Healing Hope

Chapter Sixty-Nine

A Heavy Toll

“Resentment, anger, frustration, worry, disappointment—negative emotional states, justified or not, take a toll on your heart, brain, and body.  Don't let justified emotions rob your health and well-being.”  Aristotle

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.”

Elrohir stood for a moment, his eyes locked on those of the king.  Neither would back down.  Finally Elrohir spun around and walked from the room without looking back.  It was yet another breech of protocol and an additional insult to the King, though truthfully Elrohir was beyond thinking of etiquette at this point.

Legolas sighed softly and closed his eyes. He was glad that he was not required to speak, for his mouth had gone so dry he was sure he could not have formed words.  Things could not have gone any worse.  What had Elrohir been thinking to so insult his father?  It was not like him to be so...so...lacking in wits!   Legolas had known that the twins would be furious at Estel’s condition, but not suicidal!  He glanced over at Táron and Pendan.  Táron was wide eyed and looking vastly uncomfortable, while Pendan was still on his knees with his head bowed.  The courier was obviously guilt-ridden over the entire incident, another condition fueling Legolas’ frustration.  Something was not right here, and he intended to find the answer.

“Adar,” he began, only to stop when Thranduil held up his hand. 

“Clear the room,” Thranduil said softly.  He sat down, his fingers steepled before him, waiting for his orders to be obeyed. The king wanted time alone for his temper to cool. Thranduil Oropherion was no fool.  He had known from the moment that Legolas announced the approach of the Imladris party that the scene would not go well.  His affected nonchalance had simply been his way of calming Legolas, who seemed quite distraught over the approach of the twins.  Now he carefully kept his features schooled in a mask of indifference while the room emptied.

Táron helped Pendan to his feet and led him towards the exit.  Legolas wanted to stay, but his father’s tone of voice had left no room for argument.  After a pause, he sighed softly and followed Táron and Pendan out.  The guards had retreated at the king’s first word.

“Nárë, not you…” Thranduil closed his eyes.  His pardon of Lariel and sending her to Valinor had been met with not a little surprise and skepticism, but he cared not.   He had weighed his decision carefully, and more than that…it was his and his alone to make.  He was determined that any anger over that choice be directed towards him, however, and not Pendan, for the warrior was innocent of any wrong-doing.

The King stood up and began pacing the room as Nárë leaned against the desk waiting for his friend to gather his thoughts.  The Noldo knew that the young one had no idea of the gravity of the insults he had hurled at the King in his anger. That was no excuse, of course, but at the same time he remembered how fiery he and Veryo had been in their youth, especially when they were fighting to make a home among the Silvans.  “That went well...”

Thranduil stopped his pacing and fixed Nárë with an icy look of disapproval, one that had frozen many a warrior in place.  Receiving no reaction to his glare, he sighed and chuckled ruefully.  “I never could bluster you, could I?”

“I helped you perfect that look, remember?” countered Nárë, flashing a lopsided smile at his friend.  His soft brown eyes were warm with affection. “Have you cooled off now?”

“I have,” Thranduil conceded reluctantly. “At least some...”

Nárë had to hide his smile, for it was clear that Thranduil was still fuming. “It is difficult when subjects do not fall at your feet in terror, I suppose.”

Thranduil arched an imperial eyebrow.  “Are we attempting to be witty?”

Nárë snorted in amusement. “Do not resort to the royal ‘we’ with me; we have been through too much together for that.”

“He was arrogant, rude, and disrespectful…in short, a Noldo,” declared Thranduil, with a dismissive shrug of his shoulder.  He sat on the edge of the desk and absentmindedly picked up a scroll and began fiddling with it, before flinging it down on the desktop.  “How dare he bring up things that happened centuries before his birth?” he cried as the embers of his temper threatened to ignite once more.

“It does no good to rile yourself all over again,” observed Nárë.  “The young one is at fault for many of his comments; however, I made my share of mistakes and managed to insult more than one elf while trying to fit in here.  I remember how difficult it was to find any kind of acceptance among the wood-elves. In the end, I only found a place of peace here because of you.”

“My people have good reasons for how they feel,” countered Thranduil protectively.

“There is no need to defend your people to me, my friend,” chuckled Nárë.  “I have made my life here and never regretted it.” 

“I hear a ‘but’ in that sentence,” observed Thranduil.

