Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.
CHAPTER XXV - THE TOUGH CORRECT WAY
"It is the past that came to me, like a cloud, it comes to be recognized, I just don't know how to decipher it."
João Guimarães Rosa
When Elrohir had traveled this road on his prior journey, time and his physical condition had not allowed him to appreciate the subtle traces of the land that he crossed. Now that the Hill of Bree grew to the north, and the sun revealed the details once hidden by rainy nights on his first visit, the young elf took in each one of those things, unraveling puzzles, as someone who paints the final touches of a picture that an artist had abandoned long ago.
He had recovered well so far, but his father's hands still held him firmly in front of him on the horse. He had no objection to that. After them being so long apart, feeding all sorts of pessimistic thoughts about the future of their relationship, what Elrohir wanted more than anything was for his father to never be far away from him again. He wanted to feel him at hand, and more than that, know that his father wanted the same.
They reached the South Gate in silence and passed through it with nothing but small glances from those they passed and distant thoughts of their own. The Great East Road continued for a few miles, following the course it had for many years. It hunched slightly to the left, and then retraced itself a bit further while meandering eastward. It skirted the edge of the hill, only then to start a new descent, almost imperceptibly, toward a region flourishing with trees.
After coming all this way, they finally left the high hill behind, and it left them in deepening shadow. Elrohir felt his head begin to get heavy again. The drugs he was still taking created the sensation that he needed a full night's sleep. That was starting to irritate him. His head fell forward once, twice and three times, until he felt his father's quiet laughter against his back.
"Why do you not sleep instead of fighting against the herbs, child?" Elrond said, and then placed his palm on the child's forehead to lean his son's head back onto his shoulder, so that he could see his face.
The boy had visibly regained weight and energy, and it was apparent that he was suffering from his first grumpy attitude in a long time. That sparked another laugh from Elrond, who was limited to kissing his son's forehead and covering the boy's eyes.
"Sleep. We'll be camping soon."
The twin found himself obeying: Did he really have any choice? The incessant sound of the horses' hooves plodding against the ground, and the climate always being colder than might be reasonable were enough to make him want to close his eyes. Add to that the sense of security of his father's arms, and the monotonous sway of their riding with its rhythmic rocking, and it was no wonder he could not keep his eyes open, even though he wished to.
When they came to a narrow path leading to the north, Celeborn looked up to the sky, and then he ran his eyes over the particulars of the empty road, to finally focus on a small wooded valley, also already darkened.
"It's a good time for making camp," he noted, lifting his chin in that direction. "In the morning we can take the path leading to the village from the north and then go through the empty lands for a few days."
"Archet and then Weathertop?" Elrond deduced as he stopped his horse alongside his father-in-law's.
"Why not continue down this road?" It was Celebrian who asked even before her father had a chance to answer. She seemed somewhat displeased.
"I think your father intends to pass through the Marshes," Elrond guessed, recognizing the way he'd traveled when he'd come before.
The lady-elf immediately clicked her tongue, very unhappy now. She actually had come to the same conclusion even before her husband had.
"I do not know. I'd rather follow the road to the south. The path is longer, but certainly much more enjoyable," she said in a dissatisfied tone. Something was bothering her greatly about the idea of passing through the marshes again, but she could not tell what it was. "We are on horseback, so we do not need to shorten the way, do we?"
"It's unnecessary to take the longer way. Time will be lost for an already very tired group," Celeborn said, watching his daughter fondly. "Do you not want to return to your homeland as soon as possible, ield-nîn?"
Celebrian pursed her lips, but she swallowed her displeasure in silence. She knew that look from her father. He would never change his mind. When he was part of a group, he would ask the others' opinions out of pure diplomacy, but almost always everyone ended up doing things his way. It would be no different this time. No sooner had he apologized for not having listened to her, and there he was again, ignoring her opinion about the path they would take. The lady-elf shook her head slightly, then she checked on her son behind her, who had leant his face against her back, his body slack, the embrace with which he clutched his mother's waist loosening noticeably.
"Do not sleep yet, El-nîn," she said, hoping that the child was just relaxing a bit. Elladan had rarely slept during the trip. "Soon we will make camp, honey, alright?"
Elladan opened his eyes in time to see his grandfather's white horse taking the course toward a stand of trees, followed by some of his elves. The twin just nodded, tightening his arms around his mother's waist, to assure her that he understood the message.
The next day the sun shone and, although it was winter, the forest was filled with leaves of different colors, and a feeling of peace and gentleness seemed to reign. The group followed the paths which were known to them, where the only sound in the forest was birdsong. At the end of the last track, they started to head down a path toward the east, and they did not divert from it until they were finally outside the Chet Forest.
