EIGHT
Pellin (Fading)
Come the night, I welcome thee!
For no more daylight now, I see.
Vexed in heart, in soul, in mind
I look for thee but cannot find
The spark of life, the joy of song
Where did we err, or travel wrong?
I cannot find what now I lack
Come the night, and fade to black.
Talathfen was little more than an odd assemblage of cobbled together dwellings covered with thatched roofs, and a stout wood wall to keep out predators that hunted at night. For the Dúnedain with whom Estel had ridden short weeks ago, it was a refuge in the spring from the floods that invariably came with the winter runoff, and in this case, the unexpected early fall storms that had filled the rivers to capacity.
A handful of Edain children tumbled about in the center of the village, running and shouting; playing games as children of all races were wont to do. Laughter came easily with the small knot of boys and girls, and from the rough watchtower at the corner of the protective wall, Eólin smiled softly. They had been fortunate, blessed even to have escaped the flooding of the lower valleys with no loss of life, although the damage to their winter stocks had yet to be accounted for; some of the harvest had been brought in but there were other crops that had suffered destruction. There would have to be some good hunting to provide for the winter months and perhaps some bartering with surrounding villages or with the Elves of Rivendell.
Eólin turned his attention back to the surrounding area; these days inattention was an ill-afforded thing. If not Orcs, there was always the possibility of marauding wild men who would be scouting villages to raid after the unexpected floods.
As it had been during the days of storming, however, the high ground around Talathfen showed no disturbance, no sign of attacker or predator. Life below the Dúnadan continued on, the men caring for their weapons and horses, the women tending to the morning bread baking and scolding misbehaving children.
The sun high in the sky promised excellent weather and perhaps a return to the tasks of scouting and hunting cut into by the danger to their families from the heavy rains. However, Eólin did not think that most of the Rangers minded this small respite, domestic days spent with their wives and children, tenderness released from the confines of vigilance and even some games and contests of strength between them.
There was a small pattering sound behind him, followed by a short grunt as someone hoisted himself over the top of the ladder, and without turning around, Eólin addressed the newcomer cheerfully.
"Given up fighting dragons and wargs, Madred?"
The childish laughter that sounded behind him was a pleasant sound, and the boy came closer.
"How did you know it was me, Eólin?" Madred was only eight years old, too young to understand totally his Dúnedain inheritance, the skills that he would one day hone and use. For now, however, it was enough for the child to learn that it had taken no special Rangers' skills for Eólin to know exactly who had joined him.
"Who else comes up here to share his lunch with me every day?" The tall ranger glanced back at the young boy behind him, all long limbs already; Madred had his father's height and his mother's generous spirit. "What did you bring us today, young master?"
Madred hated anyone calling him young already, even though he had not yet reached his first decade, unless it was Eólin who addressed him so. He didn't even accept that from his father without complaint, despite idolizing his father as much as Eólin. To Madred's mind, Eólin and his father were the bravest, smartest, most skilled Rangers of all except for the one they called Strider. Madred had only ever met Strider face to face once, and that had been less than a month ago. However his father, Eólin and even Halbarad had deferred to the outsider who had ridden into their midst and Madred had decided this Strider must be someone important.
"Venison and bread, and some honey Mama gave me." Madred answered his ranger friend's question, and he put the satchel that carried their lunch into the near corner before coming up beside the watchful Dúnadan.
"Ahh…" Eólin smiled deeply. "Honey is a treat indeed."
"How goes the watch?" Madred asked, very seriously for such a young boy, and Eólin was hard-pressed to conceal the chuckle that rose in his throat.
"Very calm, very calm indeed. Scarcely a bit of motion anywhere except for some deer further out into the westerlands."
"Deer?" Madred echoed, turning toward the westward wall to peek out of the knothole there. There were four such knotholes, one in each direction, just at Madred-height. 'Fancy that,' Eólin had remarked upon their discovery by the boy.
"Aye, there were some fine-looking stags, to be sure." The ranger scanned the eastern horizon, ever vigilant as he spoke. "Although they have moved on some while ago." Madred of course was disappointed. "Why don't you break out our feast, and we will keep the rest of the watch together."
That, of course, was agreeable with Madred; indeed, it was every day. It would not be long before this young one would begin his training outright, learning to track and scout, practicing the use of bow and sword.
There had been some cheese in the satchel too and the two friends took their noon meal with a certain amount of satisfaction. The honey bread was particularly good; Eólin had to admit. It had been quite awhile since the last time he had tasted the sweet treat.
"Your mother spoils us, Madred." He commented lightly as he looked out over the northern wall.
