Healing Hope

Chapter Seven

Thanksgiving

"Nothing purchased can come close to the renewed sense of gratitude for having family and friends." Courtland Milloy

"I do not think of all the misery, but of the glory that remains. Go outside into the fields, nature and the sun, go out and seek happiness in yourself and in God. Think of the beauty that again and again discharges itself within and without you and be happy." Anne Frank

Elladan let Celon lead him where he would. He leaned closely over the stallion’s back as the pair raced through the woods retracing the path to where he hoped and prayed he would find his little brother safe. What could possibly have induced Estel to venture so far into the woods was a mystery to the twin. Estel never left the yard anymore, a fact which was nearly as heartbreaking to the twin as the apparent loss of faith in his brothers that Estel had suffered.

As Celon trotted deeper and deeper into the woods, Elladan let his mind drift back to another time one dear to him had seemed to lose his faith. It was the year 2873 of the third age. The twins had been hunting in the north and decided to take the opportunity to call upon the Dúnedain while in the area. Arador, the Chieftain of the Dúnedain had lived in Imladris for a time, as had his son Arathorn, and the twins wished to see for themselves how the two fared so that they might bear news of their friends back to Adar.

“What shall the wager be this time, brother?” asked Elrohir idly as they walked their horses through the woodland shadows. Anor had set, but a beautiful, full Ithil shined brightly above making the way easy for elven eyesight to see.

Elladan laughed. “You mean which one shall have the newest injury, Arador or Arathorn?”

Elrohir’s delighted laugh brought even more of a smile to his brother’s face, for the sound of his twin’s melodious laugh was one of his favorite sounds in all Arda.

“It is really is not much of a wager, is it?” Elrohir sighed. “They are both extremely accident prone.”

“Don’t forget extremely stubborn,” added Elladan, and he too sighed, though he followed it almost immediately with a smile. “Remember the first time that we took Arathorn hunting while Arador met with Ada, and he nearly shot Glorfindel?”

“How could I possibly forget! Ada was extremely unhappy with us for allowing such a thing to happen.”

“Not to mention Glorfindel,” added Elladan.

The twins shared another laugh at the memory and quickly decided to remind Arathorn of the incident, which always embarrassed the Ranger, who had become an excellent bowman during the ensuing years.

A horrific noise startled the pair from their easy banter.

“Trolls,” said Elladan excitedly. Drawing his sword, he urged his horse to a run. “We haven’t fought one of those in ever so long!”

“Right behind you, brother,” called Elrohir a fraction of a second later. His voice rang out across the hills in a delighted, “Ayeeeee.”

Topping the last hilltop the twins were amazed to see a lone Dúnadan fighting a pair of trolls and quickened their pace to reach him.

“Elladan,” called Elrohir, “it is Arador!”

Frantically Elrohir pulled his bow and began firing arrows even as he rode across the landscape. Arador appeared to be wounded and was falling back under the onslaught from the trolls as the twins rushed to render aid.

“Arador!” screamed Elladan, as the lead troll’s huge club smashed into the man’s skull apparently snuffing the life from him.

A red haze of rage filled Elladan.

“NO!” he could hear Elrohir calling as he leapt from his horse and onto the back of the troll. The abysmally ignorant creature’s attention was still on shattering Arador and did not realize that Elladan was on his back until he felt the blade of the twin’s sword slashing at his neck.

Elrohir used his bow to keep the second troll away from Elladan, hitting it with shot after deadly accurate shot until it fell dead. Trolls had amazingly thick hides, except for just under their chins and in their armpits, and those were the areas for which Elrohir had aimed

Once his was felled, Elrohir turned his attention towards his brother. Elladan was driving his sword into the troll with one hand while attempting to hold onto the wildly bucking and swinging troll with the other. Elrohir was forced to duck several times as the troll struck out blindly with his huge club.

Finally Elladan was able to come up under the creature’s double chin, driving his sword to the hilt, puncturing the small brain. With a thunderous crash the creature collapsed in a heap, throwing Elladan clear.

