not dying, father said so last night, and he reiterated it this morning.”

“Among other things he should not have,” Elrohir muttered quietly to himself.

“Elrohir, we are all well aware of father’s comments, now is not the time to bring them up,” Elladan rebuked.

“Sorry,” Elrohir whispered sheepishly. Obviously he hadn’t been as quiet as he had thought.

“We have both checked on Legolas this morning, and I promise you he is in relatively good health,” Elladan said. “He had a somewhat more than mild headache, though he did his best not to bother us with it. He has asked for quiet, and something to read, which I will take him when I bring him some food.”

Aragorn raised his head from Elladan’s shoulder at these words, and the shock in his face was plain for all to see. “I have abandoned him! What must he think of me? First I injure him, drug him and injure him further, and now I am neglecting him. ‘Tis a wonder he declares himself my friend at all.” He turned a pleading look upon his brothers then, demanding the truth about Legolas’ condition.

“Is he truly quite well this morning? His injuries do not trouble him, I hope? Has he worried about me? That elf always accepts responsibility for events that are out of his control. Has f…” Aragorn gulped down his distress, finding somewhere within him the strength to pose the question. “Has father examined him? Does he have any special concerns or considerations? Is Legolas awake?”

The glances of admiration at his strength went unnoticed by Aragorn in his fears, which only grew as the twins failed to respond.

“Elladan? Elrohir? Can I see him?” The hoarse desperation in Aragorn’s voice drew the twin’s attention back to him. Perceiving the distress in his features they hurried to reassure him that all was well.

Elladan was exasperated. “Did we not just tell you that Legolas seemed not too bad?”

His sentiment was echoed by his twin. “Do you not listen to us brother? Have we not just answered that?”

Elladan’s gaze softened as he saw how weary the young one looked. “Come, let us go inside, prepare Legolas a meal, and you can take it to him and see for yourself.”

Standing, he held out a hand to Aragorn who was pulled, somewhat unwillingly, to his feet. Correctly interpreting the reason, Elrohir rose and collected what was left of the plate of food he had brought with him.

“I shall return this to the kitchens and bring Legolas’ meal, while you get dressed and try and make yourself presentable.” Pausing at the door to the balcony he turned back. “Eru knows you’ll need all the time we can find!” Elrohir fled after that.

The slightest hints of a smile tugged at the lined weariness that dominated Estel’s features, as Elladan dragged him into his room. As Elrohir was leaving his brother’s chambers, entering the corridor, he heard the two conversing behind him.

“Elladan?”

“Yes, Estel?”

“What happened to your eye?”

He carried on walking, chortling to himself.