Chapter Three: The Mother of Hope

0o0o0

Witnessing Gilraen’s inappropriate behavior with Lainon left Elladan unable to sleep. No matter; he required little rest and knew his brother needed even less, so he set off for the one place he was sure to find his twin: the library. Although Elladan was not overly fond of books, being only as well-read as his position dictated, his brother devoured them. Sure enough, Elladan found Elrohir slumped in a most uncomfortable-looking position in a chair by the fire, knitting his brows and biting his lip as he always did when concentrating. As Elladan leaned against the library’s doorframe, Elrohir remained engrossed in a volume of some sort—Elladan cared not what, really—earnestly ignoring his brother’s presence. After an unacknowledged moment in the doorway, Elladan paced across the great room and flopped down on the floor next to Elrohir’s chair, waiting as patiently as his temper allowed. When Elrohir failed to acknowledge him after several minutes, Elladan simply tore the book from his brother’s hands and tossed it aside.

“Yes, thank you. I really had little interest in it anyway,” Elrohir said in his typical tongue-in-cheek fashion as he watched the book land some distance away.

“Does it not bother you, watching her carry on so,” responded Elladan as if Elrohir had said nothing, “fetching her whenever she runs off, tucking Estel in at night when his mother should be doing it?”

“Of course it troubles me, but not for myself; for Estel. What do you imagine it is like for him?”

“I should think it is rather miserable at the moment. It is out of concern for Estel that I speak, Elrohir.”

“Are you certain of that, Brother?” Elrohir’s eyebrows shot up in a manner that Elladan found rather smug.

“Of course I am! Why else would I mention my unease?”

Elrohir shrugged his shoulders. He had no doubt that his brother’s concern for the young Adan was genuine but thought that Elladan’s thinly veiled hostility toward Gilraen had quite a bit to do with his unresolved grief over their mother’s absence, as well. Elrohir was well aware that his brother—and his father, for that matter—thought he wore his heart on his sleeve, and in truth, they were probably correct. That mattered naught to Elrohir, who wished only that his brother would acknowledge the pain that he had bottled up inside himself for these many years.

“He might be better off without her,” Elladan said when Elrohir declined to respond.

“Elladan! How can you say such a thing?”

“Come, Elrohir,” said Elladan. “Do you really think she does him any good?”

“You would have him grow up fatherless and motherless?”

“He is already motherless, and our father is his father now.”

“A day will come when she will remember her love for him, Elladan.”

“How can you be so sure? Have you suddenly acquired Father’s gift of foresight?”

Elrohir shook his head in impatience. “I just know. And do you not think that Gilraen questions whether Estel might not be better off without her as do you? Be careful what you wish for.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means—” Elrohir pondered. “Can you imagine if some ill should befall her?”

Elladan fingered his pendant. “Such things happen, Elrohir. Sometimes people leave their loved ones, and those who remain find a way to go on.”

“Which is exactly what Gilraen strives to do. I suppose she feels that Arathorn abandoned her.”

“That is different, Elrohir.”

“Yes and no. The point is—”

“I understand the point, Elrohir,” snapped Elladan.

“Do you?” Elrohir’s voice grew louder, and he took a deep breath before continuing more calmly. “The point is that as much as Gilraen’s behavior hurts Estel, it would hurt him even more if she were no longer with us.”

“Perhaps, Elrohir. Perhaps.”

Elladan stood and left the library.

Elrohir sighed. Although not naïve enough to harbor the false belief that the relationships in this household would wondrously return to what they had been before the attack on his mother, he had hoped that the remaining members of this broken family would turn to one another, sharing that unique bond that only mutual mourning forges. Not so. Arwen had been unwilling to stay in Imladris, seeking solace in Lórien as their mother had in Valinor. Their father grieved, but only privately, his public façade of poise imposing a certain barrier between him and his children that they dared not cross. Yet it was the distance that had grown between the brothers that Elrohir lamented most, differences that had multiplied since the arrival of Arathorn’s widow and son. Elladan had become a taut bowstring, ready to snap at any moment; Elrohir longed for the days when the brothers’ conversations would not invariably end in argument.

Each day, Elrohir prayed that his mother had found the comfort she sought, but still he questioned what was to become of those who remained.

0o0o0

The morning meal passed in silence, save the clanking of dishes and scraping of chairs. All were unnerved by Gilraen’s actions the night before, except Estel, who had slept through the night. Thank the Valar the boy did not wake to find his mother carrying on so, thought Elrond as he glanced at Gilraen’s empty chair. He was not terribly surprised that the woman had elected to remain in bed; no doubt she felt unwell. Yet unease tugged at his mind until, unable to bear it any longer, he sent a servant, Arnethel, upstairs to check on the young widow. Within minutes, Arnethel’s shrieks echoed down the stairs and into the dining hall.

Elrond bounded up the stairs two and three at a time and, rushing along the corridor, ran headlong into Arnethel, her eyes so wide she looked as if she had seen Sauron himself.

“Please, my Lord. Come quickly! Something is amiss. I cannot wake milady!” Arnethel’s voice quavered.

Elrond bolted into Gilraen’s chambers, shouting over his shoulder to the servant: “Keep the boy away!”

“Yes, Lord,” Arnethel answered. She dipped into a curtsy as Elladan and Elrohir flew by her, following their father into Gilraen’s chambers.

As father and sons moved toward Gilraen’s pale, limp body, Elrond noticed an uncorked flagon on the nightstand. He brought the container to his nose and inhaled the distinctive odor of his most potent sleeping draught. It was as he had feared.

Meanwhile, the twins assessed Gilraen’s condition: Elladan touched two fingers to the widow’s wrist feeling for a pulse, and Elrohir leaned his ear against Gilrean’s mouth searching for the faintest trace of breath. Elladan’s efforts were the first to bear fruit, and he cried a triumphant, “She lives!”

The three knew what needed to be done, and in seamless unison, they worked to save the mother of Hope.