Healing Hope

Chapter Sixty-Eight

From Bad to Worse

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Charles Dickens “A Tale of Two Cities”

“I sense...” The Wizard’s words dropped off as his eyes closed in deep concentration.  Suddenly his eyes popped open. “We must hurry!” He started down the hallway towards the healing room even as Glorfindel was scooping the twin into his arms to follow.  “Quickly now,” Mithrandir urged. “We have no time to lose!”

The group followed Mithrandir into the Healing Room.  Elrond’s mind was spinning.  What could have happened?  What was Mithrandir sensing?

Glorfindel gently laid Elladan onto the bed.  Blood was pouring from the wounded shoulder staining the pristine sheets crimson, and Sariboril was stunned when she saw it.  The healer had seen for herself how the flesh around the wound was healing.  It should not be bleeding like this.  “He must have been attacked...”   She hurriedly reached to hand Elrond a gauzy pad to help stem the torrent, but Mithrandir stayed her action.

“No,” he said gruffly, “I must have direct contact with the wound.”  The Wizard knelt beside the bed and ripped open Elladan’s shirt to bare his chest. Ugly black streaks were snaking from the wound site.   Mithrandir placed his ring bearing hand precisely over the wound.  “Elrond, put your hand over mine.”  It was not necessary for him to mention Vilya, for Elrond knew which hand Mithrandir wanted.

The Elf Lord knelt on the other side of his son’s bed and resolutely placed his smooth hand atop Mithrandir’s gnarled one.

“You too, Glorfindel,” urged Mithrandir, much to the warrior’s shock.  “Do not look surprised.  You are blessed by the Valar, and we can use all the help we can get.”

Glorfindel knelt beside Mithrandir and placed his weapon calloused hand atop Elrond’s.

“Now concentrate all your powers into the wound,” instructed the wizard.  “There was a second, more devious spell that I did not realize was there,” he explained. 

Elrond had never before heard of two separate spells being cast upon any one object, much less one in the hands of orcs.

“It is a fire spell...” whispered Mithrandir.

Elrond had been sitting with his eyes closed and gathering his power, but at Mithrandir’s words his concentration broke and his eyes opened.  Only the most powerful of beings could cast such a spell!

“Concentrate Elrond,” Mithrandir chastised.  “We must focus all of our power now or Elladan will surely die.”

The three powerful beings focused all their energies on the twin’s wound while the guards and Sariboril held their breath.   The air in the room began to crackle as though dancing with sparks.

When the hair on the back of his neck began to rise, Helcar shook himself from the fascination of what he was seeing and realized that this was no place for him or his guards.  As quietly and as quickly as possible he ushered them out of the room.  “I will be just outside the door should Lord Elrond need me,” he whispered to Sariboril, who nodded her understanding. The guard sincerely hoped that Elladan could be saved.

Sariboril stubbornly stayed, determined to be available should her help be required.  She watched in awe as the three hands covering Elladan’s wound began to glow, while outside the very light seemed to fade.

O-o-O-o-O

“Come along, you walking mount of misery,” Beling growled to Celos.  “If it were not for you I would be safely inside the palace by now and not out here where those...those...”

“Spiders?” supplied the Mirkwood guard, who was openly grinning now as he escorted the Imladris warrior.

“Spiders,” continued Beling without missing a beat but with a nod of thanks to his companion, “now reside just waiting to drop down upon my unsuspecting head!”  The Noldo shuddered.  “I can practically feel their eyes on me now.”

The Mirkwood guard laughed good-naturedly.  “It is as the Prince said; you are safe this close to the palace.”  He clapped Beling on the shoulder and kept up the conversation to help allay his fears.  “My name is Alma.”

“I am Beling.”  Before he could continue Celos gave a great jerk of his head that nearly whipped the elf around.  “all right...you....”

“Mount of Misery?” laughed Alma.

“And then some,” added Beling, nodding his head for emphasis.  “These two sons of thunder are Celos and Celon; they are the mounts of the sons of Lord Elrond.”

“Sons of thunder, eh?” mused Alma.  “From what I witnessed earlier, ‘Sons of Thunder’ might just be fitting names for their riders, or at least one of them.”

“Both of them,” agreed Beling, “when the occasion calls for it.”  He looked back to be sure that all of the horses were following.  He could not keep himself from glancing up nervously, too.  Beling hated spiders of any size.  He had long ago decided that the ‘love of all nature’ gene given the firstborn had been omitted from his makeup, for he could not abide the eight legged species.  The elf chuckled to himself as they walked and looked wryly at Alma. “Duo of Death?”

