“Estel?” Elladan called, knocking lightly on the door to his brother’s room, “Estel are you in there?” When he received no answer he knocked again, harder. “Estel!” Still no answer. “ESTEL!” He yelled, receiving odd looks from the elves in the corridor. Frowning to himself, and uttering threats that he had no intention of carrying out with Estel in this much pain, he decided to change his methods.

“Estel, if you do not either open this door, or at the very least tell me I can come in, I am breaking it down regardless of what you may be doing!” Elladan could not believe that Estel had locked the door; he had never shut anyone out for this long before now. Trying the door again, he turned the handle and tugged hard. Alternately pushing and pulling on it, it budged not an inch; he sighed. Leaning against the door, he pressed one of his ears against the smooth wood, listening for any sign of his brother. He could hear nothing over the pounding of the wind and the lashing of the rain. Growling, he shook at the door again, until finally all patience deserted him.

Unclasping his brooch he knelt in front of the lock carefully inserting the point into the gap, feeling for the tumbler. Concentrating hard, ignoring the staring of the elves passing by, he manipulated the pin given him by his father. Unable to get the correct angle he stood up on his knees, leaning against the door as he redoubled his attempts to open the lock. Stubbornly it withstood his attempts, and Elladan bitterly cursed himself for never having mastered this skill as well as his brothers; finally, he felt the pins align, and the lock give. Not expecting it, Elladan fell forwards as the door swung open. Picking himself of the floor, he looked around.

“Estel?” he called, casting a swift look around the room, “are you in here?”

His eyes roamed over the scattered contents of the room; seeing the clothing and objects strewn over the floor, sheets and bed covers flapping loosely in the gale blowing through the open balcony doors. His eyes widened at the sight, Estel must have been truly distraught if he treated his possessions in this manner. Aragorn valued everything he owned, being careful to preserve it for as long as possible before replacing it. Dragging his mind away from the dispersed objects, he looked past them, searching for the human.

It never once occurred to Elladan that his brother might not be hiding in here, nursing his wounds. Estel would not leave whilst Legolas was so ill, especially not while he was dying. If Aragorn conformed to his usual behaviour, he would spend every remaining minute with his friend, joking talking or just sitting in silence. Elladan sighed, he knew Estel would not give up on any of his family or friends; he had proven that on many occasions before now. No matter the cost to him physically or emotionally, Estel would remain at his friends’ sides.

‘Besides,’ thought Elladan, ‘He has nowhere else to go, he has to be here somewhere.’

Stirring from his thoughts, he pushed himself to his feet, and glanced swiftly around. He grew disturbed, as he was unable to see Aragorn anywhere in the room. It was scarce large enough to hide anything and short of crawling underneath the bed, there was no place for him to flee.

Smiling to himself, Elladan recalled a young human boy hiding under the bed after a fight and himself having to crawl in there after him, to calm him down. Shaking the image away, he decided against falling to the floor once again to check. Kicking a boot under the bed, he watched it come out the other side. Aragorn was obviously not concealed there then. An extra-strong gust of wind swung the open doors to the balcony against the wall, startling Elladan, who spun around, placing a hand to his blade, only to recall that he never wore it within the safety of his father’s house.

Staring out at the wall of rain cascading towards him, he felt the twinge of anxiety blossoming. Hastening over to the doors, he peered out, shielding his eyes against the force of the water, scarce able to see to the edge of the balcony. Elladan sighed in relief; Estel was not standing out there again. He had doubted that even the human would be foolish enough to sit outside in this weather, but when he pictured Estel’s face at Legolas’ words he knew that his brother would not be thinking clearly, and he had felt the need to check. Closing the doors behind him, struggling against the force of the wind, he lowered the bar and pulled the curtains to, shutting out the tempest. If Estel had been in this room, he would almost certainly have closed those doors, for the torrent was practically flooding the room. His anxiety was becoming full-fledged worry.

Elladan was beginning to doubt that Aragorn had even been in this room, for there was no sign of the human’s presence, and the balcony doors were left wide-open from this morn. Elladan’s worry grew into near panic, as he eyed the state of the room. The scattered contents that covered nearly every surface could, conceivably, have been disturbed by the gale that had been gusting ceaselessly through this room, for they certainly were not in the usual state. Estel may not have been as orderly as the elves, but he was far distant from slovenly habits, and this mess was thoroughly uncharacteristic of him. What disturbed him though was the state of the drawers; even a strong wind was not intelligent enough to pull open a set of drawers, particularly as they opened into the wind.

