Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.
CHAPTER XXI - UNEXPECTED WAYS
Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears, there can be only the blessed peace when he can escape the agony of life and death.
Sakyamuni
After the sinking of Beleriand, the limits of the continent changed and the sea wind found a new territory to invade, to show the quality of its strength. All temperatures in Middle-earth changed in some way in the Third Age. Where it was cold, where it was not so cold, where the sun brought the heat, where it brought a little more than that. All regions were transformed, and Eriador, one of the places that was most geographically modified by the invasion of water, was no different. There the effect of the sea wind went further inland. The Blue Mountains, known among the elves as Ered Luin, gained some of the moisture, making forests grow on the western slopes. Yet the gap in the Gulf of Lune and the long coastline in the southwest of Eriador somewhat counterbalanced the effect of the mountains, giving to the central region a temperate climate, a not so hot summer and a winter in which the land was rarely dressed in white.
Elrond rode back by the same path on which he had come. His course, however, was not one that his heart wanted to take. If he listened to what his spirit cried, he would continue his journey by the Great East Road, until every place around him was composed of well known and loved images, until he could gaze upon his land, until he could arrive in Rivendell.
That thought made him hug his son a bit tighter, pulling him closer to his chest. Elrohir had fallen asleep easily, losing consciousness after taking only half the medication needed by someone of his age. That was not a positive sign. All Elrond wanted now was to arrive at the house Eilafion had spoken about as soon as possible. To do so he would have to continue on the road a few more miles, until he reached a place called by some The Green Hills Country. There he would take the path south, going down toward the Sarn Ford, but not crossing the Baranduin. It was a way that he hadn't taken for a very long time; he hoped it had not changed much since then.
He had already been riding for a long while, with only the moonlight to show his steep way, and he hoped to see the sun rise as soon as it would. The moon had made its way through the sky, crossing his path as the night grew older. It was now on its final route, seeming to wait for the morning rays, in order to hide itself within the sun's warm veil of affection.
The lord of Rivendell also had another desire. He was eager to push the pace, but he knew that would not be favorable to his animal, nor to his wounded son. The few bumps they'd encountered so far on the hard way had aroused obvious signs of discomfort in Elrohir's face.
Crossing the open territory of eroded rocks and long ridges was not very encouraging either, especially at night. He gave thanks when he managed to overcome the difficult slope of the White Downs and descend its steep grade without dismounting or hearing any moan of pain from his child.
The road he now traveled was in less bumpy territory, and that was facilitating his journey slightly. He was beginning to recognize the area and read the details of the landscape before him. Eilafion had described them well. Soon, he would have to leave the road, and that did not please him. In this inhospitable region, he preferred to leave the general path with the sun clarifying the details of the journey and not just with the kind moonlight illuminating his way.
The healer slowed a little, stopping before he reached the place where he would turn in a new direction. It was nothing more than another open field, like any other part of the region's landscape, but something in his heart, for some inexplicable reason, was keeping him from leaving the road.
Elrond tightened his hold on the child in front of him again, sliding his hand lightly and affectionately across the boy's chest, trying to feel the injury he could not see. Perhaps he should stop and shelter the two of them beneath the little slope he'd just come down. There he could make a brief camp, to change the boy's bandages and give him something to eat. That way, some time would pass and he would arrive at the inn with the dawn.
Elrond thought a bit more about that, measuring risks and advantages, but in the end he followed his instincts. He urged his horse a little further, until they reached a set of rocks, which formed a sort of natural step in the area and could serve as a small hiding place. At least their presence would remain secret from the eyes of those who came off the road. He then dismounted, bringing Elrohir with him, and then he placed his son on a blanket upon the ground without undressing him.
Despite the rocky landscape, the healer was able to find some remnants of vegetation, sufficient to give him the fuel he needed to get a fire going and bring more clarity to the small camp. After all was done, Elrond sat down exhausted beside his child, trying to avoid thinking about the things he'd been wishing to escape, which the sad image of the boy were trying to reawaken in him: the longing he had for Rivendell and for having his family together again.