The group had ridden for half the day, and Elrohir now clicked his tongue, visibly uneasy. It did not take Elrond long to realize what was bothering his youngest son, who continually rubbed at his eyes and face.
"You need sleep, child," he said, easily translating Elrohir's discomfort. Since they left the hostel, he had been keeping the youngest asleep on purpose. In fact the boy's injuries were still far from completely healed, but something about his son, besides the wounds that could be seen and evaluated, still worried Elrond. They were coming back by the same path that the boy had traveled, a path full of memories, whose value and meaning Elrond could not assess. So the healer decided, whenever he could, to try and avoid any bad memory or old feeling, which could put the child's slow recovery at risk.
But when awake, Elrohir had begun to wonder about the necessity of the constant recovery sleep his father had imposed on him. And he was the only one who seemed willing to question the healer's decisions. The others uttered no comment at all; quite the contrary, both his mother and his grandfather offered words of encouragement to the sleepy twin whenever he revealed himself as upset, as he was now. In some way, it was as if everyone shared the same fears, but didn't want to qualify them.
"Would you like to come and ride with your grandfather, Astalder?" Celeborn rode his horse alongside Elrond's, taking the initiative to be the peacemaker for the boy's spirits this time. "So your father can feel his arms again."
Elrond smiled at the joke, but Elrohir just pressed his lips together to show his frustration, which was a characteristic of him. He wasn't upset because he did not want to ride with his grandfather, but because he felt as if he was going to fall asleep again, and he hadn't stayed awake long enough this time to even determine where he was. The next time his father offered him any medicine, he was going to refuse to take it. Even the pain of his recently closed injuries was better than this eternal mystery of not knowing where he was at any given time.
Celeborn received his grandson with a smile, when the child raised his arms to accept his invitation. It was good to know that Elrohir no longer had any reservations about being with him. He sat the elfling in front of him on his horse, with the boy's ear resting against his chest, and he smiled as he felt Elrohir give another sigh of unhappiness before he fell asleep again.
After more time riding, the group was on a path that led continuously downward. It was steeper than the one they had taken as they left the Road, and now they entered a wide and flat region, where the crossing became increasingly difficult for the animals. It was a trackless, desert-like terrain, far away from the borders of Bree. A land that left the twins, in their inexperience, unable to get their bearings, and a region much closer to the Midgewater Marshes than the adults wanted to be.
Little by little the ground was becoming more and more damp. There were puddles formed in alternate locations, and the elves started to come across large stretches of reeds that hindered the passage of the horses.
"I do not remember this place being so difficult to cross," Celebrian remarked, remembering that Roquen had left the swamp with almost the same speed with which he had left the other paths.
Elrond sighed weakly. Mystery. That was the proper name for some of these passages, and the sunset added an even more uncertain sensation to them.
The swamp was too morbid even for Celeborn, who had seen every kind of creation that the Valar's songs converted into solid images. Even the orange sunset, which had accompanied them so far, was engulfed by the thick fog, and the sound of the animals' difficult sloshing was muted, as they made their way through the shallow and muddy water.
Elrohir continued to sleep in his grandfather's arms. He had closed his eyes when they left the Forest Chet and had not seemed inclined to open them since then.
"What a horrible place," Celebrian complained again, speaking mostly to herself. She pulled her hood a little closer to ward off the insects that inhabited the evening.
Celeborn also pulled Elrohir's hood forward a little, so that the insects would not wake him up.
"It's the closest translation for the word inhospitable I've had the opportunity to see," the elf lord said, as he, too, protected himself.
"Well, I would give up this opportunity without hesitation." Celebrian's voice sounded mirthful, and the other elves laughed, despite the uncomfortable situation in which they found themselves.
At first the good humor sped up the company, but then as they continued, the crossing became slower. The swamp seemed more deceptive and treacherous than it had before, maybe because the rain had stopped, changing the ground, which now looked like a land rife with traps. It was as if the ponds were something more than they actually were.
"If we do not go faster we will be forced to camp in this region," Elrond warned, staring intently at the way they traveled.
'For the sweet Yavanna. Anything but that." Celebrian pulled her hood forward a bit more, feeling Elladan press his face into her back to protect himself as well. "There were not so many of these creatures when I passed through here before," she said, waving her hand uselessly, trying to dispel a real cloud of mosquitoes that surrounded her horse.
"It was certainly raining the first time through here," Elrond said.
"As you can see, meleth-nîn, there are worse things than rain," she said with a smile. Her husband smiled back, shaking his head at her baiting.
