“Elladan! Elrohir! Thank the Valar I have found you,” Elrond cried entering his study. Overwhelmed by worry and frustration he failed to notice the glares that were being directed at him, nor did he even pause to wonder why the twins were in his study without his permission. “Something terrible has happened.”

“We know Adar,” Elrohir said, accusingly. “We know everything.”

For a moment Elrond looked confused, if the twins knew that Aragorn had fled the house then why had they not attempted to chase after him. ‘Perhaps they are growing up at last,’ he thought, before dismissing that idea as the utter nonsense it was.

“Then you understand why I must forbid you to ride out,” Elrond stated, opening his mouth to carry on then shutting it as he caught sight of the glares that attacked him. Seating Legolas down on the chair at his desk, he turned away from him and looked over at the twins who still sat huddled together by the fire.

“Elrohir?” he asked, wondering about the assorted papers and the angry looks that rose on his beloved sons’ faces. “Elladan what has happened here?”

It was Elrohir who answered him, his breath still hitching from the flashbacks. “How could you have done this? How could you have let this happen?”

Elrond looked pained, his hand tightening around the edge of the desk, leaving an imprint when he regained enough self-control to step forward. Head bowed, he drew his arms around himself, and shut his eyes searching for the correct words to say.

“It was not my intention for this to happen. I,” he paused rubbing at the ache in his head which was intensifying rapidly, “I never meant to hurt anyone, it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.” He stopped and took a deep breath, fighting to calm down the rising panic. He had already lost one son today, was he going to lose his other two over this as well? “Please,” he begged, “I do not want to lose any of you, you are as dear to me as my wife.”

“Really!” Elrohir cried out “Then how could you poison her like that?”

The room fell into silence then as the twins stared up at their father, deep hurt and deeper betrayal glaring out of their identical grey eyes. Legolas’ eyes lifted to Elrond’s face, and were the blond elf in better shape he would have risen from his chair to place a supporting arm around the white elven-lord.

Trembling like one of the bowers blown around in the storm the night before, Elrond sat back down upon the desk, feeling behind him with shaking hands unsure whether he could trust his senses now. Still reeling from the shock, his eyes never left his sons’ faces, though a dark veil hid his emotions from their eyes.

“Why would you do that to her Adar?” Elladan asked. Elrond winced at the formality in that coldly stated Adar. “Why would you give her that…stuff?” His voice lowered and the hurt was momentarily replaced by confused pain. “And why would you keep it from us?”

Elrond jerked forwards reflexively, every fibre in his body screaming at him to offer comfort to his sons, but at his movement they eyed him suspiciously, drawing closer to one another and further away from him. Elrond’s eyes filmed momentarily, and he was forced to look away to the window. When he answered them, his voice shook with unshed tears.

“I never wanted you to know,” he whispered out in the direction of the window. The heavy clouds were dispersing a little now, and it was even possible to see the faintest hint of sunlight behind the thinning grey. The lightening skies did little to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere within the room.

Turning back to face his sons, a hint of silver gleamed on the top of one cheek. “I did not want you to find out this way,” he sighed. “I didn’t want you to ever find out.”

Succumbing to the fury that boiled inside him at his son’s accusations, he thrust aside everything that was on his desk onto the floor, crying out inarticulately. “How could you accuse me of that Elrohir? How could you think that I did this on purpose? Do you blame your brother for given the Rucin to Legolas?“ Seeing the shocked looks on his son’s faces he knew they did not. “Then why do you blame me?”

Sitting back down, Elrond lowered his head into his hands, wringing his fingers through his tousled hair. “She was in pain,” he whispered. “I thought I was losing her. The poison tore at her body, and the…the orcs tore at her mind. I was helpless.”

Elrond sat up straighter, and his eyes bored into the twin’s hearts. “I heard of this herb from the rangers, it dulls the pain and raises the spirits. It sounded exactly what I needed. I didn’t know it would be addictive. Eru knows I didn’t!” His plea to the twins was doing little to soften the hurt they still felt.