"Mama spoils everybody." The boy retorted, but it was evident that he was enjoying their repast as well. For a long moment, neither spoke, occupied with filling their bellies and simply keeping watch—Eólin at the wall and Madred peering through the knotholes—until Madred suddenly exclaimed, "Eólin! Eólin, look! A rider approaches from the south!"
The ranger snapped upright, having bent down to retrieve the water skin, and hastened to the southern wall. Indeed, some distance away from them, a horse was bearing toward the village, and the rider bent low over the horse's neck, to allow the creature its head. Eólin stiffened a bit; it could only be a matter of urgency for the rider to make such speed. The ranger placed a hand upon the boy's shoulder.
"Well done, Madred. There is but a single rider; I do not wish to raise the alarm just yet. Go and fetch your father and Halbarad."
"Aye, Eólin!" The child scrambled back down the ladder, hurrying for the knot of men who were tending to their weapons, knowing that his father was among them. Papa would know exactly where Halbarad was, even if the lieutenant wasn't among the small group.
Eólin kept a close eye upon the rider approaching; the horse was galloping steadily on straight for the gates. It would be several minutes yet before any sort of assessment of the rider could take place; he was still too far away to make any sort of identification.
Several moments later, Madred was scrambling up the ladder once more.
"Did you find your father, young master?" The ranger kept his eye trained on the horizon, on the rider and did not spare a glance back toward the breathless boy behind him.
"I did!" Madred gasped, panting for breath. "And Halbarad…they have gathered a small band of men to stand the gates."
Eólin nodded tightly. That was prudent, a few Rangers prepared to meet the oncoming rider without having to raise the general alarm as yet. Two more Rangers climbed the tower, joining Eólin to pay attention to the other three directions, north, east and west.
"Well done, Madred. Now…go on, go back down. We will speak again once the intention of our visitor is known."
Madred sighed softly; that was to be expected. Nevertheless, the boy was obedient, gathering up his satchel and things, and climbing back down the ladder. He paused at the base of the ladder, looking over to the handful of Rangers gathered near the gates, speaking casually, their weapons easily at hand but not yet displayed. His father caught his eye and the boy grinned, but then Halbarad looked over as well, silencing the boy's curiosity. Madred ran off to play with the other children, content with the knowledge that Eólin would keep his word and seek him out later.
Erestor slipped into the healing room, bearing a tray containing light meals for the Peredhil. Elrond was sitting by the fireplace, taking a momentary rest while Elrohir took his turn at Aragorn's side. It was the first that Erestor had actually been in the sickroom, and he nearly dropped the tray when he caught sight of his lord's human son.
Aragorn was paper-white. The restlessness that marked the earlier fever-dreams had not returned; despite all effort by his foster father and brothers to restore his strength, the unearthly stillness had claimed him once more. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed gave any sort of indication that he remained with the living, but even that seemed strained, as if the only thing human wanted to do was to rest. Cease all motion and simply rest, despite the fact that sort of rest would only be obtained in Mandos' Halls…and yet, the slow, stubborn breathing continued.
Elrond looked up from his chair at the advisor's gasp, offering Erestor a faint smile to cushion the shock, and motioned his old friend closer. Erestor could not tear his eyes away from the motionless human, swallowing tightly, but at last, he did, coming to Elrond's side with the tray.
"It is hard to see him thus, I know." Elrond said softly as he gratefully took a cup of tea from the tray and took an experimental sip to test its heat. "He has not awakened since taking some broth last evening."
"It is as though he fades, although I know that is not possible." Erestor murmured softly, and at that, Elrohir's head snapped up sharply.
"What…what did you say?" The younger twin asked softly. Erestor blinked a moment, a bit surprised by the younger elf's reaction.
"I said that Estel has the appearance of an elf suffering from the fading." Erestor repeated cautiously, as he placed the tray upon a nearby table and dared to edge closer to the bed upon which Aragorn lay. "But for the fever, he bears the air of those whose light has diminished and whose souls no longer bear joy."
"Why do you ask, Elrohir?" Elrond asked quietly, his brows tucked together into a curious frown. The younger twin had a worried look upon his face.
"Ada…I said nearly the same thing to El the day after Legolas and Glorfindel set out." Elladan nodded confirmation, recalling Elrohir's comment.
"It…the fading…is not possible, is it? Estel is mortal…" Erestor started, but Elrond's expression was thoughtful as he met Erestor's gaze.
"He is mortal, that is true," Elrond set aside the teacup, one hand coming to stroke against his chin in concentration. "But he carries the blood of Númenor within him. A touch of my brother yet resides within his bloodline."
"But Ada," Elladan glanced at his twin before speaking further. "It doesn't make sense. If Estel were truly fading, would he not give up the fight?"