Unfortunately the crossing took longer than expected, and the light faded. Soon the sounds of nocturnal beings could be heard as they settled in the reeds and brush for the night.
"We'll have to camp here." Elrond dropped his shoulders, as if hating the idea since the swamp was so nasty, and he heard no response from the others. Celeborn started looking around, also resigned, seeking a place where at least it was solid enough to spend the night and they would be able to make a fire. Some of the others spread out a bit, doing the same.
"Here, my lord," one of them said from a distance, bringing the attention of all to a small hill in the middle of the muddy waters of the swamp. Celeborn exchanged a resigned look with his son-in-law before encouraging his horse to go in that direction.
Elrond waited for his wife's horse to go first, then followed her, looking attentively at their trail. The lack of rain had indeed greatly changed the ground since his last passage, yet something seemed familiar about this place in particular. He paused for a moment, turning Durion in a short arc in the same place before hearing the voice of his wife calling him.
"Elrond? What is the problem, meleth-nîn?"
"Nothing, Star," he replied absently, while his eyes roamed small piles of sand and mud that appeared here and there in the dark water. He searched his thoughts for the memory to connect to this place, but he could not seem to grasp it.
This remembrance did not take long to return, though later, the healer regretted having looked for it at all…
Partially submerged in a nearby pond, a body largely deteriorated lay in a dark pool. Elrond recognized the corpse he had seen on his first trip through here, when his hurried and afflictive search for his son stopped him from giving it a proper burial. Thoughtful, he asked his horse to move closer, but soon a sound startled him.
"Elrohir!" It was Celeborn's voice. Elrond turned in time to see his son jumping from his grandfather's horse and falling into the dark water, only to rise again and move away from the group.
"Elrohir!" he called after his son, raising a hand to calm his child, whose startled eyes stared at his surroundings, as one who awakes in an unfamiliar place. The twin did not respond to calls, neither from his father nor his grandfather. Quite the contrary, he hurried away from them, with his eyes scouring the landscape around them. Celebrian started to get off her horse, but was restrained by a warning movement from her husband, who was already on the ground. She then remained where she was, also preventing her eldest son from dismounting.
The night was fully dark now, and it was soothed only by the torches that the soldiers carried. But it was not the dark, nor the strange place that seemed to frighten the young elf. Elrohir acted as if he were walking in a nightmare. And indeed he was. He had opened his eyes in time, like his father, to recognize the place through which he had passed before. However, also like his father, he had a memory attached to those muddy waters, a hard reminder, which his unconscious had hidden from him until now, seemingly just waiting for the right moment to draw him into it again.
"It's all right, child."
Elrond tried to approach, while his son walked in confused angles, trying to avoid being caught. The dark water almost reached his knees. Celeborn was also on the ground, calling his grandson's name with the same patience as the others.
"This cold water will not bring any benefit to your injuries, Astalder," he said in a calm tone, stopping after two failed attempts to get closer. He did not want to draw near his grandson so forcibly. He made a slight nod to the other elves that had come with him, and they all understood well, taking protective positions around them.
Elrohir's eyes no longer followed the movements of those around him; they remained fixed on the image of the dark waters, as if the scene had come back to reveal a secret to him. He unknowingly sought for an answer, an answer that seemed very important.
Elrond, who also had given up trying to contain his son, followed the boy's movements closely, trying to unravel the mystery of his son's flight. The fears and concerns which had occurred on his first visit to the region, however, insisted on offering him indigestible suggestions as answers to what the child was now relentlessly pursuing. The elf lord finally gave in to one of them, hoping that he was right, and at least one impasse could be resolved...
"Here, my boy," he said, slowly pulling the dagger he had in his belt, his own weapon that he'd found in the swamp on his first trip through. "Is this what you are looking for? Here it is. I found it when I came through this place on my way to find you. You don't need to worry about it anymore."
Elrohir immediately focused a pair of bright eager eyes on the weapon, but instead of the image bringing him the relief his father hoped it would, the young elf's face grew paler and paler. Finally his rounded eyes seemed to discover the information he had lost, but had been eagerly looking for. He continued to stare at his father, but his face drew again into an almost unbearable expression of agony.
"It's alright now, child... Whatever the memory that you have in your mind, let it stay behind. Do not think about it anymore," Elrond said, trying not to speculate on the parts of the past that he didn't know, but that now seemed to be proving a hindrance to his son that was rather 's eyes shifted from place to place, trying to find what it was that bothered him. He shook his head hard. There was something else. He knew it. And it seemed more terrible than just having left his father's dagger in the swamp. Elrond's worry deepened.
