Bonds, a lord of the rings fanfic

Disclaimer: Not mine! All belongs to Prof. Tolkien/ his heirs, and is only borrowed!

Author´s note: Well, I just can´t leave it be, therefore this is another story exploring the relationship between Elrond and Aragorn. It takes place when Aragorn is about 30.

Enjoy (and leave a review, please)!

Bonds

Elrond Peredhel rode through the forest with haste; he had been traveling in this fashion for a whole day, and exhaustion began to show on his face. He could not allow himself to rest, however; his thoughts were with his youngest son, and his mind was haunted with worrisome images which kept repeating themselves before his inner eye.

It had started on the day before; the elf-lord had been deep in thought, reminiscing his wife who had sailed to the Undying Lands on exactly that day long years ago. Maybe he had been receptive to a greater extent than usual due to the bond he still shared with Celebrían, a bond which overcame the distance that separated them from each other but remained strong through their love, and which he felt anew on certain days such as this; that evening, he had dozed off in front of the fire when he suddenly thought of Aragorn.

As he concentrated on his foster son, a strange and unwelcome fear wound its way into his heart, having Elrond gasp for air. He felt cold despite the warmth of the fire, and his head swam. Elrond tightly gripped the arms of his chair to have something solid to hold on to, then he concentrated again, and more images came to his mind: the smell of the forest mingled with the smell of blood, shrieks of pain, darkness.

He could hear the rush of his own blood in his ears, drowned out by the feeling of fear and despair.

Unthinkingly, Elrond got up and left the room; he found himself in the stables a short while later, mounting his horse. He had never felt this certain that he was needed, nor had he any intention to hesitate a moment longer. He urged his steed on and headed out into the night, trusting that his instinct would lead him to his son.

And it did; the elf had followed a narrow path when he felt a shiver of anxiety on his back which increased rapidly; at one point, he halted his horse and slid of its back, looking around attentively. Moving quietly, he approached a group of trees which stood a few meters away from the path; he knelt down when he had reached them, and his heart clenched painfully when he beheld what was lying underneath the low branches.

He reached out tentatively with a shaking hand that had nothing to do with his exhaustion, and touched the curled up body clad in dark greens and browns. He could feel that there was still life in the Ranger, but he could also see the blood on his clothes. He drew closer and cautiously turned the man on his back. It was Aragorn indeed, and he looked alarmingly lifeless. Elrond took in his pale face, the dried blood on the temple and the stains of blood on the tunic, which was torn in several places; he would have to be quick if he wanted Aragorn to live.

Night had fallen when Elrond eventually leaned back wearily; he had tended to his son´s injuries as best as he could under these circumstances, injuries which Aragorn seemed to have sustained in a battle against Orcs. That he had made it to this sheltered place could only mean that he had won the fight, but at what price only time could tell. Elrond knew that Orcs were wont to poison their weapons, and he feared that this had been the case, since the wounds had not started to close properly yet, even though the Ranger obviously had made use of Athelas to see to them; it looked like he had lost consciousness afterwards and not regained it since. Even Elrond was not able to reach him, too battered was his body, too far gone his mind.

The elf sighed. He needed to bring Aragorn to Rivendell; it would terribly strain his injured body, but it was the only chance he had.

The ride back was an ordeal for both of them; even though Aragorn did not come to, it was evident that he was in pain, and Elrond stopped several times because he feared he was losing him. When they finally passed the gates of the Last Homely House´s courtyard the elf could have wept; the light of the day was already diminishing, and it seemed to Elrond as if it was the perishing life of Aragorn.

His councellor came to meet him when Elrond hurried up the stairs, Aragorn on his arms and his face rigid with anxiety. After one look at the situation Erestor bit back all the questions he had wanted to ask, where Elrond had gone for example, but now he simply walked ahead swiftly and opened the doors which the elf-lord needed to pass.

He eased Aragorn down on his bed, and together they undressed him and removed the bandages, which were soaked with blood. Erestor had to subdue a gasp of shock when he first saw the injuries; he had expected something like this from the fashion Elrond had brought his son home, but still- his stomach felt slightly queasy.