“Valar Elladan,” Elrond called. “You do not remember what it was like…”

“WHAT IT WAS LIKE, ADA?” Elladan cried, rising to his feet and staring back through fiercely clashing eyes. “Of course I remember what it was like!”

Elrohir shot up to stand beside his brother, eyes brimming with pain. “We can never forget Ada; you were not there, you did not see,” he swallowed hard, fighting for control over his voice. “You did not see what they did to her. Did not see her fight against them. Did not hear her scream!” He leaned into his brother for support, memories overwhelming him. “You did not let them take her Ada,” he whispered.

//

After sending the two injured guards on their way home Elladan knelt beside his brother, binding the wound with a torn strip of cloak.

“You should have returned with them,” he said, tying the cloth firmly around Elrohir’s arm, hoping to stop the bleeding. “I cannot tell if there was any poison on the blade, and Ada needs to take a look at it.”

Elrohir blinked himself out of the stupor he had been in ever since he had seen his Ammë dragged away by the orcs, and lifted his eyes to meet his brother’s. Elladan raised a hand and stroked his little brother’s hair out of his eyes, as Elrohir choked out a negative in a tiny voice.

“I have to go Elladan,” he whispered. “She looked right at me, I could see…I could see her and she was afraid. I can’t abandon her; we must get after her.”

He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his brother’s arm. He was led over to the three horses that they had managed to save, and dragged himself into the saddle, aided by a timely shove from his twin. He leaned forwards against the horse’s neck, letting it support most of his weight. His horse instinctively knew that there was something ailing his rider, and was prepared to softened its footfalls, and ready to allow for any loss of balance.

Elladan eyed his brother anxiously. He was torn between wanting to send him away, back to Rivendell for safety, and the desire not to let him out of his sight. It was already bad enough that he had lost his mother on this trip; he knew that he would not be able to cope without his brother either. Forced to appear strong in front of his younger twin and the guard, Elladan urged the three horses out in the direction the orcs had taken their mother.

//

The twins instinctively drew closer together, drawing courage from each other. It was not often that they faced off against their father, knowing that with his greater years he was usually a wise source of knowledge, but in this instance anger took over and their words flew out, heedless of his pain.

“You did not search for her Ada, you remained here, unknowing of the pain she suffered,“ Elrohir whispered, long repressed hurt finding an outlet after centuries. “She cried out in pain and terror while you supped wine.”

“It was up to us to rescue her, you did nothing!” Elladan echoed his brother.

Locked in their own outburst of pain, the twins could not see how Elrond’s face contracted at their every word, how he physically flinched at their accusations.

//

Elladan eyed his twin helplessly. The pain from his shoulder was obviously eating at him; he was slumped lower across his horse’s back, paying little heed to his surroundings, trusting in his brother not to lead them astray. They had been riding for over six hours, and night was beginning to fall. Soon they would have to stop, for the dark would hide the trail, and they would lose time if they veered from it. Elladan was torn; while he loathed the thought of resting while his mother was in danger, he knew his brother was in dire need of a break. Elrohir had refused to stop all day, and was paying the price for it now. The herbs that Elladan had used to dull the pain had worn off, and he could hear his brother gasp at the pain, trying to stifle his moans. He was resolved that the second the last ray of sun fell below the horizon, Elrohir was off that horse and being tended to on the ground.

True to his word Elladan jumped down, bidding his horse to stay put, before jogging over to where his brother had halted and, half-helping, half-lifting him off the horse. Elrohir groaned into his brother’s shoulder, as the change in position caused his head to swim. They had not eaten since the morning, having lost much of their supplies in the battle, and Elladan was regretting it already. Easing his brother down onto a bedroll, hastily laid out by their guard, he propped him up against a convenient log, and held out his water bottle.

