Elladan felt overwhelmingly relieved that his
parents had come so
quickly. Cold reality told him that it might make little
difference in
the long run, but their presence could only help Elrohir. As an
elfling he had sincerely believed that they could do anything: that a
kiss on a grazed knee would indeed make the hurt go away, that they
would always make everything right in his world – somehow.
As he
grew, he had realised that even they had faults and limitations; that
they were not infallible. He knew now, realistically, that even
his
father’s healing skills might not be enough to save Elrohir – but they
were here. Elrohir needed them – and so, Elladan
readily admitted to himself, did he.
Elrond and Celebrían sat on the bed, one each
side of
Elrohir,
touching his face, talking to him, holding his hands.
“Elrohir? Can
you hear me? Wake up, little one, and greet me.” Bright
tears welled
up in Celebrían’s eyes as her soft, whispered endearments
received not
a flicker of response. Elrohir remained oblivious to her
presence.
Elrond’s fingers were pressed against Elrohir’s wrist, feeling his
pulse, and his expression of concern at what he found confirmed all of
Elladan’s worries.
Elladan found he was looking at Elrohir now through
fresh eyes,
seeing him as their parents surely must. He had watched his
brother’s
swift decline through the long, sleepless hours, but only now realised
just how much he had faded. Only a few days ago Elrohir had been
vibrantly alive and healthy, aglow with his usual joy of life; his eyes
dancing as he teased his twin and joked with Amandil and
Nólimon. Now
… Elladan bit his lip as he looked down at his brother. His skin
was
sallow and pale, marked only by shadowy bruises and the heat of
fever.
His eyes were sunken, and his mouth, usually smiling or laughing;
occasionally serious; was slack.
Elrohir was dying, and Elladan could no longer deny
it.
He sat on the side of the bed, eyes fixed on his
twin, watching
as Elrond slid one arm beneath Elrohir’s back, lifting him
slightly.
The other arm he placed around Elladan’s shoulders, drawing him in as
well. Then Celebrían joined them, repeating the embrace
and completing
the circle. They clung together, three of them weeping with the
pain
of imminent loss. Despite his anguish, Elladan felt strengthened
and
comforted by the contact. The support and love he took from his
parents – and gave to them – soothed and eased his soul. Two
voices,
blended together, drifted into his mind, reinforcing the message of
love. “We love you, our sons. Do not leave us.
We love you both. Stay.”
At length they drew apart, but remained close, still
surrounding
Elrohir. He remained unmoving, and Elladan felt renewed despair.
He
had so hoped that there would have been some subtle change, some
indication at last that his brother may live.
“Elladan?” His father’s quiet voice broke into
his bleak
thoughts. “Can you tell me what happened? I read
Thranduil’s message,
but I want you to tell me.”
Slowly, rather reluctantly Elladan nodded.
There were aspects
of this that he had tried to avoid thinking about. “It was my
fault,”
he said at last. “El wanted to stop, but I was uneasy. I
knew there
was something wrong, and wanted to reach Lasgalen as soon as
possible.” He gave a deep sigh. “If we had stopped as we
originally
intended to; if I had not made us move on; if only I had listened
to him; we would not have been where
we were when the spiders attacked. El would be safe. I saw
danger. I
saw the spiders – the battle. I knew that Nólimon –
or someone –
would be attacked. Everything I did to try to prevent this seemed
to
make it more certain! Why did I not see that Elrohir was bitten
as
well? Why did I not see where it happened? Why could I
not stop this?” He broke off abruptly as Celebrían
leaned forward to touch his arm, aware that his voice had risen to a
near shout.
“Elladan, it is foolishness to blame
yourself,” she told him
firmly. “You have my mother’s foresight, and I know well that the
visions are never clear – whether ‘tis the past, the present, or the
future. Tell us what happened.”
Hesitantly, he began to relate the meeting with
Nólimon and
Amandil, and the battle with the spiders. “Nólimon fell,
so El and I
tried to help him. That was something I had seen, too!
I
saw us both, so thought him safe. We thought we had killed them
all –
but there was one left. I was with Nólimon when El shouted
a warning –
there was a spider, nearly on me. I should have seen it! He
killed
it, but that was when he was bitten,” he concluded painfully. “He
was
defending me.” He stopped, awash with guilt.