"And what would affect him so deeply to cause him to…to fade?" Elrohir shook his head slowly, frightened. Their little brother often carried the weight of his heritage, could be serious, solemn and quiet at times, but his spirit was ever full of life and gentleness. Laughter was no stranger to his lips, and often he was quick to join his brothers in their pranks; Glorfindel had suffered at more than just the hands of the 'terrible twins.' "Estel knows we love him, Ada…why would he leave us?"
Elrond's throat tightened a bit with the implications of such a thing. Already Aragorn was very weak; if this indeed was the fading, somehow, he was rapidly approaching a place where losing him was quite possible. Rising quickly, the Elf Lord returned to his son's bedside, softly requesting that Elrohir move aside for a time. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gently took up Aragorn's limp hand between both of his, and drew in a deep breath.
Closing his eyes, Elrond placed one palm gently upon his Aragorn's pale forehead, retaining his grip on his son's hand with the other, and drew his concentration into a healing trance, seeking to draw the tortured soul back to the light. Please, he begged silently. Come back to the light.
Elrohir hugged himself tightly, fear woven into his features as he recognized what his father was attempting, and a silent tear tracked down his face. Elladan, touched by Elrohir's distress, took the few steps necessary to be at his side. Embracing his twin from behind, Elladan leaned his chin against Elrohir's shoulder, both of them watching their father and younger brother closely.
Elrond's lips moved slightly, faint whispers in Elvish the only sound in the room, his natural elven glow growing to envelop Aragorn as well. "Saes, Estel…lasto na beth nín. Baw misto haeron…baw ego athan cened nín." Please, Estel…hear my words. Do not stray so far…do not go beyond my sight. "Daro nedh i calad, daro anim." Stay in the light, stay for me. "Daro an gwedeir lín…daro an Legolas." Stay for your brothers…stay for Legolas.
Beneath the Elf Lord's hand, there was no motion, no indication that Elrond's words or efforts were reaching the young ranger, not even the mention of Legolas' name. Standing side by side, the twins were mirror images of anxious trembling. On the other side of the room, Erestor silently sank into the chair beside the fire that just moments ago had held his lord, the implication of his own words dawning on him; however slim the chance of their reality might be.
Finally, Elrohir could bear it no more. Pulling abruptly away from Elladan, he sank down on his knees at Estel's bedside and buried his face in the blanket, weeping softly. Elladan, briefly paralyzed by his twin's overwhelming sorrow and his own upset over his mortal brother's condition, simply stood open-mouthed for a stunned moment before swallowing tightly and rushing from the room.
Elrond was distantly aware of his other sons' distress, as one who might hear Elrohir's weeping from the next room over, or Elladan's rapid steps from downstairs. However, he kept his focus tightly upon Estel, unwilling as yet to abandon his effort to coax his son back to the realm of light. The glow surrounding them both seemed to intensify as Elrond tightened in concentration. "Mas le, ion nín? Estel, tolo bar…pado na i cuinar." Where are you my son? Estel, come home…walk again with the living.
"Tolo ad ai mîl le." Come back for those who love you. Elrohir choked out between sobbing breaths. "Saes, Estel, baw awartho ammen an dúath." Please, Estel do not forsake us for the shadow.
Elrohir's heartbroken cries were more than Erestor could take. Silver tears raced the length of his face, and the advisor slowly rose, shaken and worried. Lips moving in silent pleading to the Valar, Erestor slipped from the room to find Elladan.
Despite the muddy, unpleasant conditions leftover from the rains, the cadre was making fairly good progress due north, toward Raniean's understanding of where Talathfen lay, up in the high ground. Lord Erestor's directions and descriptions were all he had to go on; neither he nor Trey had ever had much opportunity to travel that far north. It was well into the afternoon when Trelan's horse drew alongside his own, and Raniean glanced over at his friend.
"We should give the horses a rest." Trey suggested lightly, and Raniean tipped his head back enough to assess Anor's position in the skies. "And I don't know about you but some of us are hungry."
"Some of us?" Ran questioned teasingly, a slight lift of his eyebrows as he looked back to his companion. "Or just you, hmm?" The sudden grumbling of his own stomach at the mention of food saved Trey from having to answer, except for a bit of soft laughter.
The gentle humor between them was a welcome thing, staving off the tense concerns that gathered among the escort the further north they went. Picking up Glorfindel and Legolas' trail shortly upon leaving Rivendell, they followed their quarry precisely, but that had not lasted long as the rains had obscured most evidences of the two elves' passage north. It bothered Raniean much more than it normally might, a thick knot of apprehension settling deep inside, and he sighed softly.