Tilting it gently, Elladan dribbled some drops into Elrohir’s mouth, whose eyes had remained shut this whole time. Rummaging in his pack, Elladan produced some more of the herbs, which he quickly crushed between his fingers, and sprinkled into a cup. He filled that with hot water, heating over the small fire that they had hidden well, knowing that Elrohir would need it for medicine and to clean his wound. Elladan lifted the mug up to Elrohir’s face, only for his brother batted it away feebly.

“Ro, you must drink it, it will help with the pain.” Elladan insisted.

“I need to stay awake and help with the watch. There are only the three of us,” Elrohir indicated the remaining guard who was sat some distance away from the pair, staring intensely into the woods.

Elladan scowled at his twin. “You will be of no use to us tomorrow if you are not in any shape to fight. You need to rest tonight, and stop worrying.”

“How can I stop worrying?” Elladan did not answer his brother’s rhetoric, simply pulling him into a tight embrace.

//

Elrond watched his sons through unshed tears, seeing a similar glimmer in their own. He had hated being left behind while they rode out; hated knowing that they could be in danger, but they had insisted. Celebrian had laughed at him, telling him to stop worrying so much, that their sons could not remain as elflings forever, and that he should learn to trust them.

He had not been sipping wine and hosting dinner parties while they travelled, far from it. He had spent most of his time staring anxiously out of windows, listening for the sound of riders returning, despite knowing that it was far too soon to hear any word. It had only been the hand of Glorfindel that had prevented him riding out after them; that and the look of amusement that he knew would be twinkling in Celebrian’s eye at his inability to stop worrying.

//

Elrohir appeared to be no better the next day, but he nevertheless insisted that he was, and dragged himself up on his mount. Elladan watched him as he lay against his horse’s broad back, panting harshly. The elder twin shook his head, ‘is this family cursed with stupidity?’ he wondered.

Finally Elrohir had regained as much balance as he was ever likely to and was sitting up, back ramrod stiff, as though to prove that he was not weak at all. Every time Elladan looked over at him, the younger elf either pretended not to notice, or glared back. The accompanying guard, Lanfir, was the only sensible person there. Keeping his eyes on the tracks they were following, he rode a little way ahead of the group so as not to become embroiled in the family dispute.

“These tracks are several hours old my Lord,” he stated, morosely. He yearned to rescue the Lady of Imladris as much as the sons of Elrond did.

Elladan sighed as Lanfir’s words penetrated Elrohir’s wall of silence, and caused him to quicken his pace. Only the subtle tension in his face and the extra shade of pale that befell him indicated any of the pain the increased speed was causing him. Elladan grew more worried, for the wound should have been healing better than it was, but his brother was putting too much pressure on it. What use he would be when it came to battle, he did not know.

Several hours of hard riding passed on, and darkness drew near again. Elladan felt hope waning in his chest, and he knew that Elrohir was also feeling despair. It was mainly what weighed him down in the saddle.

“We must stop my lords,” the guard said, “it grows too dark to see the tracks.”

Elrohir let out a groan of exasperation, and slid from the saddle before Elladan could dismount and help him. Jumping from his seat, Elladan knelt beside the slumped form of his brother who looked up with a mirthless smile.

“I think perhaps I dismounted too quickly,” Elrohir forced out through clenched teeth, holding his arm closely against his chest.

Elladan forbore to agree to the obvious, concerned with his brother’s health. “Are you hurt?” he asked, knowing from the creases of pain around his twin’s eyes that he was.

“No,” Elrohir answered, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

Elladan sighed, “Come on.” He half-lifted his brother over to a nearby log, and again eased him down. Dishing out the herbs was as painful a process as the last time, and Elrohir insisted that he would not be put to sleep again.

They had been drawing ever closer to the tracks ahead. The orcs hunted on foot, and the elven steeds were able to keep up well, so it was decided that they were too near the encampment to risk having a fire. Elrohir glared at his brother as he approached him, cup in hand. If he had thought the medicine tasted bad the night before, he knew that it would be far worse cold. Deciding that he was not prepared to drink it, he turned his head firmly away and clamped his jaws shut.