"Come on, my boy," he said with affection to his unconscious son, opening Elrohir's shirt and starting to remove the bandages. "It will pass, shhh, easy, easy," he repeated, feeling Elrohir tremble from the cold and also the pain. "I'll be quick, I promise. The discomfort will pass; hang on my child."
Elrond was now a bit worried because Elrohir hadn't awoken yet. He knew the signs of recovery sleep, and he also knew that when a patient sunk into total unconsciousness, like Elrohir had done, it was because he needed much more than just to heal a wounded body.
He had quickly finished his efforts and had managed to make the child drink a little water and medicine for infection. Elrond then heard a strange sound. Too many unpleasant surprises in recent times made him stand immediately, a sword already in hand. It was a hard time, too hard for him to try to give any event a simple explanation.
The Elf-lord was right to be worried. That was clear when an arrow passed within inches of his head. He raised his sword instinctively, diverting the course of two other arrows that followed the first in his direction.
Was he being attacked? It was the quick question that occurred to him, although the answer seemed too incredible to believe.
Elbereth, was he being attacked in a place like this?
He had no time for other questions, because he saw the answer to all of his doubts: the image of an abominable creature, whose species he knew well, rose beyond a farther escarpment, with his bow raised and ready for another assault.
Orcs were stupid creatures. At least that was what his friend Glorfindel liked to repeat at every opportunity he had. Elrond even had a moment to agree with his friend, especially when the same orc fell, with the healer's dagger buried in his skull. The enemy hadn't even known what hit him.
However, Elrond had little time to enjoy the positive results of his defensive movement. Soon, coming from the same direction, other enemies of similar size to the first appeared. This time they not only carried bows, but swords, scimitars and other weapons, as well.
Now it was definitely undeniable; he was really being attacked.
Elrond stepped over Elrohir, keeping one foot on either side of his son's body, using himself as a protection for the boy beneath him. The healer raised the sword in front of his chest, scanning the area around him. He could not imagine that orcs had returned to walk this land as freely as this group seemed to be doing. The leader did not seem that bothered; quite the contrary. He had a smile on his sinister face, which showed he had already guessed at how much help the stranger could count on.
The rest of the group seemed to surmise the same, and they spread themselves in a half moon, surrounding their prey with indescribable pleasure dominating their features. Their leader, an orc a little taller than the others, but with his back bent and disfigured in a prominent hump, uttered a laugh of pleasure, which quickly spread among the others. The moonlight shone on his teeth, some darkened with decay, and spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth, transforming him into an even more repulsive creature.
"An elf protecting his cub. Look at him, boys," the enemy said in his common dialect, for the first time making Elrond regret knowing so many languages. "So will you face all of us at once, or do you prefer fighting with us one by one, you enlightened creature?" he asked, moving his sword threateningly just to try to keep the elf's attention on him, while the others closed in the circle around him. The truth was that, even though they had greater numbers, the orcs feared this enemy. Time had taught them not to dismiss an armed Eldar warrior, especially one like this, whose eyes seemed to reflect an experience not to be taken lightly.
"Hmm ... elven meat," teased another one, at almost the opposite side of the semicircle. "It is not one of my favorites; maybe the little one's a little more tender. It smells good. It smells of fresh blood, so it must have a very good taste."
Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, trying hard not to give in to the provocations of these elusive creatures, who stood just beyond his reach. He knew, indeed, the intent behind their words. They were willing to face him, but wanted to ensure that they would come out victorious and with minimal losses.
"Come, come, elf," a third orc said. He was on Elrond's left, and he gestured to him, as they had all been doing, to make sure their prey could understand their intentions, even if he didn't understand their language. Most elves did not care to really know what the horrible and despicable creatures said to each other. "Come on, elf! Come fight with me." He swung his dirty sword toward the healer, looking to the leader as if waiting for permission. "Let me be the first and the last one to face him."