His mother put her arms around him, hugging him
tightly. “And
so you blame yourself?”
Elladan nodded wordlessly.
“You can be very foolish at times,”
Celebrían said in
exasperation. “What would you expect Elrohir to do?”
He looked at her in surprise at the unexpected
question. “What
do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.
Elrond enlarged on the remark. “Do you think
he would stand
and
watch while you were in danger? Do you really believe he should
or could do that?”
“No, but …”
“But nothing! What would you have
done in that
situation?” Celebrían stared at him searchingly, for
a moment fully her mother’s daughter.
Under that gaze, Elladan answered with complete
honesty and
without hesitation – he could do nothing else. “I would have done
the
same – anything I could to protect him, no matter what the
danger.” He
sighed with frustration. “I know that, but it changes
nothing! I still feel responsible. And the worst of it – I
cannot
help but feel that this may never have come to pass if I had not
changed our plans to prevent it.”
Celebrían nodded. “Perhaps.
Perhaps not – none
can tell what
may have come to pass. Your grandmother has great power,
but even she
cannot tell all things. The visions are dangerous as a guide to
deeds.”
“But if we had only stopped …”
“No,” Elrond told him. “It may be that if you
had stopped as
you planned, you would still have been attacked, both of you, far from
Thranduil’s halls or any help. May-have-beens are pointless.”
“Perhaps.” Elladan sighed again and stood,
stretching
wearily.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly and began to pace around the little
room.
“Forgive me – I know I am being foolish. I just …” he
stopped again.
“I am afraid,” he whispered at last.
Elrond stood as well, holding Elladan close.
“I know. Of
course you are – so are we. You are afraid and exhausted. You
have kept Elrohir alive this long – and you are also a foolish
elfling. Elladan, you must rest. You do Elrohir no good
like this.”
Stubbornly, Elladan shook his head. “No.
I cannot – not
yet.
You must understand.” He leaned against his father, heartsore and
desperately tired. He felt the familiar touch of Elrond’s mind,
and
allowed him to pour strength into him.
It seemed a very long time later that Elladan
became aware of
another presence in the room. Reluctantly, he looked up, blotting
his
eyes on his sleeve, but it was Elrond who spoke for all of them.
“Calmacil.” For a moment the healer’s mantle replaced that of
father.
“What can you tell me about Elrohir’s condition?”
Calmacil stood at the foot of the bed, surveying
them all. “He
has been – and still is – gravely ill. There have been several
times
when I feared for his life, as Elladan can testify.
However, as you
know, the majority of those attacked do not survive for longer than two
days. Hope remains. Elrohir was bitten four days ago.
I think –”
He looked across at Elladan and smiled – “I think, as he is
still
alive, he will be one of the lucky ones. I think he will live.”
Elladan felt weak with relief, and sank down onto
the bed next
to Elrohir. “He will live?” he repeated. “Are you
sure?” As time
had gone by, and his twin clung to life so precariously, he had begun
to lose all hope that Elrohir may survive – but to hear this was the
most wonderful news he had ever heard. He looked down at Elrohir,
and
felt the bright smile he knew had transformed his expression fade
again. Calmacil’s words had given him hope, but he would not
truly
rejoice until Elrohir awoke, and knew him.
When Calmacil had left, Elrond turned to Elladan
again.
“Elladan, listen to me. You must rest.
You know I will wake you the instant there is any change.
Calmacil is
right – hope remains. If Elrohir has made it this far, he will
live.
I know why you resisted before, but it is safe now for you to
sleep.
Please, my son.”
Elladan smiled wearily. He should have known
that his parents
–
both of them – would be perfectly well aware of the reasons behind his
refusal. He nodded. “Yes. Very well.” He cast a
last look at
Elrohir – who had still not stirred – and turned to the folding bed
stored in one corner of the room. It was simply a stretcher,
resting
on two wooden cross supports, with niches carved for the poles to rest
in. It took no space to store and could be assembled in
seconds. Such
beds were frequently used in the aftermath of battle – they were easily
transported, and lifted the injured off the cold, hard ground.