Elladan frowned. “Elrohir, do not think I have missed how much pain you are in, you need to drink this.” No response. “Ro,” he said more forcefully, shaking his brother lightly, mindful of the pain he was pretending didn’t exist. He felt the muscles underneath his hand go rigid with tension, and winced at the unwitting hurt he had caused.

“I am sorry…” he began, before he realised that his brother was struggling to stand. “Ro what are you doing?” he whispered forcefully. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

He pushed his brother back down and was surprised at how far he was flung backwards and his brother’s strength despite his wound.

“Ro?” he asked, “what was that for? I know the medicine tastes bad but that is no reason to hurt me.”

“Look Dan!” Elrohir cried, pointing somewhere into the middle distance. “Can you see it?”

Elladan decided to humour his brother; obviously his wound had been poisoned and was causing delirium. He had no inclination to discover what ‘it’ was, and only wanted his brother to rest, and for them to find their Ammë and return to Imladris where all would swiftly be made well again by their father.

“What is it, Elrohir?” he asked, turning his head and peering off in the direction he was pointing. “What can you see?”

He inhaled sharply.

“I’m not imagining it, am I?” Elrohir stated, seeing the expression on his brother’s face. “I’m not; it is there.”

“Yes, it is there,” Elladan said, hastily strapping his sword-belt back on. “LANFIR!” he cried. “A fire! To arms!”

Quickly gathering up what little belongings they had unpacked in preparation of making camp, Elladan bundled them onto his horse and swung up onto its back. He and Lanfir scuffed impatiently at the ground, waiting for Elrohir to drag himself onto his horse’s back, trying to prove that he was indeed well enough to ride and fight if need be. Finally, they turned and headed in the direction of the fire that gleamed faintly between the trees.

//

Elrohir rubbed at his shoulder again. His abiding memory of this time was of great pain. A cold fist had a hold of his innards, twisting and pulling at his fears. He could not get the image of his Ammë’s eyes out of his head, and was imagining all kinds of distressing tortures that she was suffering in the hands of the orcs. His physical wound did not pain him as much, he was barely even aware of its existence. All his thoughts were turned towards the hunt.

Elladan draped an arm over his twin’s shoulder, pulling him close. He had hated that chase. Keeping an eye out for his brother’s health was a distraction from the worry gnawing away at him. He had been in charge of the escort, and had managed to lose half of it, allow his twin to become injured, and worse still, had lost his Ammë. Guilt filled him with an unrelenting quest to rescue her, and he was determined to push himself onwards. But he had been ever mindful of his brother’s injury, and had been cautious in his approach.

His instinct to protect was ingrained from childhood, where he had been forever looking out for his younger brother. It was as much a part of his character as anything, and even mired in his own despair, he acted unconsciously in it.

Legolas, watching the face-off, was struck by how strong the two were, how their support for each other comforted and strengthened them. Although buried beneath what looked to be some horrific memories, they fared far better than Elrond who was trembling against the desk, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Legolas realised that he was seeing the unleashing of some powerfully repressed emotions on the part of the elven-lord, and could only hope that they would not be released explosively.

//

Elrohir weaved his fingers between Luin’s mane leaning forward so his point of balance was nearer his horse, and he was less likely to fall off. He did however have a secondary reason for this, and that was that he was straining to make out shapes around the fire.

Elladan and Lanfir were equally squinting into the distance, the sight too far for even elven eyes to detect whose camp it was. None of them were in any doubts that it was the orcs. Obviously they had thought the rest of Celebrian’s party too badly injured to pursue them at the speed they had been travelling, so were taking little care to hide their presence. Worrying Elladan though was the thought that perhaps they had no need to hide because their numbers were so strong. He sincerely hoped that it wasn’t the last option, because he knew that the three of them, especially with Elrohir wounded, would not be a match.