It didn't take long, unfortunately, for Elrohir's attention to be drawn to an image that certainly his subconscious mind had retained, and he found the same sad scene his father had also distinguished in the darkness. At that moment the boy's brightness disappeared, so that Elrond began to fear that the story his son could tell would be even worse than he had ever imagined.
"No, my child..." He raised his hand to try to prevent Elrohir from approaching the morbid place. "This man is gone... There is only a body that needs burial. Do not go there."
But Elrohir was in another world. Even so he took a few steps forward. However he didn't forge ahead. It was not his father's request that stopped him; his legs simply would not allow him to move. The image was too sharp, the decapitated body lying face down, his head missing. Elbereth, the man was right there...
And then e remembered something... He thought it had been a dream… But now he feared that it wasn't. Why was this man here? Who did this to him?
"Elrohir..." He heard his father call him again and realized that the voice was closer. Then Elrond's hand was on his shoulder, while his father's other hand subtly encircled his arm, right over the bandaged wound that was there. That act in itself, the slight pain on contact, was enough to bring back some of Elrohir's memories.
The stranger was an adan, an adan with sunburned skin and a grimy brown beard... Several of his teeth were missing, and others had a strange gleam... He was an adan and he'd threatened him...
"You disgraceful little boy! Why don't you give up at once? I just want the weapon; do not make me leave your body here for your father to find, floating in this disgusting swamp."
He'd wanted the sword ... But Elrohir could not let him take it... He could not...
His father's hand was now holding his arm right over the injury he had won. He'd not been fast enough. He'd allowed himself to be hit by the man's blade... It still hurt... It still hurt almost like it had that day...
"It hurts, doesn't it? Imagine how it will feel when I stab you right in your heart? Do you think that will hurt too? Do you think you'll die immediately?"
His enemy had been an adan and he'd tried to attack him. He'd said… things... He'd said horrible things...
"I thought elves were not thieves. Maybe they are not and would die of shame if they knew one of their own steals."
But he had reacted… He had done something... What had he done?
"They would die of shame..."
The sword ... He had held it ... He had wielded it firmly. He had… He had stained it with blood...
Elbereth... He… He...
But it was in his own defense... The adan... He'd wanted... He'd wanted to…
"They would die of shame if they knew…"
The sword...
He'd wanted ... that… that cursed sword...
"They would die of shame if they knew that one of their own steals."
Red Blood... streaming down the sword… slowly. The metal was darker than ever...
"They would die of shame if they knew..."
It was he... It was he... He had done it. Ilúvatar... He... He had taken someone's life... Not an orc's life... Not a werewolf's life... He'd claimed the life of an adan...
Killing an adan was like killing an elf...
Glorfindel always told him... His father always told him... Everyone always told him...
No... Not again... How could he be so consistently wrong? He barely had obtained a pardon and... Only to discover that there were still more things he had done to condemn him... Horrible things for which he could not be forgiven... Things of which he did not know if he wanted to be forgiven...
Why? Why hadn't he taken that damn sword and done with it the same thing Túrin Turambar did? It would pass through his body without causing any suffering... without any problems ... and they would be free of him... They would all be free...
"Ion-nîn, listen to me. Listen to me, my child." He heard his father's voice now, sounding far away, but he was not just here, present before him. He was in his mind. Elrohir woke up with a snap, feeling that presence and found himself stuck in a pair of gray eyes that stared at him deeply as they had never done before.
Ilúvatar... His father had seen... His father had seen what he had done.
"Elrohir." Elrond's voice sounded again inside his mind, this time farther away. "Look at me, my boy. Look at me. Listen to my voice, child. Trust me. Everything will be alright."
Trust me... No... His father always said that... That phrase ... That guarantee. No. No. No... He knew what his father would do now... His father would protect him... Would protect him as he had done before... He would sacrifice himself... He would prevent them from punishing his stupid son again.
No. No. No...
He had to be punished. He wanted to be punished. He wanted to disappear. Disappear!
Elrohir began to shake his head then, and his breathing sped up, becoming the only sound that came from his throat, although many other sounds, sounds of despair and anguish, were all in line there, and he was not sure he would be able to contain them. He started trying to get free of the arms that held him, but Elrond would not let him go, calling his name, trying to calm him down. Soon Celeborn joined them. He held his grandson from the back, embracing him with both arms to try to restrain him without aggravating his injuries. Elrond, once his hands were free, took Elrohir's face between his palms, trying to force him to look at him, trying to regain the lost contact, make him come back to himself.
"Elrohir. Ion-nîn. Look at me. Listen to me, child," he said in a low and angst-ridden tone, his voice partially caught in his throat.