"Orc poison", Elrond said quietly, sounding uncommonly tired.

They took care of the wounds as best as they could, and Elrond made haste, for he needed to brew an antidote, and soon. Aragorn´s otherwise cold skin felt increasingly warm to the touch, but he had lost so much blood that he very certainly would not be able to fight off the poison-induced fever. He had not reacted to his father´s and Erestor´s ministrations once, but lay still and unmoving all the time; apart from the wound above his temple he had sustained two deep cuts, very likely caused by a sword or scimitar, across his shoulder blade and the ribcage, and one minor cut on his left wrist. The bone underneath was sprained.

When nothing else could be done, Elrond went to his study. He had not even had to ask Erestor if he would stay with Aragorn; his own sorrow was mirrored in the older elf´s face.

It was nearing midnight when Elrond returned; the antidote needed to boil for at least another two hours before it would be strong enough.

He found a thoroughly subdued Erestor; the councellor had been unsuccessfully trying to keep the fever down during the past few hours, and he looked defeated. A fine sheen of sweat stood on Aragorn´s brow, and his cheeks looked flushed whereas the rest of his face was ashen.

Elrond laid his hand on Erestor´s shoulder: "We cannot do anything but wait. Go and rest.", he said quietly yet determined. Erestor looked from him to Aragorn, then he hesitantly got to his feet. Before he left, he took Aragorn´s hand in his and held it for a while, silently, then he turned to go.

Elrond had averted his eyes, not wanting to watch Erestor bidding a farewell which seemed far too untimely.

After the other elf had left, he sat down on the edge of the bed; Aragorn´s breathing was slightly laborious, and from time to time he moved his head minutely. Elrond´s heart hurt at his sight; he hunched forward, holding Aragorn´s hand to his chest with his right and stroking his face with his left. His own heartbeat reminded him of how slowly time passed by; two hours suddenly seemed longer than days.

He looked at his son and knew that he had not even survived the journey to Rivendell had it not been for his Númenoréan blood.

Closing his eyes, he prayed for the Valar to help Aragorn, to grant him even more time, more strength. He did not know how he would find the courage to look into his daugther´s face and tell her of their loss, not to mention Elladan and Elrohir? How should he meet them once they returned home? He dared not think about it.

Elrond had dozed off, finally being overwhelmed by exhaustion and weariness, and woke up with a start when one of the logs in the fireplace broke apart audibly. He was confused at first but remembered all too clearly what had happened when he found himself slumped forward next to Aragorn. Quickly, Elrond checked wether the Ranger was still with him; his pulse was weak and slightly erratic, but he was still breathing, still alive.

Slowly, the elf got up and went to look after the potion; it had been boiling for nearly three hours now, and had turned translucent, which was a sure sign that it was ready. Elrond poured it into a mug and went back to Aragorn. As soon as the liquid had cooled off sufficiently, he lifted Aragorn´s head up, patiently making him swallow the antidote.

He set the empty cup on the nightstand with a small sigh, praying once more that it would help. He hated feeling so helpless.

He had not seen the Ranger in a long time, and he hoped that this would not be their final parting; he had so much to say, so many words in his mind which he had been pondering over and over for the past years, words of regret and words of hope. Hope. Estel; he reached up and gently stroked Aragorn´s cheek, just like he had done when the human had merely been a small child.

Elrond´s love for him had never diminished, despite their dispute about Arwen, and he prayed that he would get a chance to show it. The thought occured to him that he very possibly had not even found Aragorn if there had not still been a strong bond between them; this could only mean that the Ranger had forgiven him after their last quarrel, that he still regarded Elrond as a father. Unable to subdue a sob, Elrond took Aragorn´s hand in his own, holding on to him: he could not lose him.

The fever started to decrease in the early morning; Elrond had sat with him all the time, continuously cooling his forehead and anxious that the poison would succeed in the end. The antidote seemed to take effect, however; some of the Ranger´s natural colour returned, and he did not look so utterly pale anymore.