It was Alma’s turn to look embarrassed.  “You heard that?”

Beling snorted.  “Who did not?”  He grinned at the discomforted elf.  “Legolas was not exactly quiet.”

Alma whistled softly.  “The Prince was certainly angry, but no more so than Elrohir!” He shook his head at the memory.  “I am not sure I have ever seen someone draw a dagger as quickly!”

“That elf was not wise to speak so of humans in our presence, but especially in Elrohir’s.  He is very protective of his baby brother.”

Alma frowned slightly as he thought over Beling’s words.

“I remember you now; you were part of the king’s guard that came to Imladris.”  Beling gave a tug on Celos to keep the stallion moving. “Forgive me for not remembering; that time was rather...difficult.”

Alma nodded.  “My condolences on the loss of your brother.” 

They had reached the paddock, so Alma unleashed the gate.  “The stable master will come soon to feed and shelter the horses.” 

Beling could see a trail leading to an area, which appeared to house not only stables, but also buildings of various sorts.  The sun was setting behind the western mountains and already they were in deep twilight. He looked up apprehensively at the thick canopy of trees overhead.

At the look on Beling’s face, Alma chuckled.  “They will be safe from the spiders.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir paced the room where he had been taken after being met by the one-armed elf.  He was uncomfortable in the underground cavern and hated the keen awareness of the mass of rock surrounding him and cutting him off from the sky. He tried to force himself to relax and wait, but his senses were screaming that something was terribly wrong with Elladan.  He could not explain it; but he could feel it.  

He sat down on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands, and tried to reach out to his twin with his heart and mind.  Coldness seemed to settle on him with icy tendrils and he shivered in its grasp.

Blackness...   He could see blackness as though it was a tangible thing, yet far, far away there was a gossamer glimmer of light almost too fragile to be believed. 

Elrohir forced himself deeper into the void, for he sensed suddenly and unequivocally that the ethereal thread was all that held his twin from Mandos’ Hall.  Elladan was reaching out to him too; he knew it.

The pain slammed into him, staggering the tenuous hold, but Elrohir pressed on as he felt himself sink deeper into the blackness.  ‘Elladan, hear me!’

‘El?  Help me…   I am lost...’

Elrohir squeezed his eyes closed trying to fight the effects of the pain and compel more effort into his concentration.  ‘I am here, El; I am here!  Follow the sound of my voice.  Come to me!’   

He could not believe the searing pain in his shoulder.  Was this what Elladan had been enduring all this time?  His heart ached at the thought of his twin suffering so much agony.  Sweat began to bead on Elrohir’s forehead as he tried to take the torment from Elladan.  He gasped as it felt as though liquid fire was being poured onto him. Elrohir’s heart pounded, and his ragged breath seemed to roar in his ears as he forced himself to take on more and more.

‘El, no...’

‘Yes, brother, give it to me.  

Unbelievably the pain grew worse until Elrohir fell forward onto the floor, but still he would not give up, for his heart sensed an ever so slight strengthening in Elladan.  Elrohir stifled a groan before it could leave his throat for fear that Elladan would hear it.

‘El...ro...hir...’

With a sudden “snap” the bond was broken, leaving Elrohir panting on the floor.  “Elladan,” was all he could say before blackness claimed him and he knew no more.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas paced back and forth before the cell, his anger growing with each step as he debated with himself.   

His legs crossed at the ankle, Táron leaned casually against the wall watching his Prince.  Legolas had been stalking back and forth now for some time but the warrior was content to wait with the Prince for as long as it took him to make his decision.  The two had been friends for many years, and Táron was curious to see how this would play out.

Behind the iron bars, seemingly unfazed, stood the unrepentant object of their attention.  His name was Celeg, and he was one of the Kingdom’s best scouts.  His honey colored hair was still styled in the utilitarian braid technique denoting him as one of the King’s elite warriors, and his warm green eyes were fixed on Legolas, meeting his gaze with calm resolution.

“You were the one,” fumed Legolas, “that day at the talan.”  He was not asking a question, so Celeg did not bother to answer.  “You watched a mere babe nearly fall, and yet you felt no pity in your heart.”  Legolas stopped to face the scout, his anger growing as he recalled the scene.  Every second of that memory was as clear to him as the day it happened.  Estel had shown complete faith in Legolas to keep him safe...a fact that still humbled the Prince.

“How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“As long as it takes me to decide what to do with you,” snapped Legolas.

Celeg arched a delicate eyebrow.  “Is it now against the laws of our kingdom to state personal opinion?”

