The journey to Mithlond was over. It had been a journey through gentle, fertile lands bordering the river Baranduin – “Good land for farming,” Ilmarin had declared. His family farmed land south of Imladris. “There could be a big settlement here one day - a whole country!” They travelled through the high, remote hills of the Emyn Beraid – where once, long before, a seeing stone had been set in one of three tall towers. The towers and the stone still remained, and still looked westward to the undying lands. Far in the distance they had seen the long, narrow firth that sheltered Mithlond – and beyond that lay the sea.
The visit to Mithlond had passed in a whirl of new faces and new experiences, but at last it had been time to return. They were nearly halfway home now, and would return to Bree in a few days.
Elrohir wandered away from their campsite to investigate a small outcrop of rock overhanging the stream. He studied it carefully, then peered even more closely. There was the imprint of a small, coiled shape – rather like a snail – embedded in the stone. He stared at it again, then began, very carefully, to dig at it with the blade of his dagger. Elladan appeared at his side, attracted by his rapt attention.
“What’s that?” he asked curiously.
“A stone. It’s like a snail, but it’s not,” Elrohir replied absently. He kept a wide margin around the imprint of the snail, not wanting to damage it.
Elladan shrugged. “Do you think you should be using your dagger like that? You’ll break it.”
“No I won’t. I’ll be careful.” Finally, Elrohir had managed to free most of the stone, and dug his knife at it again one last time to prise it out. The snail stone suddenly broke free, and flew into the air as Elladan caught it deftly.
Then, with a sharp snap, the point of the dagger broke off, and Elrohir’s knife slipped, gouging a deep cut across his palm. He jerked his hand back with a curse. “Ai! Balrog’s balls, that hurt!” He clapped his uninjured hand across his mouth, and looked around guiltily. Ilmarin had overheard, and grinned at them, wagging his finger sternly. The long weeks of travelling together had developed an informality between them all, and the guards often teased the twins, and joked with Elrond and Celebrían.
“What have you done now, youngling?” Ilmarin asked resignedly. Cautiously, Elrohir opened his hand and uncoiled his fingers carefully. Crimson blossomed across his palm as the deep gash was pulled and stretched, and he clenched his hand again quickly, slowing the flow of blood.
“El, you idiot! Let me have a look.” Elladan took his hand and prised the fingers open a little. “That looks deep. You’ll have to get Father to see to it.”
Elrohir sighed. “Yes, I know.” He bent and picked up the dagger which he had dropped, and sighed again. “It’s broken.”
Elladan said nothing, but gave his brother a most expressive look.
“Shut up, El!” Elrohir snapped.
“I didn’t say anything!” Elladan protested.
“You didn’t need to. Come on.”
They returned to the camp, and sought out Elrond, sitting by the fire with Celebrían. With a glance at Elrohir’s bloodstained hand, Elrond rose and found his pack of medical supplies.
“What have you done now, elfling?” he asked quietly. “How did this happen? Let me see it.”
Elrohir extended his hand for examination. “My knife slipped,” he said shortly. The initial numbness had worn off, and the cut throbbed and stung. It was still bleeding, and Elrond dabbed the blood away gently. As his father held his hand, Elrohir felt a warm prickling sensation, and the pain eased, and the flow of blood slowed.
“Could – would I have been able to do that?” he asked curiously. “I haven’t forgotten my promise,” he added hastily, “but I just wondered.”
Elrond shook his head. “I doubt it. Very few healers are able to cure themselves – the shock and pain prevents you finding the stillness required. And it would use your strength and energy when you can least spare it. It would not be a good idea, even if you could do it. Fortunately, I have never been in a situation where I had to do so.”
He finished cleaning the deep gash, then took Elrohir’s hand between his again. “I need to be sure you have not damaged the tendons,” he explained. “Let me see.” His eyes lost focus for a moment.
Elrohir felt a hot itch deep inside his hand. Intrigued, he closed his eyes and tried to follow what his father did. He was not doing anything, he told himself, merely – observing.
“Stop it, Elrohir,” Elrond admonished. “I can do this on my own. I do not need your help.” He smiled to take the sting from the words.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to watch,” Elrohir admitted.