“But,” confirmed Nárë, “I sense there is more going on here than that of which we are aware.”

Thranduil nodded slowly...reluctantly.  “It did appear as though there was something my Lasgalen wished to tell me.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir stood outside the door to his quarters for several moments just trying to calm himself.  Now that his anger was vented, he felt spent. The young elf was completely traumatized by the severing of his twin bond with Elladan, and was lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pushed open the door.

Erestor was sitting on the bed holding Estel.  The tyke was animatedly telling him about the trip he had taken over the mountains and the pack of wargs that King Adar and Legolas had killed. 

Wargs!  Elrohir’s heart nearly stopped at the thought of those creatures anywhere near Estel, and he felt a flash of guilt, for the King and Legolas had obviously not only kept the child safe from them, but also he was apparently not the least bit troubled by the encounter.  “Estel?” he called almost hesitantly.

Estel looked from Erestor to the doorway at the sound of his name.  His delighted cry filled the room and Elrohir’s heart. “Ro!”  Estel jumped from the bed and ran across the distance, flinging himself towards his brother.

Elrohir sank to his knees and allowed the child to run into his arms.  “Oh Estel,” he breathed, allowing himself to think only of this moment and having his little brother safely in his arms again. After several minutes, he held the boy out to check him over from head to foot.  “Look at you; you have grown a foot!”

Estel giggled.  “That is what Restor said too.”  He puffed out his chest proudly. 

“Indeed I did,” confirmed Erestor. “Just wait until Glorfindel sees how big you have gotten.”

“Did you missed me, Ro?”  Estel asked, and before Elrohir could even continue, he went right on in his own Estel way of rattling off one sentence after another.  “I thought you had borgotted me, but Nárë said you would not.  You did not borget me, did you?”

“Nárë was correct little one,” replied Elrohir.  “I could never forget you!”

Estel beamed at that, and gave Elrohir’s neck a big hug.  “I missed you, Ro.”  He pulled back to look Elrohir in the eye again.  “Restor said that Dan is hurt, but that Ada is taking good care of him.”

The twin’s throat constricted at the mention of Elladan, but he managed to smile and nod.

“I bet Ada is making him drink some nasty tea, but Restor said that he will be happy to see me and that will make him beel better.”

“Feel better, Estel,” corrected Erestor, noting that Estel had slipped back into the old speech pattern.

“Fu-eel better,” enunciated Estel carefully.

“What happened to your arm, little one?” asked Elrohir, running his finger lightly over the still inflamed looking wound on the child’s forearm.

Estel looked at the wound indifferently.  “Master Thedin said a...a...bore…bore something bit me.” He frowned tying to remember what the healer had said.  “I think that is what he called it.”

Erestor made a mental note to speak to the Chief Healer of Mirkwood so that he would have every bit of information to tell Elrond.

“Is it painful?” asked Elrohir running his hand up the splinted arm as he did so.  He wanted to determine for himself that the still-knitting bone was in the proper alignment.

Estel shook his head looking sheepish and blushing furiously.  “But I throwed up,” he admitted shyly, “and Legolas had to help me.” 

“I am sure that the Prince was glad to help you,” soothed Erestor, knowing how the child hated being sick.  He wanted to ask Estel about the bruises to his face and back, but felt that subject was one best kept for another time.  “Your Ada is most anxious to see you, Estel.”

Estel smiled back at the Seneschal.  “I cannot wait to see Ada again!  I have to tell him about the wargs and the spiders!”

“The spiders did not get close to you, did they?” questioned Elrohir quickly.

Estel frowned slightly, considering just how close his brother might mean. “No,” he shook his head.  “They stayed in the trees above us.  King Adar said that they would not dare attack an army of wood-elves.”  Estel lowered his voice to imitate the King’s voice.

Hearing Estel refer to Thranduil as “King Adar” grated on the twin’s ears, but he forced himself not to react. He took a deep, slow breath and allowed himself to exhale fully before saying, “Ada will be pleased that a big spider did not drop down and eat you up!” As he said the last three words he grabbed Estel up and pretended to munch on his stomach, sending Estel into squeals of delight.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond was sitting in the rock-ing chair, his hand resting lightly on Elladan’s arm so that he would know immediately should his son awaken.  His eyes were closed as his mind strolled the corridors of his memory.  A small smile graced his face as excited laughter seemed to fill his ears.  It was the morning of their birthday. 