The twin rolled and came up to his feet again in one fluid motion, joining Elrohir at Arador’s side. Elrohir held Arador cradled in his arms. The man was dead, obviously killed by the blow to his head.

Elladan looked into the stricken eyes of his brother. Elladan gently closed his friend’s death frozen eyes for the last time. Then, placing his hand on Arador’s forehead, he spoke softly, “Navaer, mellon nin. Losto mae.”

“He was so young, brother…far too young.”

“The second born are always too young, El. That is why it is so hard to love them as we do,” replied Elladan softly. Though, the truth be known, neither brother would ever regret knowing those of their Uncle Elros’ ancestry. They were the Peredhil, the half elven, and they embraced the human side of their ancestry as they celebrated their elven ancestry.

The brothers gently wrapped Arador in their own cloaks and returned him to the camp of the Dúnadain Rangers, carrying him close to the hut where Arathorn lived with his new wife, Gilraen.

Arathorn greeted Elladan at the door with great pleasure until he saw the look on the older twin’s face.

Quickly stepping outside so as not to upset Gilaen, he closed the door before turning back to the twin. “Elladan, what is it?”

“I bear grave news, Arathorn,” replied Elladan softly. “Come.” He led Arathorn over to where Elrohir had laid Arador. The twin was kneeling by the dead man as though protecting him.

“Who is it?” asked Arathorn as he joined Elrohir.

“I’m so sorry, Arathorn, but it is Arador. He was killed by a troll before we could get to him.”

“No,” denied the young man. “My father could take a troll any day. You must be mistaken.”

“There were two trolls, my friend, and your father was already wounded. I am sorry,” repeated Elladan, feeling the words horribly inadequate.

Arathorn placed both of his hands over the cloth covered head of his father as though wanting to look, yet not quite ready.

Elladan stayed his hand. “No, Arathorn, do not. Let your father live in your memory as he was.”

Arathorn had then thrown himself into Elladan’s arms and cried as he had done as a child living for a time at Imladris. Elladan rocked the young man and soothed him with soft Sindarin phrases of hope and peace as he let the man cry out his grief. Tonight he would become the Chief of the Dúnedain, but at this moment he was only a grieving man in need of a friend’s support.

The burial had taken place at dawn the next morning on a hillside overlooking the valley where the Rangers now lived.

Afterwards, Arathorn had immediately left the camp accompanied by the twins. They traveled for two days in virtual silence, stopping only to feed and water the horses. When they had reached a craggy peak overlooking the mountains they finally stopped. It was a place that the twins had brought Arathorn on the last day that he had lived in Imladris.

It was a special place for the three friends, for it was here that they had pledged their friendship, loyalty, and trust to each other, taking their daggers and mingling their blood as an outward show of the bond of love which tied them.

As he stood overlooked the valley in the orange light of the setting Anor, Arathorn looked very young and vulnerable. Shadows of grief and responsibility had formed under his eyes and his proud shoulders were momentarily slumped.

“I am not sure I can do this,” he said softly, as the twins came to stand supportively on either side of him. “It was not to be my time for many years. My father was young…I had so much yet to learn from him.”

Elladan and Elrohir each place a hand on Arathorn’s shoulders.

“We were there on the day you were born, my friend,” said Elrohir, “and we will always be with you.”

“We pledged our support to Arador as we pledge it to you,” added Elladan, “and yet he asked but one thing of us.”

“What was that?” asked the man quietly, for he had never before heard this story from the twins.

“He asked us to love and protect his son,” replied Elrohir, “and this charge we gladly accepted, for your father and now you have always been faithful and dear to us.”

Arathorn smiled wanly. “What about all those times you got me in trouble with Glorfindel because of your pranks?” he said with a soft chuckle.

Celon’s growing agitation pulled Elladan back to the present time. He jumped off of Celon’s back to examine blood on the path. This was obviously the way that the horses had returned to Imladris. “Good, Celon,” he said softly. “Keep going,” he said as he jumped back onto Celon. “Take me to Estel.”