When
the time came to move, the stretcher was simply lifted from the
supports without disturbing the wounded.
He was numb with weariness and anxiety, and stumbled
as he
dropped onto the cot, reaching out with one hand to touch Elrohir’s
lightly. He sank into sleep immediately, too exhausted to follow
the
usual path of peaceful dreams, but still restless and troubled.
He relived the battle, fighting desperately as
wave after wave
of foul creatures came at him from all directions, even from the trees
above. From the corner of his eye he saw a spider scuttling
towards
Elrohir from behind, unseen. He tried to shout a warning, but no
sound
came from his throat. He tried to cut his way to Elrohir’s side,
but
was unable to move. He watched in despair and fear as the spider
reared up to attack – then Elrohir spun around, warned by his
well-honed battle senses, killing it. Elladan heard a cry, but he
knew
instinctively that it was not Elrohir. Nólimon was down,
and as
Elladan knelt over him he heard another cry. Elrohir.
Turning, he saw
another spider, and froze again. He watched as the creature drew
nearer and nearer, helpless to move or do anything to defend himself.
Then Elrohir was there, between him and the spider,
his sword
thrusting at it, and they both jerked in pain as the spider bit.
He
felt Elrohir’s confusion and drifting thoughts as they raced towards
Lasgalen, the pain that racked him. He shared the black agony
that
felt as if he was being torn in two, the increasing darkness that
encroached on his mind. He was with Elrohir as he drifted towards
death when a final blinding spasm of pain engulfed him in a brilliant
white light.
“Elrohir! No!” Sobbing, he struggled to
wake and go to
his twin, but was once more unable to move.
A gentle hand rested on his head, stroking his hair,
and a quiet
voice soothed him, penetrating his nightmares. “Hush. You
are merely
dreaming. He is still with us. Hush now, Elladan, and go
back to
sleep.” Reassured, he groped blindly for Elrohir’s hand again,
and
drifted back into sleep, content with the brief contact.
It seemed only an instant later that he jerked
awake again.
Something was wrong – something was different. He turned his head
suddenly, just as his father was about to touch his shoulder to shake
him awake. “Elladan? Elladan! Wake now, quickly!”
Startled, blinking sleep from his eyes, he sat up,
flinging the
light blanket to one side. “Is it Elrohir? Is he …”
Elrond nodded, smiling. “I think he is
waking. Look!”
Elladan scrambled to his feet and sat on the side of
the bed,
his eyes fixed on Elrohir. He moved slightly, his hands twitching
–
perhaps as he battled the spiders in his dreams. His head tossed
from
side to side, and his eyes flickered ceaselessly. Then he jerked,
as
if in pain, his mouth opening soundlessly. Elladan took his hands
gently, stilling their restless movement. “El?” he asked.
“Can you
hear me?”
Elrohir blinked, then his eyes opened slowly.
He blinked
again, his gaze at first unfocused, but gradually clearing.
“Elrohir? How are you, my son?”
“Oh, Elrohir! Thank the Valar! Are you
well?”
“Welcome back, El. How do you feel?”
Elrohir smiled faintly as all three exclamations
came
simultaneously. He licked his lips dryly. “Tired,” he
murmured – in
what seemed to be a general response to all three questions.
“Tired?” Elladan repeated
incredulously. “You
have
been asleep for the last few days, little brother – how can you be
tired?” He could not control his smile, and grinned at Elrohir.
Elrond tightened the arm he had around Elrohir’s
shoulders.
“Are you thirsty?”
Elrohir nodded, and licked his dry lips again.
“Yes,” he
whispered in a very faint voice.
Turning to the basin, Elladan poured a cup of water,
his hands
shaking a little. He passed it to his father and watched as he
carefully held the cup to Elrohir’s mouth. He took a sip,
coughing and
choking on the first mouthful as he tried to swallow. Water
trickled
from the side of his mouth, and Elladan gently wiped it
away.
Elrohir took another sip, more successfully, and
slowly drained
the cup. He leaned back wearily. “Thank you.” He
smiled as Celebrían
drew him close and kissed his brow. His eyes drifted shut again,
and
he slept once more, his head resting against his mother’s shoulder.