Dismounting before they were within earshot, the three sneaked up towards the edge of the camp, careful to remain hidden behind these bushes.

For once the orcs had become organised, setting up a watch and a series of sentries. There was a large group of orcs who were not a part of the duty, and they were proceeding to down large quantities of their orcish brew, muttering to themselves about a bit of sport. Unfortunately there were many more orcs than had been present at the ambush. Obviously a second party had been waiting here ready for them. They must be aware of how important a person Celebrian was. This did not bode well for their prospects of getting her out.

Suddenly the group of orcs parted at their midst, and Elrohir felt his blood rising. Slumped over a rock, clothes torn, the tips of her hair dangling in the churned up mud, lay the figure of their mother.

It was obvious from the rising bruises and the blood that stained the ground beneath her that she had not been treated well, and Elrohir felt his brother twitch beside him, longing to run to her aid. His own muscles burned with the need to swing a blade through the air. A low growl left his mouth as the orcs closed back in on her, reaching out and running a hand along her back.

Elladan inched closer to the boundary of undergrowth, which protect them from detection. Lanfir had edged a little to the right, looking for a better angle, and Elrohir was about to head to the left when the orc stroked his fingers through her blonde hair, and bent forwards running a coarse tongue along her cheek.

A high keening came from the direction of the orcs and, with a horror, Elrohir realised that it came from his Ammë.

Bolting up, he pushed through the brush, crying inarticulately. He was echoed by his brother’s war cry as he stood alongside him, and the two advanced quickly on the group, taking the sentries by surprise. Lanfir trailed at their heels, guarding their backs, the picture of calm; his knuckles were clenched white around the pommel of his blade, however. The sound of the Lady of Imladris’ terror had struck deep, and someone was going to pay for this.

A swift battle ensued, with the elves seemingly unstoppable. Orcish blood was spilled all around, and the sound of the dying creatures filled the air. Over all that however, could be heard the broken sobs of Celebrian, fuelling their anger. Their surprise did not last long however, and the orcs quickly rallied. Just as the twins reached their mother’s side, they heard a cry from behind and saw Lanfir topple over, an arrow sticking from his throat. Their eyes rose up to the orcs in vengeance, and they found themselves facing the wrong end of a dozen arrows.

//

All three of the Peredhils looked up as the door swung inwards with a crash.

“Rúndil, what is the meaning of this interruption?” Elrond frowned, digging his fingers deep into his hands to try to hold on to his control.

“My Lords,” Rúndil gasped, out of breath. “This cannot wait.”

Elrond sighed, wanting to finish explaining things to the twins. He was not nearly prepared to deal with the mundane running of Imladris when his family was tearing itself apart. “Go on,” he finally asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what is it?”

“My Lord,” Rúndil began again, hesitating nervously, “I was putting hay out for the horses as I normally do, checking that they have enough water, making sure that they are warm for the night. I just ran one last…”

“Rúndil!” Elrond barked, “Get to the point!”

“My Lord, I heard a scratching outside, and at first I took it for the wind, but it sounded so near that I went out and looked. “He paused again, afraid of what Elrond’s reaction might be with the mood he was in. “My Lord, it was a horse; Estel’s horse. He was lathered and exhausted, he looked as though he had suffered a great fright. He is scratched in places, but otherwise has come to no harm.”

Elrohir was on his feet at this, “Estel’s horse? What was his horse doing out in this weather?” His heart pounded, “Valar! Elladan, please tell me Estel is in his room?”

Elladan winced, and looked down at the rug-covered floor. His head snapped up as Rúndil finished his bad news.

“I stabled Tinnu and came immediately to tell you what had happened, when I saw a stall door was wide open. I looked inside and,” he swallowed hard as he received the full-force of three elven glares directed his way, “and the Prince of Mirkwood’s horse was missing.”

Elrond snapped his head round to where he had seated Legolas and found only space.