His father finished his examination and straightened. “This is deep. I think it will need stitching as well – then, with a little help, it will heal quickly without any scarring. You are lucky you can still move your fingers!” he added in warning. He reached into the medical pack again, and opened a small pot, smearing a little creamy-coloured paste over the gash. “That will numb the skin, so I can stitch it. How did you do this, anyway? It is not like you to be so careless.”
Elrohir blinked. He had nearly forgotten about the snail stone. “I found something in the rock over there – a stone, a bit like a snail. I was trying to dig it out,” he explained a little sheepishly. Looking up at Elladan, he added, “El, what happened to it? I didn’t see.”
Elladan pulled it out of a pocket. “I caught it when you finally gouged it out. He was using his dagger like a chisel!” he added to Elrond. “No wonder it broke.” He made no mention, though, of ‘I told you so’, for which Elrohir was grateful.
“I suppose I should have listened to you,” he admitted grudgingly.
“Of course you should, little brother! I know best, after all!”
Elrohir bit back his automatic retort. In this case, perhaps his brother had known best – but he was not keen to admit it.
While they talked, Elrond had been threading a small needle with a length of fine thread. He prodded Elrohir’s hand gently. “Can you feel that?” he asked.
“No.” The salve had done its work, and Elrohir’s palm was numb. Despite that, he flinched slightly as the needle first penetrated the skin, even though he could feel nothing. His father’s calm voice distracted him, and he looked up.
“You broke your dagger? Digging out the stone? Well, perhaps we will be able to replace it soon. We will soon be back at Bree again – just a few days.”
“Bu I don’t want a new one,” Elrohir explained. “It’s the one Elladan gave me for our begetting day last year. Oh, I wish I hadn’t broken it!”
Elrond glanced down briefly. “Show me.”
Elrohir picked up the dagger from the grass. “The point snapped off – do you see? Now it’s blunt and jagged.” He gave a long sigh of frustration at the loss, and at his own carelessness. “Do you think it can be mended?”
“Hmm – perhaps. We shall see.” Elrond cut the final piece of thread with a flourish. “All finished,” he announced, wiping the needle clean. To Elrohir’s surprise, his palm had been neatly stitched across while they had discussed the dagger. He eyed his father with increased respect.
“There are other healing skills you can still learn,” Elrond explained as he finished bandaging Elrohir’s hand. “Preparing salves like the one I just used; identifying and collecting the roots and leaves; doing it at the right time of year. Some plants should only be cut at night, others in full sun. You will both find more than enough to watch and learn.”
“There’s something else, as well,” Elladan added. “Talking to a patient, distracting them from what’s happening. El didn’t even notice what you were doing!”
Elrond smiled. “There is one more thing. A healer also has the power to command others to rest and sleep. To bed now, both of you. And please, I beg you – no more misadventures before we reach Bree!”
They reached Bree just after dusk a few days later. The gates had been closed, but the gate-keeper was happy enough to admit them. They rode a short way uphill to the inn and beneath the archway, where a groom came to meet them.
“Oh, ‘tis you again, is it?” he greeted them affably. “Welcome back. Well, we’ve at least room for your horses again. I reckon my Da’ll be pleased to see you, too. You was all a right talking point for weeks last time! Go on in – he’s in the bar.”
Ilmarin nodded. “Thank you, Dan.” As the lad led the horses across the yard to a water trough, he murmured to the others, “Dan is Butterbur’s son.”
“Somehow I guessed that,” Celebrían murmured back, her eyes dancing. They went into the inn, and Elrond pushed open the door into the bar. A burst of conversation and laughter drifted out. There was a waft of warm air, smelling slightly of sweat and ale. Attracting Butterbur’s attention, Elrond beckoned to him, and the innkeeper joined them in the hallway.