"Ran?" Trey frowned slightly, noting Raniean's distressed expression. "Are you all right, mellon nín?" A quiet pause fell between them for a moment before Ran hunched his shoulders slightly.
"As all right as I can be." He replied tersely. "I like not that there are so few indications of their passage." Raniean watched as Trelan glanced instinctively around them, as if such indications might spring to light by the mere mention of them.
"I'm sure they're all right." Trelan encouraged quietly. "Glorfindel has taken down an orc or two in his time, you know. And we've all seen Legolas' skill with the bow and blade. If anything has beset them, I'm certain they made their opponents very, very sorry."
Raniean lifted a hand, signaling the cadre to come to a halt, and the others in their group clustered together warily, elven senses on high alert. Out in the open like this, heading into the wilds with very little cover, caution was a friend. Slowly the small group of elves dismounted, allowing the horses to wander apace to graze. A pair of them took up a watch while the others sat down and broke out water skins, lembas and some fresh fruit Erestor had sent with them.
"You're right, of course." Raniean finally agreed with his friend, if somewhat halfheartedly. Trey frowned once again as he sat down next to his troubled friend.
"What is it, Ran?" Trey prodded gently as he passed a piece of lembas over to the taller elf. "The rest of us are also worried about Legolas, you know."
Raniean accepted the lembas from his friend's hand, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully before answering. "I know that. I just…don't feel right." He didn't know how to explain it any more than that, and the Silvan elf's silver eyes turned an anxious gaze to the northern horizon.
Trelan drew his legs up to his chest; hands clasped around them, and rested his chin upon his knees.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say Lord Elrond's gift of foresight had come off on you." The smaller elf shuddered briefly, recalling the unearthly utterance they'd heard in Imladris and he knew what troubled his friend. "It's the vision Lord Elrond had, isn't it?" Raniean looked at Trelan as if the other sentinel needed a new brain.
"Of course it is." He said, perhaps a bit more harshly than he'd intended, and Trelan's wounded expression softened Raniean's voice. "I…keep thinking about what he said, about the houses of Mirkwood and Rivendell mourning together."
All attempts at light-heartedness dropped away now, and Trelan hid his face behind his knees. He feared for all of them—Legolas, Estel and Glorfindel. Raniean looked over and saw his friend's trembling shoulders, and he sighed softly. Reaching over, Ran placed his hand gently upon the slender back. "Goheno nin." Forgive me.
"Al-baur gohena. Iston i naw uin gurth o mellyn mín…o Legolas…na gaer. Ten na goe nín, caun mín na dannen." No need to forgive. I know the idea of the death of our friends…of Legolas…is dreadful. It is my fear our prince is fallen. Trelan turned his face toward Raniean, his right cheek still resting against his knees. At his shoulders, Raniean's hand moved in gentle circles.
"Gerin sen caul an-le. Baw cúlach ha erui, Trey." I hold this burden with you. You do not carry it alone, Trey. Raniean whispered softly, meeting Trelan's fearful gaze.
"Nor do you." Trelan replied as solidly as he was able.
It was, in this moment when so much was still unknown, all the comfort they could offer one another.
The rider was within view, now.
Eólin sucked in a startled breath as he realized who was bearing toward them with such haste.
"Glorfindel!" He exclaimed softly, drawing the attention of his two companions, both looking at him curiously. "Glorfindel!" Eólin repeated, by way of explanation. "The Balrog-Slayer." When he received blank stares from his fellow rangers, both rather younger than Eólin, he sighed impatiently. "He is Firstborn, an Elf of Rivendell. He resides in the house of Lord Elrond." The Dúnadan suddenly grinned. "And it has been many years since I have seen his face."
Charging the other two to stay at the watch, Eólin scrambled down the ladder, and headed for the gates to inform the small knot of men waiting that there was no need for alarm. At least, not from the rider who approached. Upon receiving that information, however, Halbarad's expression remained slightly tensed; for what reason would Glorfindel be coming to Talathfen?
"Some evil must have come to Imladris." Halbarad murmured quietly, and Eólin's expression sobered at that thought. The reminder that dire tidings must be the reason for the unexpected reunion tempered his initial joy at seeing his old friend.
At last the gates swung inward, and the horse bearing the blonde seneschal trotted into their midst. Glorfindel dismounted immediately, and his somewhat disheveled appearance signaled to Eólin at least that the Elf's journey had suffered from both haste and the ill weather.
"Mae govannen." Halbarad spoke first; as Strider's lieutenant and kin, it was his place to speak first. "You are welcome among us, Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell."
Despite the urgency of his arrival, Glorfindel smiled warmly.