"Yes! That's right!" said another one, whose face was so disfigured that the left eye could hardly be seen. His tone was more provocative than the first. "Let's make a fair duel. After all, one of us is too much for that damn elf. One of us will be able to put him down."
"Oh, no! No! Do not kill him!" The leader started his needling again, when the circle tightened up a bit more, and Elrond had moved his sword to a more defensive position. "We need to let him live, at least for as long as it takes for us to cook his cub for our breakfast. Oh, I really want to see him enjoy what we will do with that puppy."
Elrond gripped the sword he held tightly until his knuckles lost color. Damn the beasts! He would not give in; he could not move from this place and attack one of them, because that's exactly what they expected him to do. He could not leave Elrohir undefended. He could not even imagine what sorts of nasty ideas populated those creatures' insane minds, entertaining them to the point that they had not beset him yet. No. Despite Glorfindel's opinion, he knew Orcs were not always such stupid creatures. That depended on their leader. Sometimes they acted with extreme caution and with a goal behind every assault. It was clear they wanted him away from the child, but he didn't know their true reason for that.
"Hmm, elven-child meat." The leader of the group continued teasing, now looking at the unconscious boy and sliding a sticky tongue over his deformed lips. "It should taste good, especially the son of an Eldar Lord."
That incredible comment made gooseflesh prickle down Elrond's spine. He stopped looking at the enemy as a simple orc, and started to look for something more he might read in that unfortunate face. Only now he realized that this enemy did not look on him as a complete unknown person, and the use of that particular title, quite unusual in an orc's speech, was also indicative of something worse.
No, he was in an even more delicate situation. This was not just any conflict, that's why he had not yet been attacked. These orcs knew him and seemed to have special plans for him. When the creature's eyes met his again, the monster showed a second of surprise and hesitation, as if realizing his prey could see him without his mask, and that his trickery had been discovered.
"Who are you, dark creature?" Elrond said, surprising the orc even more. Many elves knew orcish, the orc dialect, but this was the first elf the orc captain had encountered, who had been brave enough to dare use it. "Who were you before the nameless evil corrupted you? Before you sold your freedom?"
The enemy frowned and all irony faded from his face, now transformed into a facet of pure hate, which Elrond would never forget. This time the orc held the scimitar with strength in both filth-blackened hands, and he took a small step forward with a look on his face of someone who had just heard a blasphemy.
"Any elf I've ever seen, who considered himself brave enough to speak to me, ended up drowned in his own blood," he said. Elrond clenched his jaw, lifting his chin before the orc's outrage, his sword still raised, his eyes darkened. The game seemed to have reversed slowly, and now the orcs around him looked at each other nervously.
The head of the group let out a huff of anger, and then inhaled loudly, curving his compromised back into an even more grotesque shape. He swayed back and forth on his bent and malformed legs, as if he intended to throw himself into the battle immediately.
It was pure bluff, Elrond knew, but the position he was in did not give him any confidence that he could predict what was going to happen. The orc leader had set his eyes on his enemy once more, with an unusual smile on his face, one that was totally different from the ones he had been showing to Elrond before.
"You know, Lord Eldar?" he asked said with sarcasm and disdain, trying to clearly demonstrate a disregard for this enemy, which he did not actually feel. "You do not know me, but I've seen your miserable excuse for swordplay in battle before, so hear me now: I do not care who you are or whether you have founded cities or not, nor does your exalted reputation mean a thing to me. I will see the blood of this puppy, and yours, on the ground today, and the meat of you both will be our meal. We'll eat and spit your useless bones, miserable people of light."
The orc leader used those intimidating words in order to escape the state of doubt he was in, and to use his anger for something that gave him definitive pleasure. He now seemed determined to be the first to face this opponent.