“Wake up, sleepy one!” 

Elrond groaned and tried to turn over away from his exuberant brother, pulling the pillow over his head, but Elros pulled the pillow away from his brother.

“Oh no, El, you must wake up!”  

“You will not go away, will you?” sighed Elrond, turning on his side to face his ebullient twin.  Elros’ eyes were shining with delight, a sight which cheered Elrond’s heart like the sight of sunlight breaking through the shadow of a storm.  He could not help but smile in return.  “What is it that has you so excited before Anor has even risen?”

“Come …you must come see it!”  Elros practically jumped on the bed as he had often done as an elfling.  He pulled the covers back from his sleepy brother.  “Get dressed, Elrond; we are going sailing!”

Elrond raised his head and gave his twin a long suffering look...his eyebrow arched in amazement.  “Sailing?”

Elros’ engaging smile was not to be ignored, much as he wanted to, so Elrond climbed from his soft, warm bed.  Elros threw Elrond some clothes to save time.  “Hurry,” Elros urged.  “For once in our life, brother, do not be so methodical.”

Elrond had to laugh at the earnestness of his twin’s plea.  “One of us must balance your recklessness.”

Elros laughed too then, for he knew his brother was going to come as quickly as he could. 

Moments later the pair stood on the dock beside a beautiful two man sailing craft.  Eros was beside himself with excitement and Elrond was content to see his brother so happy. 

“El wait,” cautioned Elrond when Elros started to climb onto the ship.  “Círdan and Gil-galad will want to be here.”

Elros was momentarily crushed, for his personality was such that he met life head on and at full speed, but he realized the truth of Elrond’s words.  His shoulders slumped for a second, and then he bounded back onto the dock, his natural enthusiasm restored.  “You are right, El,” he conceded.  Then his eyes shone conspiratorially.  “Let us go wake them!”

“That is a sight I would see more often.”

Elrond opened his eyes to see a familiar face smiling down at him.  “Glorfindel…I was…far away.”  The vision evaporated, leaving the joy of the memory in its place.

Glorfindel sat on the edge of Elladan’s bed, his hand automatically moving to rest on the twin’s leg, as though to assure himself that Elladan’s spirit still dwelt within his body.  “No change?” he asked sadly.

Elrond’s eyes slid to his son as his thumb gently rubbed back and forth on the back of the twin’s hand.  “None yet, but we sent him very deep.  By the time he finds his way back to us he will be safe from the spell.”

Glorfindel pulled back the blanket from over Elladan’s shoulder so that he could view the wound.  The skin was once again binding together and the ugly black streaks had all but disappeared.  “It looks much better.”  He sighed as he looked back at Elrond, and replaced the blanket.  “I know that look.  You are worried about Elrohir.”

Elrond nodded.  “He has no way of understanding that his brother has only been blocked from him. I know all too well what he is feeling.”

Glorfindel leaned forward to put his hand on Elrond’s knee, drawing the Elf Lord’s eyes to meet his own.  “Elrohir is strong, and he has Erestor there with him.  He will not be alone.”

 O-o-O-o-O

It was the late watches of the night, and Erestor sat watching over his charges.  Elrohir reclined on the bed with his back against the wall, holding Estel while the boy slept. His face was as pale as a winter moon, and he had not spoken in hours.  A fine shimmer of sweat shone on his face, and even with his baby brother in his arms, he looked just so...alone.

“Do you feel…anything?” Erestor asked hesitantly.

Elrohir shook his head sadly, “Nothing.”  He turned bleak eyes to the Seneschal.  “He is just…gone.” 

Estel whimpered in his sleep and turned against Elrohir’s side, throwing his splinted arm across the twin’s chest.

“I am here, little one; all is well,” Elrohir crooned softly, kissing Estel’s forehead even as the tears began to fall from his eyes.  “How can I do this, Erestor?” he cried after soothing Estel back to sleep.  “I have never been without El.”

Erestor’s heart was breaking.  How could it be that this family…his family…could be again facing such tragedy?  There was nothing he could say to lessen Elrohir’s pain, just as there would be no consoling Elrond.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Elrohir into his arms.  “We will get through this as we have every other trial…together.”

TBC