Elladan’s feet moved of their own will, hastening him towards the object of his fears. As he rummaged through the drawers judging if anything was missing, he sighed in relief as little seemed to have been touched. Holding a hand over his heart, Elladan lowered his head in relief, for a minute he had feared that the human was in such a disturbed frame of mind that he had run off. With his head lowered in relief, Elladan caught sight of a wisp of smoke rising from the fireplace.

Tracking the smoke back to its source Elladan knelt down, mindless of the pool of water he found himself in, as he reached a hand into the doused flame. Grasping something within gentle fingers, he pulled out a charred, soot-stained book; originally bound in leather, now mostly burnt. Rubbing delicately along what remained of the cover, Elladan felt a sense of foreboding strike him deeply, he had seen this volume before, on many an occasion. Estel was never parted far from it, except when he ventured into the wild, preferring not to risk damage to it. He had once heard his youngest brother describe the contents as some of the most precious things he owned; they contained all his memories.

Opening up the book Elladan cringed as the cover fell apart in his hands; most of the pages within were not much better. As he turned from page to page he blinked back tears as the drawings, and the memories they contained, scattered to the ground as ash; eroded by both heat and flame. His hand settled upon one drawing that was nearly untouched, just a little licked with black at the edges. It was a sketch of the three of them, Estel, Elrohir and himself; obviously it had been worked by their father when the three of them had been playing around some time. His reminiscent smile faded, as he realised that Aragorn would not have destroyed these images unless he was seriously upset and angry, and with the human in that frame of mind, he could have done anything. Suddenly finding his brother became of the utmost importance to him, and he fled the room hunting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrond was startled back to consciousness by the sound of something falling. His head felt stuffed with fatigue; despite his brief rest the storm in his mind still raged, albeit more calmly than before. Glorfindel had, apparently, been correct in his assessment that the Lord of Rivendell needed time away from worries, to rest. Elrond could feel the exhaustion hovering just beyond his awareness. His muscles, which had been taking a very sore treating just recently from his unusual sleeping positions, ached. Removing his hands from beneath his head, he twisted them behind to massage away at the tension in his neck and shoulders. Stretching, he laid his head back down, and found himself drifting off to sleep once more. As he sank into the mattress his semi-alert mind registered a problem.

Raising his head, he felt along the bed with his hand, registering no change in the tension of the blanket, no vibration at all. The regular rise and fall of Legolas’ breath was no longer there. He tasted bile in the back of his throat at the thought of the elf lying here cooling while he slept peacefully at his side. Rapidly blinking away tears, Elrond was horrified that Legolas had passed away alone, without anyone at his side to comfort him and bid him farewell. His breath hitched as he realised that it would fall to him to inform his sons that Legolas had left for the Halls of Mandos, while they had not been present. The thought of informing Estel that Legolas had passed beyond the realms of Arda, while he had been absent, was almost unthinkable to him.

Estel’s grief would be overwhelming, and undoubtedly his guilt would be astronomically high as well. The whole realm would be in mourning, for none among them had any foul thoughts of the fair elf. He groaned as another onerous duty occurred to him, and this one was far more troubling to him. Thranduil must be informed of the demise of the only heir to Mirkwood’s throne, and true to his character, he would require a full inquiry into the events leading up to his son’s death. Elrond rubbed at his eyes, worrying what further damage that situation would do to Estel. The tension between the two realms had grown over the years, as evil ever encroached on lands undefended by elven magics. The recent friendship that had sprung up between the elf and the human had gone a long way towards mending these differences, and the relationship between the two elven-lords was as close as could be. Unfortunately this current tragedy may have destroyed the very foundation upon which their friendship was built, and had certainly destroyed the two founding blocks.