Legolas stopped his pacing and stared at the influential scout.  As much as Legolas hated to acknowledge it, he had a point.  “You know it is not,” he admitted.

“Then why am I here?”  Celeg put his hands on the bars and leaned towards the Prince.  “I am intolerant of humans; I admit that freely.  There are many reasons why I feel the way I do, and I am not the only onein this kingdom that holds this particular point of view.”

Legolas squared his shoulders.  Celeg spoke the truth. It was an uncomfortable truth, but truth none the less.  There were many in Mirkwood who had no use for humans, and until very recently, that was a view shared by King Thranduil himself.  “I have no use for bigotry,” Legolas cautioned.  He paused to take a breath.  “It is true you have broken no law, however, you gravely insulted a guest under the protection of the king, and for that you will remain here until our guests have departed.”

“My Prince,” Celeg beseeched, “only days ago we were fighting for our lives.  I myself covered you from attack while you carried Falathar from the field of battle.”

“I am not unaware or unappreciative of that act, Celeg,” Legolas allowed.

“Then allow me to continue to defend my land,” the scout urged.  “I am good at what I do; you know this.”

Legolas was beginning to have a better understanding of the decisions his father was forced to make day in and day out.  Was he putting his personal dislike of Celeg’s views ahead of the security of his lands?  He wavered, looking from Táron to Celeg.   “My decision stands.”    

Celeg met his stare for a moment and then pulled himself to attention and saluted, right fist over his heart.  He held his salute until the Prince left the room.

As they walked the corridors away from the holding cells, Legolas stopped and looked at his feet. “He is a good warrior.”

Táron nodded, “Yes, my Prince, he is.”

“But because he has had encounters with bad humans, he believes that all humans are bad.” Legolas sighed.  “How do I fight an idea like that?”

Táron smiled.  “With a new idea!” 

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor and Elrohir shared a bathing room.  Their individual chambers opened from opposite sides of the common bathing chamber.  The Seneschal emerged from the heated pool refreshed from the dusty ride.  He was somewhat surprised that the twin had not joined him, but surmised that Elrohir still needed some time to cool off after their inauspicious arrival.    After combing out his ebony hair and dressing in his customary robes, Erestor stepped through the chamber to the other guest door, and was shocked to find Elrohir on the floor attempting to rise to his hands and knees.

“Elrohir!” Quickly Erestor reached the stricken twin and helped him onto the side of the bed, alarmed at how pale the son of Elrond appeared.  “What has happened?”

“Elladan...”  Elrohir looked at Erestor with bleak eyes.  He had known Erestor for his entire life. His father’s Seneschal had tutored all of Elrond’s children and they loved him as a member of the family.  At this moment Erestor could see into the very soul of the twin.  “I can no longer feel Elladan.”  His voice broke off as a sob caught in his throat.

Erestor knelt beside the bed and gathered the twin into his embrace just as he had done so many times when he was an elfling.  “Hebo estel, Elrohir,” he murmured. “You must keep hope.”  Even as he spoke the words Erestor felt fear and grief to the depths of his being.  If Elladan had, indeed, gone to Mandos’ Halls, he did not know how he could keep Elrohir from following.  To lose one was heartbreaking, but to lose both was unthinkable.

After a while Elrohir tried to pull himself together.  He straightened up and met Erestor’s gaze.  “I cannot face a banquet.” 

“No, that is out of the question now,” agreed Erestor, who was more shaken than he cared to admit.

“Let us just get Estel and go home.”  Elrohir stood shakily.  “I will ask the guards to escort us to the King.”

O-o-O-o-O

Thranduil was meeting with Pendan in the Throne Room. Recently released from Thedin’s care, but still not completely healed and ready for duty, Pendan had come to thank the King again for his mercy towards Lariel. Legolas and Táron had just come in to report to Thranduil about Celeg and the unorthodox greeting the Imladris party had received when the guard ushered Elrohir and Erestor into the room.  Legolas was immediately concerned. He had never seen Elrohir look quite so strained.

“Welcome to Mirkwood Elrohir Elrondion and Seneschal Erestor,” greeted the King.  “We trust that your chambers are adequate?”

Nárë entered from the ante-chamber, surprised to find Erestor and Elrohir already there.  The Noldo slipped quietly up to stand beside the Prince.

“Thank you, Highness,” said Erestor, when Elrohir seemed to still be struggling.  “Our chambers are most satisfactory, but we find that we must leave immediately.”

“Impossible,” replied Thranduil. “The forest trails are too dangerous to traverse at night.”

Elrohir bristled.  “Just bring my brother so that we may be on our way.”