The horse moved faster through the thick underbrush causing Elladan to wonder why Estel would have left the marked trails to force his way through the brush. After about a mile, Celon pushed through a thick growth to pause in a small clearing by the river. Elladan again jumped from the horse.

This was obviously where the attack had taken place. Elladan breathed a sigh of relief to see that his brother’s body was not in the gore filled area. A dead boar lay to the side. Elladan was appalled at the amount of blood that filled the clearing. Forcing his mind away from any more contemplation of that, he concentrated instead of looking for signs of Estel.

He quickly picked up the markings where the boy had fallen. It appeared to Elladan as though the child must have surprised the boar when he entered the glade. “Bless you, Celos and Celon,” he said softly, for it was obvious that the horses had saved his brother from the boar. But where was Estel now?

Elladan felt gently around the area, quickly picking up the spot where Estel appeared to have backed away from the battle. Elladan’s heart beat fiercely as he quickly followed the steps to where they ended…in a slide towards the raging waters of the Bruinen. “By the Valar,” Elladan breathed, his heart nearly falling into despair. The child had fallen into the river.

“Estel!” he called, crashing through the foliage at the edge of the river for several yards, before catching himself and forcing logical thought. Elladan raced back to Celon and leapt onto the horse’s back. Turning him, he began to shadow the water’s edge, hope warring with utter despair in his heart.

For miles Elladan followed the path of the river. At times he was forced to track further into the woods because of debris or the thickness of the foliage, but he always kept his eyes on the edge of the water. His heart breaking, Elladan kept going, determined to, at the very least, find Estel’s body. He had promised to bring his brother home and that he would do.

Elladan did not realize that tears streaked his cheeks as he wondered how he could possibly bear to gaze at Estel’s dead body.

When the twin would have kept going, Celon began to fight Elladan’s lead, bucking and whinnying his agitation.

“What is it, boy?” he asked. “Is it Estel?” Hope flared in his heart for on moment as he jumped from the stallion and raced towards the bank of the river. Elladan pushed through the underbrush unheedful of the scratches marring his skin. His heart stopped when he saw his brother’s body lying mud covered and on the bank.

“Estel,” he sobbed, sinking to his knees. “Estel forgive me…”

Elladan’s choked off a sob as he saw a slight movement in the small body and unbelievably the eyes opened. One small hand reached towards the twin, who thought his heart would burst from joy.

“Estel,” he cried, smoothing back the hair from his brother’s muddy forehead. “All is well, little one. I am here. Nothing will harm you.”

“Dan?” cried Estel. “Dan, the bad elf came back.”

Elladan was confused, but soothed the child as he quickly assessed his injuries. He could not tell how much damage was done to his skin because the child was virtually covered in half dried mud, but the horrifically broken arm was obvious. Elladan pulled off his tunic, tore a strip from it, and secured the arm to Estel’s chest. He quickly wrapped Estel warmly in the tunic and pulled him to his chest, pausing a moment to relish the feel of his brother's breath against his neck and sending fervent thanks to all the Valar that Estel lived.

“Dan?”

“I will keep you safe, Estel. I will take you to Ada.”

Estel cried out in pain as Elladan picked him up and started walking back towards Celon. “I’m sorry little one, I’m sorry.” He commanded Celon to kneel so that he could get onto his back with jostling Estel any more than necessary. The stallion complied, rising gently to his feet once Elladan and his precious bundle were mounted.

Every fiber of his being urged Elladan to gallop back to Imladris, but he kept his head and realized that he must keep Estel’s arm as immobile as possible.

“I heard you, Dan,” Estel said softly.

“What, little one?” asked the twin. “What did you hear?”

“You,” said Estel. “You told me to have hope and I did. I knew you’d find me.”

It took Elladan a moment to find his voice. “You knew…”

Estel’s smile was nearly the twin’s undoing. His little brother had trusted that Elladan would find him. Elladan smiled through his tears. He’d never heard sweeter words.

TBC

Translations:

Dúnedain - Men

Navaer, mellon nín, losto mae – Farewell, my friend, sleep well.