Sighing Elrond reached out, pushing down with his hands, to raise himself from the bed. He could not delay his duties any longer, and must rise to deal with Legolas, and the consequences of his death. Lifting his head, he sensed a peculiar burning smell, and inwardly groaned. One of his sons must have been preparing some food, and had left it on the fire when they left; it had only now begun to burn. His weary mind stressed at his sons’ carelessness; the house could have burned down around them, and likely no one would notice.

Rising again, he paused. Something about the situation did not ring true for him; lying there, considering all aspects, it hit him. He had slept for a longer time than would have been required for any food to have been reduced to a cinder, and the smell would surely have wakened him earlier. Pondering on the case some more, he sank back down in relief, as he reached the conclusion that Legolas must have wakened early and grown hungry, falling back asleep before he completed his meal. Elrond could feel the tension lifting off him as he realised that this meant Legolas was alive, and in a somewhat better condition than he had expected. Rucin appeared to induce a general lack of self-awareness, including that of the need for food or sleep. The depression resulting in an abstinence from Rucin caused fatigue, and a lack of hunger; nausea was also present. Elrond had been anticipating the need to force-feed the prince, an unpleasant duty, which he was pleased might be avoided for some time yet. Realising that it would not do Legolas any good to be lying uncovered, on what was likely a cold floor, Elrond shook his head to wake himself up, and began to rise to his feet.

Pushing his upper body upwards, he lifted his head, stretching out the muscles in his neck. Glancing at the bed, he was relived to find that there was not a still, cold figure lying there. No matter what his logic had informed him, there was always a small place in his heart that feared the worst. Turning from the bed in a mixture of relief and concern, Elrond perceived a reclining figure in front of the fire, back to him. His heart lowered again; the withdrawal from the Rucin still tormented the elf. He had obviously begun to prepare some food, and had been forced to lie down and rest, or had passed out from the energy used. Taking a few steps towards the fireplace, he winced as his joints cracked at the motion; he had never felt so old before.

‘Perhaps I should have left Arda some time ago,’ he mused.

Rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension, he almost staggered over to the unconscious figure, moving as stiffly as he felt. As he approached his grey eyes dimmed with sorrow “Ah Legolas,” he whispered, bending down behind the prince placing a hand at the base of the elf’s neck, “what I would give that this had never happened to you.” Running his fingers along the smooth golden hair splayed out upon the intricately woven rug he lowered his hand, detecting an abnormally fast pulse. “I believe that there is nothing I would rather see at this moment, than every leaf of this accursed plant destroyed.”

Turning the elf’s face towards him, he found himself gazing into a pair of extremely glazed eyes, bloodshot from their proximity to the smoke from the fire. Senses alert, he perceived two things at once. The first was that Legolas’ hand was thrust firmly in the flames, and the second was that an insanely gleeful grin was plastered across the blond elf’s face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Instantly, Elrond grasped hold of Legolas’ arm, pulling it from the flames. Patting out the fire, which still licked along his sleeve, Elrond’s keen nose detected a hidden smell buried beneath the stench of burning flesh. With a roar of rage, he upended the boiling Rucin into the fire, watching as the flames faltered under the deluge, nearly extinguishing, but struggled onwards. Elrond busied himself with tending to Legolas’ hand, accompanied by the cracking and hissing as the juices from the plant were boiled by the heat.

The instant Legolas heard the juices popping he snapped out of his lethargy. With a roar of anger and despair he launched himself, from Elrond’s grasp, at the fire, frantically trying to dig the Rucin out of the flames. Elrond caught him before he could touch the burning wood, and held him down as the blond elf struggled desperately against him.

“Let me go!” roared Legolas, using every trick and attack within his power to evade the elder elf’s grasp. He was not able to reach the fire though. Elrond was a firm, immoveable object when he chose to be, and he was making full use of all his strength right now. Legolas eventually ceded his defeat when he inadvertently placed too much pressure on his seared hand and collapsed in pain, clutching it to him.

As the pain faded he looked around, confused. “How…why?” Legolas looked puzzled, unable to recall when this injury had occurred. He looked at Elrond, bewildered as the Lord of Imladris leaned forward, moving carefully from stiffness and the new bruises that he had acquired, to gently grasp his arm above the burn.

“Hush Legolas,” he said, hunting round for something to treat the wound with, “stay here and do not move this arm until I get back with some water.”

