Elrond and Celebrían stood beneath the archway, looking up and down the road again. It was dark now, but Elrond could see well enough. One or two customers were making their way to the inn for the evening, but there was still no sign of his sons. He turned as Eilenach and Ilmarin joined them.
“Are they still not back?” Ilmarin asked quietly. Elrond shook his head silently.
Eilenach sighed. “I blame myself – I should never have lost sight of them! This is my fault.”
“Nay, not yours, Eilenach. It is theirs. How could they be so irresponsible?” Elrond demanded angrily. “They gave me their word that they would be back by dusk! I thought that I could trust them!”
“Elrond …” Celebrían began gently.
“I’d not worry too much, if I were you.” Brindley Butterbur came out of the inn door. “I expect they’re still off looking around – maybe they’ve found a friend. They probably lost track of the time, and forgot – or pretended they forgot – when they was supposed to be back. Don’t you worry – they’ll turn up soon, as like as not!”
Elrond shook his head again, his anger vanishing. It was not anger at all, he knew – it was worry; and a sharp fear. “No,” he said softly. “This is not like them. They can be reckless sometimes; acting first without considering the consequences – but they are not irresponsible. They would not forget a promise. Something is wrong; I know it.”
Butterbur shrugged. “Ah, well. You know them best.” He vanished back into the inn at a shout from within.
“My lord – let us look for them,” Ilmarin began. “We can search the town; ask if any have seen them. I think that you and Lady Celebrían should stay here, if – when – they return.”
“Thank you, Ilmarin,” Celebrían said quickly. “If you would do that … please, just find them,” she added pleadingly.
Ilmarin nodded. “Of course, my lady,” he vowed.
Yet before the guards could depart on their search, the faint sound of light, running steps could be heard. A figure emerged from the darkness, panting, and skidded to a halt by the inn. It was Elladan. He cast a swift look over those waiting by the archway, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Valar,” he gasped.
“Elladan!” Elrond snapped, his anger returning in full force. “Where were you?” His hand shot out, gripping Elladan’s arm tightly; shaking him. “You should have been back long ago!” he raged. “Did you forget? Did you …” he stopped, realising suddenly that Elladan was alone. Renewed fear gripped him. “Where is Elrohir? Why did you not stay together? Is he hurt? What happened?”
Elladan shook his head, took a deep breath, and swallowed. “He’s all right. He’s not hurt,” he managed. “But … Father, we found a dog. Some boys were beating him. We stopped them, but he’s hurt – the dog, I mean. We couldn’t move him, so El stayed with him, and I came to get you. And I’m sorry – I know we promised to stay together, and to be back before now, but we couldn’t leave him, or ignore what they were doing. We had to do something. Will you come? Please?”
Elrond listened to the rushed explanation with growing concern. Of course his sons had not been wilful and irresponsible – he was wrong to think that they may have been. It was clear that they had thought they were acting with the very best of intentions, but there was one point Elladan seemed to have overlooked. “You left Elrohir with the dog? Elladan, what if these boys who attacked the dog return?”
“That’s what he was afraid of,” Elladan explained. “That’s why he stayed, and wouldn’t come with me. He was afraid of what they might do to the dog if they came back.”
Elrond grew cold. What might these young thugs do to Elrohir if they returned, and found him alone?
Elladan continued, sounding more and more miserable. “He said they wouldn’t; that they were just bullies and we’d scared them off – but I know he thought they might. But he wouldn’t listen to me! You know what he’s like.”
It was true. Elrohir could be extremely stubborn at times; more so than his twin. If he had decided that the dog needed protection, nothing would induce him to leave it. His own safety would seem irrelevant. Elrond sighed. “Show me where they are. I just need to get – ah, thank you, my dear.” While Elladan had been explaining their plight, Celebrían had collected his healing kit from their room. “Eilenach, come with me. Ilmarin, stay here with Celebrían. Celebrían – would you talk to the innkeeper, please? Ask him if he knows anything about who these boys might be.”
She nodded. “Of course. And I will ask him about this poor dog, too. I suspect it will have to stay here with us tonight. Go – and hurry.”
With Elladan guiding them, Elrond and Eilenach set off along the road at a run, heading towards the south gate. As they drew near the timber yard, a volley of barking could be heard.
“That’s the dog!” Elladan pointed out rather needlessly.
“I rather gathered that,” Elrond commented dryly. The barking changed to a low, ferocious growl, mixed now with shouts. Moving even more quickly now, they came to the yard and scaled the gate swiftly as there was another shout, more barks, and a cry of pain. “Elrohir? Elrohir! Wait there, I am coming!” Elrond shouted. It seemed that their worst fears had been realised, and the boys had indeed returned.
When Elladan’s racing footsteps faded, Elrohir turned his attention to the dog. Talking to him softly the whole time, he let the creature sniff at his hand, and smiled when a tentative lick brushed his fingers. “Good boy. Good dog. You know that I’m not going to hurt you, don’t you? Will you let me see where you’re hurt?” Very carefully he ran his hands over the dog’s head, across his chest and down his front legs. At one point the dog flinched and gave a very soft growl of warning. “Is it your paw? All right, I won’t touch it again. Did they kick you? Don’t worry, because my father’s a healer. He usually helps elves, but I’m sure he can do dogs as well. Is there anywhere else?”
Elrohir continued his careful examination and found a cut on the dog’s rump, presumably where the boy had struck him, but nothing more. He sat back with a sigh. How could anyone deliberately harm a living creature like this – for fun? It was something he simply could not comprehend. The elves of Imladris hunted, of course, as did he and Elladan – they all needed to eat – but the deer or rabbits they took were dispatched swiftly, and without pain. To inflict pain and suffering purposely … he shivered.