“Well now, fancy that! I hoped you might pass this way on your way back home. Still the six of you, is it? And did you have a good journey? Good, good! Now then, I’m afraid we’re quite busy tonight, and we’ve only two rooms free. Will that suit? I can squeeze an extra bed into each, so I can get you all in, but it’ll be a tight fit, I warn you! Will that be all right? Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled, and the lass in the kitchen will rustle you up some supper.” As he spoke, he showed them the two rooms, throwing open the doors and lighting candles as he went. Bellowing a message down the hall to the kitchens, he turned to them once more. “Well now, I’ll go and get those other beds found. You sort yourselves out, and decide who goes where.”
He bustled off, leaving all six staring after him in a slightly dazed silence. “He hasn’t changed, has he?” Elladan ventured at last.
“No – and it would be a shame if he ever did,” Elrond agreed. He peered into the room. It was just as small as he remembered, and with an additional bed, would be cramped indeed. “Now, how are we to arrange this?”
“I think it would be best if you share a room with Ilmarin and Eilenach,” Celebrían told him, “and Elladan and Elrohir can be with me. It will only be for one night!” she added at their looks of dismay.
Eilenach exchanged a quick glance with his companion, and grinned. “If the twins would prefer to be with Lord Elrond,” he began, “we do not mind if you share our room, my lady – do we, Ilmarin?”
“No indeed!” Ilmarin agreed enthusiastically.
Elrond swallowed hard, and tried desperately to hide his mirth at his sons’ scandalised expressions. “No, but I may,” he told the guards dryly.
After supper – a thick, hearty soup served with crusty, still-warm bread; cheeses; and a sharp apple tart laden with fruit – they stayed in the tiny parlour. The inn’s common-room seemed far too noisy and crowded after the weeks of peaceful nights beneath the stars. After a game of chess, Elladan and Elrohir retired to bed, yawning, denying that they were tired. As Elrond challenged Eilenach to a match, Ilmarin excused himself. “I will take a walk, I think. I feel too restless to sleep yet.”
He returned some time later. Elrond, readying for bed after a fairly easy victory – heard his rapid footsteps along the hall, then Ilmarin entered. He closed the door hastily, and leaned against it, looking rather flustered. Elrond and Eilenach both stared at him, surprised to see the usually disciplined warrior so bemused. “Well? Whatever is the matter with you?” Eilenach demanded.
“I – I think I have just been propositioned,” Ilmarin murmured.
“You think you have been?” Elrond queried over Eilenach’s laughter.
Ilmarin pulled himself together. “I walked beneath the stars for a while,” he began, “then returned to the inn. I encountered one of the – ladies – of Bree. She asked if I was looking for a room for the night – or – or a bed,” he croaked. “I wondered at first what she meant.”
“Oh, you poor innocent,” Eilenach murmured, shaking his head.
Ilmarin sighed. “Perhaps. I had forgotten that humans are so – casual – about such things. I think she mistook my hesitation,” he continued, beginning to smile. “For then she said that as she had never been with an elf before, she could offer me ‘a very good rate,’ as she put it.” His last words were spoken over the laughter of his companions.
“Will’s mother?” Elrond asked, gaining control again.
“Aye, most likely,” Ilmarin agreed soberly. “It seems she has not changed. Some people never do.”
The next morning, Elladan and Elrohir took breakfast with their parents, then asked permission to go out again.
“I want to see Draug – I mean Garm – again,” Elrohir explained. “And I need to see about my dagger.”
Outside the inn, they hesitated over which errand should come first. “The wood yard’s at the far side of town,” Elladan pointed out. “And I think the best place to get your dagger mended will be the forge – and that’s just along here. Let’s do that first.” He hesitated, regarding his brother solemnly. “El – Draug’s owner said that he was old. He might – you know – he might not be there.”
Elrohir nodded slowly. “I know that. But I need to find out. But you’re right – we’ll go to the forge first. Come on!”
The forge lay a short distance from the inn, facing the road. A horse was tethered outside, patiently waiting to be re-shod, and from the dark depths loud hammering could be heard. The twins paused in the doorway and peered inside. “Hello!” Elrohir shouted over the din. He could see the blacksmith’s back, bent over the anvil as he pounded at something. “Hello!” he shouted again, more loudly.
The blacksmith straightened and turned around. His face broke into a scowl. “You again! What do you want?” he demanded.
It was Will.
Stories > First > Previous > Next