Elrond received the blow and the cry of fury from the enemy with his sword shielding his chest, receiving the shock with equal vigor. The weapons of both turned, each investing force on the opponent, before sliding apart again. Around them, Elrond could feel the other members of the group move into their proper places, as if awaiting their leader's order to attack. They seemed eager, but the orc captain was smart and not as silly as the theory Glorfindel defended. He wanted the merit of this victory and in search of it walked in circles around the Elf-lord, as a hunting dog on the prowl, sometimes advancing, sometimes retreating. He was always of a mind to reach his goal, which was to move the elf away from the boy he was protecting.
Elrond remained in a defensive position, clearly at the disadvantage, given that he could not leave the place where he stood. He was now focused on moving his legs so that he would not step on his child, while still trying to predict from where and in what way the adversary's assaults would come.
And the moments of the fight extended, as neither Elrond nor even the captain orc himself might have imagined would be possible. Soon the orc's eyes no longer had the glow of anger that reddened his face, and he was more breathless than when the battle started.
Damn people of light! Cursed children of the stars! Those were the enemy's thoughts, which seemed very clear to Elrond, even in the wordless duel in which they were both engaged. For that reason Elrond worried, when he saw the enemy's eyes move subtly toward the group surrounding them, before he launched a new attack.
If that small army needed or waited for an order, maybe they'd just gotten it. Elrond came to that conclusion, more concerned, as he planned his strategies, mapping his movements and recalling useful tactics to defend his son from whatever was to come.
However, while trying hard not to follow the path that his enemy wanted him to, Elrond started to hear some strange sounds in the background, like cries of different kinds. He wanted to understand what was happening, but he couldn't give any attention to it, other than noting that it was occurring. He had the strange and bizarre impression that he might have been mistaken about the idea of an immediate attack from the others as he battled the orc captain. Perhaps the orcs had gathered around the duelists as an audience in a tournament, spitting shouts of approval and encouragement to their captain. Maybe that image had been true to a certain point, but soon, as the deadly conflict wore on, the screams of support for the captain were slowly disappearing.
Strange ... What had silenced them?
His adversary now frowned, as if trying to focus not only on fighting but also what was happening around them. But neither he nor Elrond risked trying to get the information that mystified them. From the corners of their eyes both warriors could see that the other members of that group had decided to abandon their positions, as none of them could be seen around the duelers.
The baffling situation brought to the orc leader a sense of urgency, as he began to assault the Elf-lord with more energy, raising both hands and bringing the scimitar down as if it were an axe. It seemed as if he hurled every offensive word and sound that he knew, as he increased his attack with vigor. Elrond received all the blows, physical and verbal, with the ability that characterized him, now seeking to limit his movements, seeking to make his opponent waste his energy. Soon the orc's lips were parted and his movements were not anywhere near the precision as at the beginning of the fight. But the orc continued to defy his enemy, even as he felt the effectiveness of his strikes diminish significantly.
"Damned Noldo... I'll enjoy seeing you suffer…" he teased, during each interval between one stroke and another. "I'll enjoy the taste of the flesh of your son... You shall see what I will do with him... You shall hear him scream... You shall see how we treat a species such as yours... Because nothing is more enjoyable than seeing a dead elf... unless it is leaving the remains of an elf's carcass to the crows."
While the insults continued, maliciously creative, Elrond's patience was eroded in the same proportion. He clenched his jaw tightly, holding his breath at times, using his control to calm the restlessness and doubts he was having, lest he lose everything that was important to him. The sun unfortunately had not blessed the morning sky with light yet, and he saw himself in a delicate defensive position that told him in every blow given and received, that he could not wait for the help of Anor.
Thinking and worried about that, Elrond decided not to wait for the next onslaught. His heart and his equally distressed state of exhaustion warned him it was time for an all or nothing charge. If he still had the bizarre audience of other enemies around, only waiting for the end of this conflict, he had to save some strength if he had any hope of a chance to escape and save his son.