"Mae govannen, Halbarad." The seneschal replied, a slight inclination of his head in honor of his hosts. "It is good to see Talathfen—and you—again, mellon nín." A deep breath signaled a plunge forward, and the Men gathered did not have long to wait. "We need to speak apart, Halbarad. Bring your two or three most trusted men and let us take counsel together."
Halbarad nodded shortly, and motioned to a pair of Dúnedain on his left, then turned and nodded to Eólin. The tall ranger stepped forward, and instantly Glorfindel's eyes widened in recognition.
"Mae govannen, my lord Glorfindel." Eólin greeted with no small joy, although he remained appropriately solemn to the occasion. "Ind nín linnon tírad thîr lín ad." My heart sings to see your face again.
"Eólin, Eórlion." Eólin, son of Eórl. "Suilad. Gelir im na tirnen am le." Greetings. Happy I am to look upon you. To the surprise of all the younger men, save Halbarad who remembered the first meeting between these two, Glorfindel reached over and clasped Eólin's shoulder in the manner of sword-brothers. Eólin returned the gesture solidly.
Halbarad made the suggestion that the five of them speak privately in his own dwelling, and they made their way across the compound to the small structure. Eólin remained silent during the small trek from the gates, his thoughts turning now toward the reason for this visit from the elven warrior from Rivendell. Eólin knew firsthand, as did many of this company, how renowned in battle the Noldorin were. What terror could have invaded Rivendell to prompt Lord Elrond to send a single messenger—especially this messenger—to seek out the Dúnedain this far north? As they filed in after Halbarad, he gazed thoughtfully at his friend from years ago, and his brows furled into an expression of great concern.
"What tidings from Imladris, Lord Glorfindel?" Halbarad wasted no time, getting right to it, and Glorfindel exhaled softly.
"The news I bear regards your chieftain Strider, and his friend the Prince of Mirkwood."
Erestor slipped into the Hall of Fire, and stood just inside the doorway.
"Elladan?"
At his softly spoken name, the elder twin fairly trembled. Erestor had not seen him so vulnerable since the days directly following Celebrian's departure for Valinor. Quietly the advisor crossed the broad room, joining Elladan before the dancing flames.
"I should have understood it better, before now." Elladan said; his voice barely audible even to elven ears. "He wasn't sleeping well…he was distressed, body and mind before he fell sick."
"He is mortal. It would not have been a logical conclusion." Erestor pointed out gently. "You cannot blame yourself for something that escaped us all, Elrondion." The advisor raised his hand, and let it kindly fall to Elladan's shoulder. "We may yet be wrong about it as well; heir of Númenor notwithstanding, Estel is human."
Silence fell between them for long moments before Elladan spoke again.
"I would give all to see his pain relieved." The twin's shoulders slumped suddenly in quiet grief beneath Erestor's hand. "If Estel is fading…I cannot imagine what terrible hurt…" Tears came now, faster than Elladan expected.
"Perhaps his strength wanes, Elrondion, but yours has not. Tell him all that is in your heart, all that you carry for him. At least he is here, in Imladris, and not kept far from us. Share your strength with him, Elladan. He cannot have forgotten your love for him so completely." It was not unlike the advice Erestor had given Elrond himself earlier, but he waited to see if the son would receive it as well as the father.
"Strength was not enough to save Naneth." Elladan whispered, old pains rising to the fore briefly, prodded along by new ones. "Love was not enough. And what will happen if it is not enough to save Estel?"
Quietly the advisor did what Elrond, otherwise occupied at this moment, could not. He simply enfolded Elladan into a supportive embrace, and allowed the younger elf to weep upon his shoulder. Erestor had no wish to see the Peredhil suffer another loss so close to their hearts; he feared what would become of Elrond's household should it come to that.
"I do not have that answer, Elladan. The Valar have not chosen to reveal to me, what will be." Erestor replied softly, pulling back a little to look at his lord's son. "Foresight has been given to your Adar, not to me." Elladan's eyes welled again, and he glanced away. Erestor frowned slightly. "What is it?"
"Ada's sight…showed him weeping, voices raised in lament." Elladan hesitated. "The song of the dead rising in Imladris and among the people of Aran Thranduil."
A sweeping chill raced up Erestor's spine at Elladan's words. The obvious implications of such a vision were far too real, and far too near, and the advisor drew in a slow, steadying breath.
"Estel is your brother, in all but blood." Erestor placed both hands upon both shoulders now, facing the twin to steady him. "His need for you is great, Elladan. Estel's life, his survival, is in your hands. You and Elrohir, his brothers, and his Adar." Beneath his touch, Elladan fairly trembled, and he bowed his head slightly.