The guards standing just inside the doorway dared a quick look at each other over the impertinence of the remark.

Thranduil arched an imperial eyebrow and glanced towards his son, who looked vastly uncomfortable.  “Has something happened of which we are uninformed?”

“Not at all, you Highness,” said Erestor smoothly, “we are simply in need of haste.”

Thranduil sat back in his chair and eyed the group.  “As I said, the pathways through the forest are too dangerous at night.  You may leave at first light, if you so choose.  Nárë, please bring Estel to be reunited with his brother.”

Nárë took a knee and saluted, before rising to carry out the king’s order.  That kind of formality was not normal between the old friends, but before guests, the Noldo kept strictly to protocol.

Thranduil watched Nárë leave and then turned back to his guests.   “May I offer you some wine, or perhaps you wish to proceed to the banquet?”

“Ah, thank you, highness, but no,” replied Erestor.  “We are, understandably, wearied from the journey and would prefer a quiet meal in our quarters.”

“Wearied...” remarked Thranduil, “and yet moments ago you wished to leave immediately.”  The King rose from his throne.  Pendan, Legolas and Táron took a knee.  “Come with me.” 

Thranduil led the way to his ante-chamber, the more private room located just off of the Throne Room.  The smaller chamber was where much of the king’s time was spent and it reflected his personality.  The ante-room contained a massive oak writing table, which was bordered by carved oak leaves and acorns.  The smooth surface was buffed to perfection and reflected the flickering light.  Behind the table was a smaller version of the King’s throne, crafted and sized to fit the table, while before it were stuffed and covered chairs for the comfort of those meeting with the monarch.  The room was long enough that pools of shadow fell in between the light from the torches fixed to leaf shaped sconces around the wall.

Only after the King passed did the three elves of Mirkwood rise.  Táron and Pendan followed the King immediately, but Legolas hung back trying to see if he could find out what was wrong with Elrohir.  It was clear to him that the twin was a taut as a bow string. Small beads of sweat dotted his brow.

“Elrohir, if this has something to do with what happened earlier, I have taken care of that situation.”

Elrohir almost seemed to look past him as he woodenly followed Thranduil, leaving Legolas more confused than ever. 

“Please, young Prince” covered Erestor smoothly, “That incident is forgotten.”  He hastened to follow Elrohir as Legolas wondered what piece to this puzzle he was missing.  He stared after Erestor for a moment.  He had been around this pair long enough to recognize that they were under a tremendous strain, and determined he would find out what was going on.  He cared too deeply about the twins to just ignore what was obviously something serious.

He entered the ante-chamber to find Thranduil sitting behind his writing table.   Elrohir and Erestor occupied the chairs immediately in front, while Pendan and Táron stood together off to one side.  Legolas took up a position beside his father.

As Nárë brought Estel into the room, the boy brightened to see his adored friend.  “King Adar!” he called out.  Estel was walking beside Nárë, and now let go of his hand to run towards the front of the room.  “I got to go outside!”

Hearing Estel address the King as “adar” hit Elrohir like a slap to the face. The twin felt as though he had already lost one brother today and now this.  He quickly stood up and turned around to see that his little brother was also dressed as a wood-elf.  It was when Estel entered the light from the torch, however, that the twin was given a full view of the child and it was as though a streak of lightening had entered the room and struck him dumb with shock.  Beside him he heard Erestor gasp, but that was the last thing he heard before the pounding in his ears of his own fury.

Estel stopped when he realized who was standing before him.  After being separated for so long, uncertainty seized the child and he hesitated, blinking nervously.

Elrohir immediately masked his shock and forced a smile onto his face.   “Hello Estel, have you a greeting for your brother?”

“Ro!” Estel fairly flew forward and threw himself into his brother’s arms. 

Elrohir caught Estel and hugged the child to him, closing his eyes and burying his face in the soft curls.  He swore right then he would never let the child out of his sight again, and squeezed him tight. “Oh Estel...”

“Ouch Ro, not so hard; my back hurts,” squirmed Estel.

Elrohir immediately loosened his hold. “I am sorry, little one,” he soothed. “Let me see.”  He pulled up the green top to reveal the ugly deep tissue bruise on the child’s back.  He fixed Legolas with a glare that promised retribution as he smoothed the top back into place.

Legolas knew then that things were going to get ugly. 

Táron gasped, surprised and sickened by the sight, while Pendan hung his head in shame.

“Restor!” Elrohir heard Estel squeal over his shoulder, oblivious to the emotions swirling around him.  He was happily holding out a hand to wave at the Seneschal. 