That certainty moved him to risk himself to be the first to step forward. In an unexpected act he surprised his opponent by moving the sword and almost dealing the ultimate blow. He was unlucky in this strategy, because the enemy was not the head of this group for a foolish reason. The orc dodged as he could, but Elrond was able to steal from him a cry of pain, his blade making a huge and deep cut in the creature's chest.
When he was hurt, other unspeakable and worse outrages started to leave the orc's mouth in a torrent, with the rhythm of the black blood that flowed through his open wound. Before he could unleash a new onslaught, however, he looked his elven enemy in the eye, and Elrond realized he had been luckier in his last attack than he had imagined. The orc leader's lips quivered, bent into a mask of hatred and pain, but his eyes were those of someone who seemed aware that his days were ended.
"I have walked this land as long as you have, damned Noldo, and I know one thing: This earth will not be ours, but it won't be of your people either; it won't be of the Eldar. Neither I nor you will be here when that changes. I will do you the favor of taking you with me now and deprive you of all this deception." Those were his last words, before throwing himself without any judgment or common sense, upon his opponent.
Elrond sought to ignore this latest provocation, as he had been doing since the beginning of the conflict. His answer to it was made with the sharp blade of his sword, raised to the sky and reflecting the brightness of the stars. He swung the blade through the air, a movement not expected by the enemy. The orc's eyes rounded for a second, but he soon saw nothing more. Elrond had finished the fight, slicing his enemy's head cleanly from his shoulders and bringing the silence back to the clearing that he'd found when he'd first arrived here.
Silence…
A disturbing silence...
Elrond absorbed the absence of sound for a short time, and he did not take any pleasure from it, not even the taste of victory in so hard a fight. He shifted his stance quickly to seek the faces of the other enemies, trying to finally determine what would have moved them away from the battlefield in which their leader was fighting. Only then a disturbing image surprised him more than any other during that unexpected conflict, and he realized that the screams he had previously heard around him seemed to have come for another reason.
One by one, the other members of the group had fallen. They all lay dead, each with one or two arrows piercing vital regions. Elrond turned in a circle, once, then twice, or maybe three times, with his weapon raised, his face a mask of undisguised confusion.
More incredible, however, was the image that slowly emerged from behind the huge rock that Elrond had chosen as the wall to hide himself and Elrohir…
Porting the bow he had won from his mentor and looking at him with an ashen face, gasping as someone who wakes from a nightmare, was Elladan. And from just behind him emerged the image of Celebrian, her expression one of a person almost overcome with fear.
"Elrond..." she called, and only when the Elf-lord heard her voice, did he seem to believe that the absurd scene in front of him was far from a dream.
"Elbereth!" he said, raising his sword immediately and looking defensively around when the family ran toward him. Even when Celebrian and Elladan embraced him, all that the healer could do was continue scanning his surroundings closely, his round eyes looking for enemies of all kinds, for anything that might be wrong. He unconsciously feared that something very serious could happen, and he would be able to do nothing to defend his family, to defend those who were now at his side.
Celebrian, however, did not seem to share her husband's concern. In only a moment she slid from Elrond's arms and threw herself on her knees, stroking their son's unconscious face with both of her hands.
"Ion-nîn! He... He is feverish," she said, looking back at her husband. "Elrond. Elrohir is feverish."
Elrond did not answer; his lips were parted as someone who wanted to wake up from a nightmare, but failed. His eyes insisted on following the path by which his wife had come, as if searching for something; for what, he couldn't guess.
"You... You..." he tried to say, looking once again to the road, which came from the direction of his land. His gaze leapt to the great stone, then to the orcs' bodies; to his elder son at his side and then, finally, to his wife. "Celebrian, by Ilúvatar, tell me that someone came with you. Tell me you did not come after me alone."