"I did not mean to abandon Estel." He whispered. Erestor recognized the younger elf's feeling of shame, and his burden.
"You did nothing of the sort, Elladan Elrondion." Erestor moved one hand to tip up Elladan's chin, to meet his gaze. "Your heart is as tender as Elrohir's is, although you do not show it as easily as he does. It pains you to think of Estel suffering from the fading." Erestor squeezed lightly upon Elladan's shoulders. "No one faults you for that; it sorrows my heart as well if that indeed is what is happening."
Elladan drew in a measured breath. "It is tearing 'Ro apart." He murmured softly. He could sense his twin's upset, and felt the same mourning within. They had known a few scattered Elves whose spirits had faded beyond the point of rescue or return; the idea of such a fate coming to their human brother was indeed terrifying.
"Ego si an ti, Elladan." Go now to them, Elladan. Erestor encouraged gently. "Gwedeir lín garo baur o le." Your brothers have need of you. Elladan squared his shoulders; beneath his hands, Erestor could feel the determination that now lit the elder twin's eyes, and he nodded affirmation. "Al erui le vi achas lín; al erui le vi tass lín o edraith Estel." You are not alone in your fear; you are not alone in your task of saving Estel.
Erestor withdrew his hands now, stepping back. Elladan inhaled and exhaled once, a deliberate steadying breath, before hurrying from the Hall of Fire to return to the fight in which he was needed so desperately. Erestor nodded to himself slowly. If indeed this was the fading, by some cursed chance, Aragorn would need more than medicine; he would need a reason to battle his way back to the light. Three very good reasons would now surround him, and they would not abandon him.
Not to the shadow. Not now, not ever.
Legolas carefully sat up, uncertain of just when he had drifted back to sleep, nor what part of the day greeted him as he returned to wakefulness. A colorful string of dwarvish laced his mutterings as he tested his body's willingness to obey him. Ai, Elbereth…my head. He pressed one palm against his forehead, willing the rhythmic throbbing to cease. It shouldn't still hurt this badly, he told himself. Not after a whole night's sleep and a good portion of a day's after. He could only conclude that his injury was more serious than he had initially believed. Even the elven ability of rapid healing could greatly slow down with significant enough damage.
"Legolas?" Miluiel's soft voice interjected from the open doorway and she appeared much steadier upon her feet than before, and Legolas frowned slightly, uncertain in his current groggy state exactly what, if anything, he thought he'd seen earlier. "You do not look well…how are you feeling?"
Legolas chafed a bit at the healer-like tone in her voice, and he stubbornly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He could not afford this weakness while Aragorn's life lay in the balance, and by the stars, he would not remain abed as time was against him…against Aragorn…and with the trust of the house of Elrond upon him.
Grasping the bedpost as he had done earlier, Legolas gingerly came to his feet. He was pleased that his ankle, while quite tender, was a bit more disposed to bearing his weight, and after a moment he released his grip on the post. Balancing with most of his weight born on his good foot, he attempted the few steps necessary to cross the room. Only a slight wince betrayed the residual aching of the damaged ankle.
Suddenly the room spun sickeningly, and the slender elf crashed unceremoniously to the floor before he'd even quite realized what had happened. A moment later Legolas was aware of hands at his shoulders and Miluiel's worried voice speaking his name.
"I'm…somewhat dizzy." Legolas admitted grudgingly. He was more than upset that he could not yet rise and pursue his charge to aid Aragorn and impatient that his body seemed intent on betraying him. Accustomed to perfect balance and the ability to walk slender tree branches or the narrow balcony railings, the dizziness was a most distressing sensation for the normally graceful wood elf.
"You should be resting." Miluiel chided softly as she helped him sit upright. "Let me see." She placed the fingers of her right hand beneath Legolas' chin and gently tilted his head in order to take advantage of the afternoon light. With the fingers of her left, she carefully brushed back disheveled blonde hair to view the dark, angry bruise against the fair skin. "You have quite the mark here, Legolas. Does it pain you much?"
Legolas noted wryly that Miluiel sounded much as Aragorn might in asking such a thing; questioning not if there was pain, but how much. Still, the thumping troll that seemed to have taken up residence in his skull seemed to demand that he cooperate, no matter how much he may wish otherwise.
"Depends upon your definition of 'much,' I'm afraid." Legolas replied flatly, his expression deadpan. "If it entails feeling as though every heartbeat will split my head in two, then the answer is yes, it does."
"Come, you should be in bed. You will do your companion little good in this condition, and if completing your task requires a clear head you will not be much aid there, either." Miluiel responded just as dryly, and Legolas exhaled softly as she shifted to help him up.