To say Erestor was shocked at Estel’s battered appearance was an understatement.  The Seneschal was also struck with guilt for he was originally supposed to have been here to care for the little one.

The effect of Estel’s appearance on Elrohir and Erestor was not lost on the Mirkwood elves, and they were wise enough to allow the pair a moment to gather themselves. 

Elrohir swallowed, and then handed Estel to Erestor. Forcing himself to keep his voice light for Estel’s sake, he managed to say, “Erestor, would you please take Estel to my room, and do not allow him from your sight.”

Insulted at the insinuation, Legolas frowned and started to protest that precaution was not necessary, but the look on Elrohir’s face told him that his words would fall on deaf ears.

Erestor hugged Estel to himself, trying to be careful of his many injuries.   “I am very glad to see you, little one.”

“I missed you, Restor,” said Estel, giving the elf’s neck a big hug. “Where is Dan?” He looked back at Elrohir, unaware of how his words were a knife in the twin’s heart.

It was then that Erestor realized he had better take the child to their rooms before he could inadvertently add more stress to the situation. As much as he longed to stay and hear the explanation for the seemingly horrific injuries to his little mite, he did not want the child to be upset.  Elrond would most definitely not be pleased if that were to happen.  It was bad enough that he had not been here to protect Estel in the first place; he would certainly do so now. He could worry about any diplomatic difficulties later. “With your permission, King Thranduil, I have a lot of catching up to do with the young one.”

Thranduil nodded to the Seneschal. The King was no fool. The last thing he wanted was for Estel to be exposed to an unpleasant scene.  He was well aware that Estel’s condition would raise legitimate questions and concerns and he was prepared to accept the consequences for them.  He felt the full fury of the twin washing over him as Erestor hurried from the room.

“Who is responsible for this outrage?” Elrohir hissed, once Estel was safely out of the sound of his words.

Pendan started to step forward but Thranduil’s quick nod stopped him.  Pendan was willing to accept whatever anger Elrohir wanted to pour upon him, but he could not stand to see his king accepting blame.  “Sire...”

“Enough,” Thranduil snapped, without taking his eyes from Elrohir. 

But Elrohir had heard Pendan’s voice and whipped around prepared to strike out. “Was it you?” Before anyone could react, Elrohir crossed the distance and grabbed Pendan by the throat. 

Táron jumped to try to get the twin’s hands from off of Pendan before the twin broke the warrior’s neck.

“Enough, I said,” roared Thranduil, freezing all and bringing the guards charging in from outside the room.

With great effort, Elrohir pulled his hands from Pendan and turned back to Thranduil. “I demand justice for the crimes committed against my brother.”  The twin could feel the familiar red haze of hatred threatening to pull him back to the place he had been for so long after his mother sailed.

Pendan sank to his knees, breathing hard and sick at heart. 

Thranduil stood up.  “I am the one responsible for all that happens in my kingdom.”

“Estel was in your care,” accused Elrohir. “Where were you when my brother was being attacked?”

The King flashed back to the overwhelming orc attacks and how very close they had come to being overrun, but he still accepted the responsibility, and he was not about to defend himself to this cub. 

“Where were you?” Elrohir shouted, “Out gathering more jewels?”

Thranduil felt himself flush, anger and guilt warring within. 

The wary guards put their hands on their swords, prepared to intervene should it be necessary.

Legolas’ own irritation and frustration were growing.  This was so unfair to his father...  Anger was one thing, but this was over the line... “Elrohir!”

Thranduil held out his hand to stop Legolas.  “Greenleaf, we do not need to be defended.”  

“Yes, Legolas, defend your father when you should have been defending Estel.  I have already been introduced to how the Silvan’s feel about humans, but Estel is innocent!  He was supposed to be safe here!” raged Elrohir. He turned his ire back towards the King.  “Everything said about you is right; you are as reckless as Oropher was, and you allowed my brother to come to harm when you should have protected him. Never trust a wood-elf!”

Thranduil could and would accept all the insults Elrohir cared to fling at him, but the insult to his father opened too many old wounds. Added to that, the slur against his people reminded him of the derision with which his wood-elves had often been treated by the forces fighting under Gil-galad.  Was it any wonder the proud Silvans were insular?  

Elrohir was far beyond the point of listening to reason and beyond caring that he had flung a grave insult at the King. “Were I a kin slayer, there would be blood on my hands now, and I would be leaving this place under different circumstances.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, but his voice was smooth as silk.  “Were I a kin slayer, you would not be leaving here at all.”  He continued to stare at the irate twin.  “For the love we bear Estel, you will be allowed to leave at first light.  Do not return.”

TBC