Celebrian, however, continued to concentrate on something she thought was much more important than all the doubt drawn on her husband's face. Now, she carefully opened her son's shirt, checking the huge bandage beneath it.
"Oh, my sweet Varda... What happened? How did he get hurt this way? Oh, he is so thin and haggard... Elrond? Elrond, what happened?" she continued asking, in an anguished tone, first as if talking to herself, then with her eyes fixed on her husband. Only then Elrond also fell to his knees before her, feeling that this flood of emotions and information was too much for him.
"Star... Star of mine..." He took his wife's hand with fervor, while still holding the sword with the other hand, and that affectionate nickname also appeared to bring Celebrian back to herself. "How did you get here?"
Celebrian looked at her husband for a moment, her eyes sparkling in that special way, which Elrond knew very well. In the garden of Rivendell, behind the larger house, when he finally told her how much he loved her, the lady-elf's eyes shone like that, in that same way.
"We came for you, meleth. We came to find you. We are a family."
Elrond was stunned, and he felt his mind empty quickly, as if nothing was left in it. Finally several images seemed to invade it slowly: the morning on the ship, the afternoon at Cirdan's home and the reluctance of Eilafion in letting him go; their endless search for a right time to leave without being seen; Eilafion's worries and the time it took to convince his friend to help him; the preparations, the path, the delays; his desire to camp here. Everything, positive and negative, conspired to this moment, all those intertwined purposes. Elbereth, all the luck he had! One moment more and it could have been his wife and his eldest son to meet that enemy group; a moment of difference and Elladan could not have helped him.
"My good Ilúvatar," he cried, now looking at the child still standing and at once pulling him close. Elladan knelt as his father compelled him to and allowed himself to be hugged, but his eyes were now trapped on his wounded brother and his heartbeat was accelerated once more. It was only when Elladan uttered an irrepressible cry of pain that Elrond moved him a bit away, looking at him with concern.
"The wound has not closed yet," Celebrian said, seeing the embarrassed boy lower his head. "But he used his bow... then..." she tried to explain, finally looking at the mountain of orcs her son had killed with his arrows. It was the most gruesome scene she had ever witnessed, and she still had difficulty believing it. "He... saw that you were in danger and... the orcs... he was afraid they would move on you...then he... I did not know what to do," she said, containing her own emotion as she held her firstborn's hand. Elladan did not raise his face, fearing he had done something for which he would be reprimanded.
His father's silence did not help him to feel better. But it was brief, although for the older twin it seemed to last much longer.
"Seldom have I seen so skilled an archer." Elladan finally heard the words he craved to hear, and he brought his gaze back to his father in a mixture of disbelief and surprise. "Beleg surely would be proud to be the inspiration of a warrior like you. I am proud to be the father of such a warrior," Elrond completed, placing a palm on the child's face. He then took his son in his arms.
This time Elladan returned his father's embrace, exhaling in relief, as if that approval was all that mattered. He stayed there for several minutes, but soon his eyes were drawn again to the image that worried him greatly: his wounded and unconscious brother, and the whole story he could read from those sad injuries.
"Elrohir will be better soon." He heard his father's voice again, feeling the healer's hands, as they opened his shirt to examine the old injury, which did not seem to want to heal. After that Elrond's hand grabbed his chin and Elladan finally found his gaze trapped by his father's clear and sincere eyes. "Elrohir will be better, ion-nîn. We just have to find a place for us all to rest for a while."
Elladan nodded sadly, but Elrond continued holding his chin, as his father's face transformed into a patient smile.
"Your brother got to Tol Morwen and buried the sword," the Elf-lord told Elladan, and his smile widened before the surprised eyes of his eldest son and his wife's sigh of exclamation. "We do not know whether it was the hero's weapon, but for me the story is over and he is free from any guilt. Is that not so, my child?"