"I know I deserved that." He said by way of apology, but his expression remained taut, his mind occupied with anxious thoughts of both Aragorn and Glorfindel. "I am merely eager to reassure my fellow traveler of my survival and to complete my charge." Despite the slim hands keeping him steady, the room seemed to tilt crazily and sapphire eyes squeezed shut against the unwelcome sensation.
"You will be able to do neither in this state." Miluiel replied, and her voice held none of the sharpness that they had just traded with each other. "And if you persist thus, your desires will matter little as you will not be here to carry them out!"
Unable really to do otherwise, Legolas allowed Miluiel to guide him back to the bed, and slowly he leaned back against the pillows, which Miluiel rearranged for him. Worry raced through Legolas, but not for himself. His thoughts were all around Aragorn. Was Aragorn still alive? Would this delay mean his death? Would Glorfindel be able to do what Legolas could not?
He swallowed tightly, his throat suddenly dry as dust as he fervently hoped that Glorfindel had chosen Estel over himself in matters of priority. Of secondary importance was the belief beginning to well within him that he was a failure to his friend, and to the heavy trust deposited with him by the Peredhel. It mattered little to Legolas what became of him in coming days, as long as Aragorn survived. Survived and went on to fulfill the destiny that lay before him.
Legolas emerged from his anxious thoughts as slender fingers hesitantly touched the back of his hand. Slightly unfocused sapphire eyes gazed at the hooded figure next to him. "What do you fear, Legolas?" Miluiel's voice sounded softly.
"The loss…of that which is dearest to me." Legolas answered truthfully. Estel's honest, unassuming friendship had rescued the elf from the darkness that would have filled him after the loss of his naneth, the hatred that might have claimed him after earlier, more terrible encounters with humans, and even older, more private pains that had been forced upon him by one who had been both enemy and family by blood.
Legolas was uncertain what it was that made him confess it, but as he glanced down upon the palm that had not moved from the back of his hand, he drew in a slow, measured breath. "What is it that you fear, Miluiel?" He asked bluntly, feeling somewhat vulnerable now and wishing to even the territory with the kind—but still largely unknown—being sitting beside him. "Do you fear me?" He motioned once again to the hood, which hid her face with his free hand. The hand that rested on his now shook, and a moment passed in which Legolas thought to go unanswered once again, before the hooded head bowed slightly.
"I have lost all that I fear…and I fear all that I have lost." She whispered at last, and she withdrew her hand. "I fear myself." Miluiel now raised her head, and to Legolas' surprise, her hands came up to the edges of the hood. He found himself holding his breath, although he did not know why.
In a single, fluid motion, the trembling fingers threw back the hood.
Halbarad hunched his shoulders tightly, and regarded Glorfindel with a great deal of concern. He was just as aware as Eólin was that for this particular warrior of Rivendell to come meant this news regarding Strider and his elven companion Legolas was not likely to be good.
"What has happened?" He prompted again. Glorfindel glanced at the other three men, including Eólin, before continuing, explaining the events of the recent past; Strider's arrival in Rivendell, his collapse and subsequent illness, and the charge that had been laid upon himself and Legolas, their separation at the river and the last of the journey that had brought him to Talathfen. Glorfindel skirted a few of the minor details, things that might have given away Strider's true identity as the heir of Isildur, but explained the purpose of his arrival here among the Dúnedain, and requested their aid.
"...even now he lies at the door of Mandos' Halls. We only hoped that in finding out what befell him that we might discover how to aid him." Glorfindel finished, and the slight slump of the proud warrior's shoulder bore testament to the burdens he now carried—the death of the crown prince of Mirkwood among them, and the possible loss of Strider as well. Eólin felt his heart clench painfully, not only for his chieftain who now lay on the point of death but also, for the pain his old friend obviously felt concerning the loss of Legolas. Eólin himself had never met the Silvan archer but had heard much from Halbarad and Strider himself about the son of King Thranduil.
"You say he was nearly a week overdue on his appointment to Lord Elrond?" Halbarad questioned, thoughtfully. Glorfindel had guised Aragorn's return to Rivendell simply as agreement to report to the Elf Lord the results of the patrol he had undertaken with his fellow Rangers, as the Orc incursions had been growing bolder in recent days. The Dúnedain gathered took it for granted; they had always had good relations with the Elves, and Strider in particular was known to have close ties to both Rivendell and Mirkwood, so they thought nothing of it.
"Yes." Glorfindel responded with a nod of his head. "Lord Elrond had thought to send a party out searching for him when he was so overdue but that turned out to be unnecessary, thank Erú."
"Perhaps there is reason to be concerned about that, for his departure was as agreed upon; he should not have been so far behind in his travels as to reach Rivendell so late." Halbarad replied, a growing tension in his bearing.