Legolas pulled Elrond back down, a look of panic in his eyes.

“What is it?” Elrond asked. “I will be but a moment, there are sure to be jugs of water in an adjacent room, or at the worst I can send someone to fetch one. I shall be gone moments only.”

“Do not leave me here,” Legolas pleaded, looking fearfully at the Rucin. “Do not leave me alone with that…thing. I cannot control my actions; it tempts me.”

“Legolas,” Elrond sighed, “I must seek medicines for this wound; burns are serious injuries.”

Legolas turned panicked eyes upon the elven lord. “There are Estel’s medicaments somewhere here, use those. But please, do not leave me near the Rucin.” He gasped out the name, teeth clenched in rage. “It has a power over me that I do not care for.” He stared at his shrivelled, blackened hand, in disgust.

Elrond sighed. Spying Estel’s water bottle he brought it near, emptying what little water remained onto Legolas’ hand, to cool the burning. The elf hissed in agonised pain as it came in contact with his ruined flesh. Elrond caught the prince’s burned hand between his own trembling ones, gazing steadily into Legolas’ eyes, providing him with some focus through the pain. When Legolas’ muscles began to uncoil, indicating that the elf was mastering the pain, Elrond selected a small tube of salve from amongst the scattered assortment around him, and rubbed it gently into Legolas’ damaged skin.

Legolas winced, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony. Despite the flames being extinguished, he felt as though his hand was being consumed by fire. Eventually the soothing feel of the salve began to alleviate some of the pain, and he relaxed in relief. Elrond took the opportunity to splint the hand to prevent the muscles from staying permanently contracted. He lightly wrapped the wound in a specially coated bandage, to prevent the skin from sticking to it, and to allow room for the swelling that would undoubtedly take place. Searching around, he found a piece of cloth that would serve nicely as a sling to keep the arm elevated, and the swelling down as much as possible.

While he waited for Legolas to regain consciousness, Elrond began to collect up the dispersed herbs and medical equipment that had somehow become spread all over the place. Elrond suspected Legolas had been the culprit. Gathering up the herbs, he sealed them back into their delicate pouches, tracing the stitching of one, recalling the care and concentration that Estel had taken to make them. His wandering hand detected another small pile of leaves that he had previously missed, and he sighed; all the pouches had just been packed away inside their case.

Opening a trembling hand, he saw the soft green leaves, framed by a delicate purple/white flower, identifying it as Rucin. A pleasant aroma, of summer fruits and a deep earthiness, belied its deadly effects. Elrond was nearly overwhelmed by a powerful urge to fling them into the fire, and watch them burn. His fingers clenched tightly around the Rucin bundle, forcibly squeezing them together, crushing them. Holding his hand over the fire, he wavered, torn between the desire to wipe this accursed plant from the very face of Arda, whilst knowing that it would be vital in prolonging Legolas’ stay upon the earth.

Memories assailed him as he crouched, poised in front of the fire. The flames danced, reflecting on his pale skin, burning in his eyes, as a soft tear glided its way along the curves of his cheek. “Meleth nin,” he groaned, lowering his eyelids, and grasping a picture of her face once more in his memory.

Clasping the Rucin to his chest, he sobbed. Its very presence reminding of things he had long repressed.

Elrond jumped, startled out of his reverie as the leaves withering in the fire pit crackled and popped. He stared hard at them, as they shrivelled and shrank, curling up as the flames bit into them. Blinking away his tears, he watched them shrinking away to ash, utterly destroyed. Normally a preserver of life in all its forms, this was one plant that Elrond did not regret seeing perish.

Drawing his eyes away from the fire, he stared at the Rucin still held within his palm. He could see the care Estel had taken, when trimming the leaves from the stem, to keep the ends neat, causing less damage. The leaves were of different shapes and ages, and slightly different hues of colour indicating that they had been collected from more than one plant. For once Elrond regretted that Estel had such an excellent memory for his teachings. He would have preferred it if Estel had pulled the plants haphazardly from the ground, subsequently trampling them into oblivion, setting fire to the very ground they had touched.

Directly after the first incident with Rucin, Elrond had bade Glorfindel to rid Imladris of Rucin, and to burn it out for several leagues further, for he wished never to hear of this plant again. Fortunately it was not an abundant plant, and was in fact quite rare. Few had even heard of it before, and it was not considered native to Eriador, conditions here being intolerant to its flourishing.