It was completely dark now, and the piles of wood and stacked timber looked strange and oddly threatening in the darkness. Elrohir glanced at the sky, wondering if Eärendil was visible yet, but the stars were veiled by low cloud. There was no solace there. He could see one or two lamp-lit windows in some of the houses, but the town, its people – and his family – seemed very far away. He suddenly felt very alone.
“I hope El will be all right,” he told the dog. “It would be just like him to go the wrong way – he hasn’t got a very good sense of direction. I’m better at things like that. But he can run faster. I wonder if he’s got back to the inn yet?” He stopped, as a horrible thought occurred to him. Where had the boys gone? They had left the timber yard, but where had they gone after that? What if they had not gone far at all? What if they had lain in wait, and pounced on Elladan as he passed them? He and Elladan had learned a little unarmed combat in weapons training, but the three youths were all taller, more stoutly built, and looked much older than they were. And this time, it was the boys who would have the advantage of surprise. “I hope he’s all right,” he said again. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
He stroked the dog again reassuringly. His coat was a little tangled and matted, but he did not seem to be too thin, or to have been ill treated apart from the obvious. He was just old. “You need a name,” Elrohir decided. “A good name. I read a story once about a dog called Huan – he was the bravest dog there ever was.” He studied the dog, then shook his head. “But you don’t look like Huan – and besides, that was a sad story. Huan died.” He considered again, then smiled. “I know! ‘Draug’. It means ‘wolf’. Wolves aren’t all bad – they can be brave and fierce. Shall I call you Draug?” The dog’s long, bedraggled tail waved slightly, and thudded on the sawdust-littered ground.
“All right, Draug – let me look at you again.” He peered at the cut on the dog’s rump again, touching it gently. The dog flinched again and whined, but this time did not snap or growl. Elrohir smiled slightly – he at least seemed to be gaining the dog’s trust a little. If only there was more he could do than merely sit here and wait. He sighed in frustration. “I wish I could do something,” he murmured. “I wish I was a healer, like my father is. He’s so clever – he can take the pain away just by touching you – or even by not touching you. Like this.”
He held one hand just above the deep gash, remembering with awe the first time he had seen Elrond at work, when he and Elladan had been much younger. Elladan had scalded his hand on boiling jam, burning himself badly. At their father’s not-quite touch his tears had slowed and stopped. ‘It doesn’t hurt so much now,’ Elladan had whispered. A faint glow had seemed to surround their joined hands, and when at last Elrond let go of Elladan’s hand, the angry red burn had faded considerably.
‘There,’ Elrond smiled. ‘Does that feel better? I cannot heal it completely, but does that help?’
“He seemed to close his eyes, and concentrate, and think about it getting better,” Elrohir remembered. “And it did.” With one hand caressing the dog’s head, and the other positioned just over his back, he closed his eyes. A sudden warmth flooded through him, and his outstretched fingers tingled slightly. With a gasp, he jerked backwards, pulling his hands away from Draug, and stared at him in disbelief. Draug returned his gaze placidly. “Did – did I just do something?” he asked in amazement. Running his hands over Draug’s coat again, he searched for the deep cut – and found it. It was smaller, unmistakably half-healed, and appeared to be several days old, not freshly inflicted.
Elrohir swallowed, shaking slightly with awe at what he appeared to have done. He licked his lips. “Let’s try again,” he suggested. “Let me see your paw.” He touched Draug’s injured leg very lightly, and closed his eyes again, trying to recall what it was he had done. The warmth, and the tingling sensation came again, quite quickly, but this time he did not pull away. The heat flowed through him, and to his amazement and joy he could feel the injury beneath his hands slowly healing. The swelling subsided, the bleeding and bruising was re-absorbed, and the bone itself began to knit together. He could see none of this – but he could feel it. It was difficult now; for he was immensely tired – the healing seemed to drain all his energy and strength – but he did not, could not, stop. He did not know how to.
Suddenly he was brought back to his senses with a sharp blow and a yell. “Hey! You! Are you listening to me?” A finger prodded him harshly in the shoulder, and caught off balance, he tumbled backwards. A little dazed, he stared up at one of the boys he and Elladan had confronted earlier – Bob, or Harry, he thought. The boy turned towards the gate, and shouted again. “It’s one of those kids – he’s still here!” He moved away slightly, searching for one of his friends, and his voice dropped, suddenly turning very menacing. “He’s on his own this time …”
Elrohir scrambled to his feet, still a little disorientated, and looked towards the gate. There seemed to be only two of the boys this time, for which he was thankful – he did not think he would have been able to ward off three at once – but the one missing was the one who had dissuaded his friends from continuing the original attack. With hands that shook a little – from fatigue, but also, he admitted to himself, from fear – he untied the rope that held Draug tethered to the heavy log. “You’re free now, Draug,” he whispered. “Run away – don’t let them catch you again. Go on – run!” He had a sudden vivid mental image of Draug running all the way to the inn, and returning to the rescue with his father, the guards, and the innkeeper. Despite his apprehension, he smiled slightly at the wild picture.
Even in the midst of his anxiety, he felt a sharp exhilaration as Draug bounded lightly, and without the slightest trace of pain or stiffness, to the edge of the yard. He had healed him. He, Elrohir, was a healer – just like his father.
Seizing a long, thick piece of wood, his heart pounding, Elrohir turned to face his assailants.
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