"Not even with his intention to scout the eastern border on his way?" Eólin volunteered, and instantly all eyes were on him, and the young Ranger realized that Strider had not spoken of such intentions to anyone else. Not that the proposed extra scouting was truly "on the way," but the Dúnadan leader had mentioned it in passing to Eólin the day before departing. "Up in the watchtower, the night before his leave-taking, he spoke of going eastward to see how the villages there fared in the wake of the attacks."
"Perhaps Strider ran into more than he expected in those villages." Glorfindel surmised, and he turned his gaze to Aragorn's second-in-command. Halbarad drew in a slow, measured breath.
"We will aid you in this, Lord Glorfindel." Halbarad finally said, steadily. "I will send a group of scouts under Eólin's command with you to the villages in the east." The rough Dúnadan nodded firmly. "And I will lead a band myself to go west and search along the river for Prince Legolas."
Glorfindel's whole demeanor seemed to shift to something if…not exactly relieved, at least very much appreciative. The blonde elven head bowed slightly in simple thanks, and in the next moment, Halbarad's hand was upon the balrog-slayer's shoulder. "And now, allow us to show you some hospitality. You have ridden hard and the day is far spent. We will break bread together while Eólin and Vernad here choose the men to ride with us."
"Thank you, mellon nín." Glorfindel said gratefully, the tension—at least for now—leaving his shoulders and the seneschal even offered a slight smile. "And thank you for taking up the search for Legolas. It is difficult enough to deliver such ill news without having to deliver it empty-handed."
"With the blessing of the Valar, perhaps there will be no ill news to deliver." Eólin said, and the sad smile that Glorfindel turned on him made the younger man's heart clench once again. "Iston sen caul ha long bo ind lín." I know this burden is heavy on your heart.
"Pedo thenid, Eólin, Eórlion." You speak true, Eólin, son of Eórl. Glorfindel's sad smile now was touched with pleasure. "I see you have kept up your lessons." He said, a pleased sort of tone entering the tired voice as well. Eólin's eyes lightened a bit as well, and he nodded. The young Ranger had spent some months in Rivendell after his first meeting—and lifesaving—of Glorfindel, and had readily learned a good deal of the grey tongue.
"Aye." Eólin affirmed. "My father saw to that." He felt warmed by the tall Elf's approval.
"How fares Eórl, mellon nin?" Glorfindel asked as they filed from Halbarad's dwelling. Eólin hesitated briefly before replying, his voice softened.
"He fares as all who reach the halls of our fathers do." The heartbreaking look of compassion that Glorfindel wore now was one Eólin was quick to soothe. "My father's passing was honorable in the defense of elven messengers overtaken by orcs on the passage to Lothlorien. It was also some years ago, Glorfindel. I have come to peace about it."
"I think I recall this incident." Glorfindel mused, partly to his young human friend and partly to himself. "I believe Lord Elrond's twin sons were among those attacked on the way to Lothlorien." He placed a hand upon the ranger's shoulders. "Your Adar was a very good man. You have every right to be proud of his memory, Eólin."
Eólin noticed a slight figure hanging in the shadows, and he grinned suddenly, motioning the boy closer.
"I am also proud of someone else I think you should meet, Lord Glorfindel." Eólin said, placing his hands upon the boy's shoulders. "This is my sister's son, Madred. Madred, greet the Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell, the slayer of the balrog and captain of the Lord Elrond's warriors."
It was clearly an introduction meant to impress, and Glorfindel lifted slightly arched brows at Eólin, who simply continued to grin. He turned his attention to the human boy, who did indeed look appropriately awed. At Glorfindel's gaze, the boy gulped slightly and then placed his hand over his heart.
"Mae govannen, Hîr Glorfindel." Madred said at last, his voice more solid than his appearance would first indicate. "Ha glass na tírad sui beleg edhel sui le." It is joy to see as mighty an elf as you.
Glorfindel simply laughed now, understanding the purpose behind this meeting. It was meant to be a joyful note to lighten the burden he bore.
"You have passed your lessons along, I see." He said to Eólin, and it seemed to the young Ranger that there was a lighter tone to the balrog-slayer's voice. Turning back to Madred, the blonde elf inclined his head. "Am I the first elf you have met, Master Madred?" The boy's wide-eyed look in return was answer enough, and Glorfindel actually tousled the child's runaway locks. "Mae govannen, Madred."
"I think…" Eólin said cheerfully, "That you'd better tell your mother you have a guest for the evening meal, Madred."
Elf and Dúnadan chuckled softly as the boy tore off to do just that.