Sighing, Elrond pushed the returning memories to the back of his mind, concentrating on wrapping up the Rucin in a rag he conveniently found on the floor. As much as he may wish it destroyed, he knew that Estel would not. If he knew his son, he would use every waking moment in search of a cure for Legolas, as he too had tried once. Although the Rucin was damaging in the long-term, it would at least allow Estel some time to search for a cure before the damage settled in; the effects were cumulative.

Elrond smiled a mixture of pride and sorrow as he reflected how similar he and Estel were. He knew that Estel’s stubbornness and abundance of hope would provide him with much anguish and guilt in his search for a cure. He had experienced these soul-staining emotions himself, and wished to spare his son the pain of them. As he thought of Estel, he sighed again, rising to his feet. It was long past time that he had a talk with the boy; he needed to explain to him exactly what would happen with Legolas’ condition, and above all he needed to apologise. Estel could not have known that the Rucin would provoke this effect in elves, for he himself had tried to hide this fact. Elrond swallowed, knowing that he would have to inform Estel of the previous victim, and his role in her death; it was only fair after his treatment of the human. He sighed.

“What is wrong?” came Legolas’ tired voice.

Spinning around, Elrond noticed that Legolas’ eyes were on the Rucin. Hurriedly pocketing the bundle he turned to the reclining elf. Extending his hand to assist him to his feet, Elrond determined that he would need to keep a close watch on him now, and decided to take him with him to see Estel.

“Come,” he said, gently raising the injured elf, steadying him as he trembled, “I must seek Estel, and you will come with me.” The final part of his sentence was said in a firm voice, which not even Legolas wished to defy.

As he was turned towards the door, a bright flash of lightning, sparked Legolas’ memory of a mounted figure, moving against the shadows of the storm, and he turned to Lord Elrond with a gasp. “Aragorn has gone! I saw him, he has ridden out into this storm.”

Elrond frowned, concern and anger duelling for dominance. He knew the human had been distraught earlier, but surely not enough to flee his home, and in such weather. Elrond shuddered at the thought of Estel wandering the woods in this storm. Glancing back at Estel’s pack, Elrond’s worry grew still further as he realised his son was unprovisioned and alone. With a quick glance at Legolas, and the guilt on his face, Elrond saw that the elf shared his worry and his blame. Knowing that the Rucin could have influenced Legolas’ memory, he decided that he needed to ascertain for himself whether Estel had truly left. Elrond sighed, and led the way to the human’s chambers.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~

Elladan hastened along the corridor, large strides carrying him along at pace, as he diligently searched all the places where his brother usually retired to think and compose himself. Every few steps he would call out Estel’s name, his voice rising in pitch as his worry and anger increased. When he had entered every room along the corridor, he paused to rethink his approach. Were he to search every room alone, it would take several hours; he needed to alert his twin. He briefly considered appealing for his father’s help, but was reluctant to lay any more worries upon his burdened shoulders at the present time. Estel had most likely retreated to a place of solitude where he would wallow away in his grief, which, though worrying, was not cause enough to add to his Ada’s distresses. He found himself passing Glorfindel’s door, and he peeked inside to check on the elf, subconsciously desiring his counsel and assistance in this matter. Fortunately for the blond elf, the drugs he had consumed were still effective, holding him beneath the threshold of consciousness. Elladan sighed, as much as it would have pained Glorfindel to assist him, Elladan felt in need of guidance, as he had never before done so.

Never before had he seen his father express such anger, such helpless fear. Elrond had always been the calm, wise leader, knowing what needed doing and what was the best and most efficient way of doing it. His decisions and his word were trusted. Although Elladan, as Elrond’s eldest son, had inherited responsibilities and was an experienced captain in Imladris guard, he had always had his father as a final consultant should he be needed. It was unnerving to find that he was placed in the position of leader of the house of Elrond, albeit temporarily, without any preparation or encouragement. Gently closing the door behind him, he leaned back against the wall, resting his head backwards.