The first light of morning was caressing them when Aragorn finally opened his eyes; they were glazed over and betrayed his condition, but as his gaze lingered on Elrond, the elf understood that his son recognized him. Overwhelmed with emotion, Elrond stroked his uninjured temple: "Estel", he said softly, his voice trembling slightly.

Aragorn blinked, too depleted to answer; he did not understand what had happened, since his mind was a complete blank, but he had probably never been this tired. He wanted to say something, but before he could assemble a coherent thought, his eyes closed again, sleep claiming his weary mind.

Elrond drew a shaky breath; his relief made him tremble, and he could have wept, again. He sat down in the armchair next to the bed and sagged against the backrest, trembling. Through all his years and despite all the battles he had fought had he never felt as vulnerable as every time a member of his family was concerned. He sighed, thanking the Valar for their grace. He felt depleted and allowed himself to doze off again, this time with a much lighter heart.

This was how Erestor found him a little while later, fast asleep; the councellor turned to the bed in alarm, but to his surprise, Aragorn looked much better and seemingly was asleep as well.

Thus he remained for the better part of the day; his sleep was deep and dreamless, and when he awoke again, he was less dazed. He had no recollection of waking up before at all, or why he was lying in bed in the first place, or how he had gotten home; his father was there, which filled him with relief. Whatever the reason was, Elrond would be able to help him; but the elf looked quite grave even though his tired face lit up when he noticed that Aragorn was awake.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at his son: "Estel", he said, as before. Aragorn weakly smiled back: "What happened?" Elrond assessed his still sleepy son fondly: "That is a long story. Too long for now, it seems. It is only important that you are safe now. Are you in pain?" "No..." Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, taking inventory of his body. It felt heavy and a bit achy here and there, but apart from that, he seemed well enough.

Elrond nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer: "Good. Just let me know if you are in pain, but I deem you will be going back to sleep for now anyway." "Aye", Aragorn did not open his eyes again, for his eyelids felt strangely heavy as well, and sleep was beckoning him indeed. "Aye, I will..." Elrond bent forward and placed a kiss on his son´s brow: "Sleep well, my little squirrel." Already half asleep, the corners of Aragorn´s mouth twitched in an instinctive response to this childhood name.

The elf listened as the Ranger´s breathing evened out; despite his own lack of sleep and exhaustion he was overly happy. More than once had he feared not to be able to speak with Aragorn ever again; he had been very close to death, and it seemed a small miracle to Elrond that he had survived. He held the man´s hand in his own, gently stroking it with his thumb: "I will stay with you..."

Half an hour later, Aragorn suddenly started to move fitfully. Elrond, who had retired into the armchair once more, sat up straight; a moment later, Aragorn jerked violently and awoke with a gasp. Elrond instantly sat down beside him again: "Estel?", he queried, directing the Ranger´s gaze at himself. Aragorn stared at the elf wide-eyed, his heart racing: "Ada", he finally murmured, and sank back down onto the pillow. In his dream he had seen what his memory had withheld from him before, and now he vividly recalled what had happened. Memories of a battle, of pain and defeat overwhelmed him, and he relived the despair he had felt when he had realized his own helplessness, a feeling which had so far been alien to him. Unseeingly, he stared at Elrond, who tried to regain Aragorn´s attention: "Estel, look at me!", he said insistently. "It is over, and you are safe! It was but a dream!"

Slowly, the tension in Aragorn´s body unwound, and his heart slowed down. "I needed you", he said suddenly and so low that even Elrond had to strain his ears in order to understand him. "I needed you, and you came..."

A warm smile slowly spread on the elf´s serious face. "I did", Elrond replied softly. "I came because I could feel your peril. You are my child, Estel; you are in my heart. It will always be so." And you have just shown me that you feel the same about me, he added in his thoughts. You still allow me to be your father...

"Thank you", Aragorn murmured, keeping his gaze locked on the elf. He felt tired, but he also felt at home.

Elrond stroked his temple: "You are my child", he simply repeated.

Aragorn smiled: "I am fortunate.", he said before closing his eyes again at last.

The End