Elladan was still confused after Elrond's words, looking at his father and questioning the possibility of having heard the information correctly. He then looked back at his brother, his lips pressed tightly together. The sum of his feelings left him breathless, from the extreme pride he felt in his twin, to all the misfortunes that had crossed their paths. He felt his father caress his left arm, but soon the lord-elf's attention was drawn away.
Elrond turned to look around, breathing deeply, trying to balance himself again. He had too many concerns. The idea of remaining camped here with the day dawning displeased him. All that was of any value to his existence was here in this wilderness; his family, wounded, exhausted and at the mercy of anything that might happen. No. He did not want to receive any surprises.
"We have to go," he said then, already standing and waving to his horse. "Durion. Come here, mellon-nîn."
"Where are we going?" Celebrian asked, though she did not rise immediately; she hovered over Elrohir, adjusting the blanket that covered her sleeping son.
"A friend from the Haven told me of a place where we might seek refuge, not far from here," Elrond said, tying his bag to the horse's saddle, his instincts still alert to his surroundings. "Are you traveling on foot?" he asked his wife.
Celebrian smiled, and then she whistled sweetly, calling her own mount. At once the beautiful white horse came trotting in all its majesty from behind the big rock, standing beside Durion, as if he had been ordered to do so.
Elrond watched the scene with admiration, as those might who faced the most beautiful painting. Then he went to his wife's horse and caressed its silver mane with a weary sigh.
"Hello, Roquen, mellon-nîn," he said, stroking the snout of the animal now. "I am grateful to you for having brought them to me safely."
Not waiting anymore, Elrond started to examine their surroundings and make plans. Finally, he turned to his wife and subtly patted the back of her horse. Celebrian quite understood the message, approaching and allowing her husband to lift her, helping her to sit on the horse's back. The healer came close to the fire and made a final check on the unconscious child. He picked Elrohir up, then rose again, bringing him toward his wife.
"Do you think you can take him? I need my hands free to protect us."
Celebrian just smiled, raising both arms to receive her youngest. She put him with his face close to her chest. When he was leaning against her breast, she couldn't keep herself from kissing his face a few times.
"It'll be alright now, my brave little warrior," she whispered into the boy's ear. In response, however, Elrohir lifted his eyelids, using evident effort, until they uncovered little more than half of his eyes. He frowned, his expression confused, as if to question what he was seeing. But his mother started to kiss his eyes, forcing him to close them again. "Shhh, no, no..." she warned in her sweet tone. "You won't awake now... Sleep, my heart... Sleep, Rohir-nîn."
Elrond had followed the scene for a moment and just smiled to see his son back to sleep, his features much more serene. Now in his mother's arms, perhaps he was feeling at home, and that feeling, although it was not the case, would certainly help the boy to face the end of this journey.
The healer took a deep breath, then looked at his eldest son.
"Extinguish the fire, ion-nîn, please," he said, tying the remains of the baggage onto his horse and then mounting. When Elladan finished the task, he found Durion next to him, and his father's hand extended in his direction. "Ride with me, my archer."
Elladan sighed deeply, feeling inexplicable happiness after so long a time. There had been so much to worry about, so many problems, so much pain, so many doubts. But despite all that, he would not trade places with any other in all of Arda. He gave a small smile as he adjusted the quiver on his back. He picked up his bow and raised his hand, accepting his father's help with satisfaction, as he leapt up behind him.
Elrond smiled as he felt his son's hands on his waist. It felt like an embrace, and then Elladan leaned his face on his father's back. Elrond then took a deep breath, checking his own weapon, before they continued to follow by the road he'd been traveling before, to that unknown destination, hoping that luck would continue to favor them as had happened on this early morning.
Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for chapter 20. Hope you continue reading and letting me know your opinion. You know how important you are to me: DreamingIn2Eternity, eliza61, melissamed, world-classgeek, Evereven, Sivan Shemesh, Glory-Bee, Lia Whyteleafe. And many, many thanks to Puxinette, my patient beta and friend.