Shutting his eyes and rubbing them with one hand, he attempted to massage away the growing headache. Needless to say the worry over Estel was only adding to this, and the thought of the human’s pain was enough to thrust him out of his self-pity. Pushing himself away from the wall he squared his shoulders, took in a deep breath and held it. Hoping to still the flutters deep in the pit of his stomach. Pushing his concerns to the back of his mind, Elladan strode forward.

Approaching the nearest elf, he asked, “Have you seen my brother?” At the elf’s negative headshake, he continued on down the corridor, asking everyone he met, safe in the knowledge that at least some of them would remember he had been looking for Estel, and if they saw him they would alert him to his whereabouts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Erestor, have you seen my brother?” Elladan asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I have not seen master Elrohir this day, Elladan, it is most unusual for you two to be separated. Perhaps he is where you left him.” Erestor’s peculiar brand of humour did nothing to cool down Elladan’s ill temper.

“I did not mean my twin, I am talking of Estel. Father and he have had an altercation, which has only been compounded by Legolas’ condition. I fear that he may have holed up somewhere, and is only making his situation worse.” Elladan rubbed at his headache.

“Perhaps he is with Elrohir?” Erestor suggested calmly, inwardly alarmed at the state of the heir to Imladris and what that boded for Legolas’ health. “Have you looked for him?”

Elladan mentally kicked himself for not realising that himself. Of course Estel would be with Elrohir, had he not sent his twin to find him earlier? It was likely that Elrohir had taken Estel somewhere less miserable than his room…it was hardly the place for comfort with Estel’s memories of last night still fresh in his head. Nodding his head to Erestor, he contemplated asking for assistance with finding his brother, but remembering the scathing remarks of just before, he nodded his thanks and continued along the hallway, asking again if anyone had seen his brothers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Elrohir?” Elladan called out, bursting in through his father’s study’s door, “Estel? Are you in here?” He stopped running, as he saw his twin seated in front of the fireplace, his back to the door. “Elrohir! At last! I have been searching this house for you and Estel, how is he.” Stopping to catch his breath he looked around the room, searching for where the human may be seated. “Elrohir?” He asked, a hint of suspicion entering his voice, “where is Estel? Have you not seen him?” Stepping forward as he got no response, his eyes narrowed in fear. “Elrohir, have you seen our brother?”

He leaned forward and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, shaking him lightly to drag him out of his contemplation. He grew worried as this failed to elicit a response, and he stepped lightly passed him, swinging around to face him. He knelt down on the floor, shocked at the expression on his twins face. Feeling the fire warm upon his back, he edged forward placing one hand on his brother’s chest, and the other cupping his chin. He was shocked to feel the wetness of tears in his hand, and he captured his brother’s eyes, heart sinking at the grief he saw there.

“Ro?” He whispered, afraid to speak any louder, though he knew not why, “what has happened? Is it Estel?” Elladan felt his brother’s throat muscles working as he swallowed hard, suppressing another sob. From where he sat he could see the minute shivers that wracked his brother’s body, and the knuckles that were whitened from being clenched so hard. “Ro?” He sat on the arm of the chair, drawing his twin close to him, one hand running soothing strokes through his hair. “What has happened?” As Elrohir just stared blankly down at the paper in his hand, he once more lifted his brother’s face up to his, wincing as his eyes took in the unnatural pallor. “Ro please!”

Elrohir’s eyes dropped back to the paper in his hands. Slowly unclenching fingers locked with tension, he handed the paper over to his brother, leaning his head against the backrest, and staring up at him. Elladan was transfixed as the paper trembled its way towards him, a sense of foreboding darkening his heart. He reached out an identical hand, trembling as much as his brother’s was, and unfolded the tattered missive.

Keeping one hand on his brother’s shoulder he quickly scanned the letters, wincing at the suffering evident in both victim and scribe. Scrolling down he inhaled sharply, eyes re-reading the final sentence over and over. Lowering his shaking hand, he stared blankly at the paper before turning his gaze back to his brother’s tormented eyes.

“Ro?” He whispered, brokenly. “Is it true?” He saw the truth in his twin’s dark eyes, but was unwilling to accept it. “Was it her Ada poisoned?”

Elrohir nodded. “Ai, it was,” he sobbed. “Ada poisoned Ammë!”