Elrond was lost in this revelation. The scene he'd come upon on his first journey through here... Now, when he thought about it—Ilúvatar, what had his son experienced when he'd passed this way the first time? This could not have happened... No. It could not. It could not have happened to someone so young... Elbereth, why hadn't he come in time? Why could it not have been him to teach a lesson to that opportunist a lesson he would never forget?
Elrond called to his son a few more times, but the despair that the memory revived, the weight of a new fault that he thought he had on his shoulders, was robbing the wisdom from the boy, throwing him into a pit so deep and despairing that it was difficult for even Celeborn to hold him without aggravating his injuries. Elrond pressed his lips together, also preoccupied by the horror that his son must have endured. Finally he made a hard decision: he covered Elrohir's eyes with his right hand and said a few barely audible words. The boy's body fell unconscious in his grandfather's arms.
"Ilúvatar." Celeborn hastened to raise his grandson in his arms, pulling him out of the cold, dark water. "What sad sequence of misfortunes did he have, Elrond?" he asked, subtly cradling the boy.
The dark elf dropped his head forward as if it weighed too much and breathed out so deeply that it seemed he was using all his strength to do it.
"All I ask is that my mistakes never leave anyone in a situation like this again..." he said. His choked voice was almost a whisper. "And that there are no lingering scars from those so deep wounds."
Celeborn did not respond, but the two lord-elves looked at each other and all they could see was their anguish reflected in one another's faces. Celebrian rode up on her horse then and held her arms out. Her father attended her implicit request, coming closer and lifting Elrohir, so that she could hold her son.
When Elrohir's cold, wet body was in his mother's arms; Celebrian did not care about where she was, she just hugged him tightly and choked back a cry, uttering the sweet words that she sought to tell the child in her arms.
"It is all right, my little warrior," she said, trying to give assurances to him, whispering in the boy's ear, as a thin trail of tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She covered her unconscious son's face with kisses. "It'll be alright, my brave little boy, my dear little boy..."
Elladan intensified his grip on his mother's waist when he heard her weeping. Celebrian dropped one hand to hold her firstborn's, while Elrond approached in silence, still on foot, and led his wife's horse carrying his family to the place they had chosen for camping, at least for a few hours.
From all that sadness, there was only silence and the distinctive smell of the marsh; the smell of misfortune on the breeze, added to now by the dark odor of the decomposing corpse, whose personal history few of them wanted to know.
Even so, they gave his body a proper burial. And Elrond uttered some words to the Valar, asking for peace for this person he didn't know and wishing him forgiveness if he needed it. Finally, amid the bitterness of that difficult day, which was ending in an even more trying way, the soldiers were given their guard schedules. Some of them made a fire to provide enough to eat, although those in the family they guided and protected were unwilling to have a meal.
The camp was nearly useless, but for safety the elves stayed anyway. None of them found any rest, except the twins. Their father provided them a place to sleep, as sheltered and protected as he could from nocturnal beings. Elrohir and Elladan slept side by side beneath a makeshift shelter of cloaks and branches. The others sat around the campfire, which did not spare them from spending almost the entire night waving their hands uselessly to ward off the unwanted and unpleasant insects of the swamp.
The full sun of a new day found the elves riding again, and the younger twin gradually awakened. As he sat back in his father's arms, he realized where he was, and that was enough to make him not want to open his eyes. But soon the hand of the healer was on his face, stroking it softly. There was no way to deceive him; this Elrohir had always known.
There were two more sunsets before the group came to see a change in the scenery. Behind them Weathertop seemed to disappear and, in front, the mountains, once distant, grew in height and color. Finally a known sound began to bring a sense of peace long overdue.
"The Mithieithel," Elrond said to himself, closing his eyes at the sound of the Grey River, as some called it. Its volume was magnified in this region before flowing into the sea, so there was no way to cross it below its headwaters in the Ettenmoors, either on foot or on horseback. "We have to get back to the road," he said then, already thinking about the direction that would lead them to the Last Bridge.
Elladan raised his index finger toward the horizon, where another stream of water could be seen, also wild and violent; and also known to them.
"Yes, ion-nîn. That is our Bruinen. We are not so far from home as our tired hearts want to make us believe."
They followed the road under the shadow of the hills for a few more miles to be rewarded by the sound of swirling waters of the Mithieithel, whipping the great arches of the Last Bridge, at the end of a short, steep hill. Beyond it already could be seen the narrow canyon to the north, away from the road, which would continue following the edge of the hills for many miles to the Ford of Bruinen.
But that was not the path that the group would follow. This became clear to young Elladan, who frowned, confused, as he watched the road leading to the river disappear behind them.
"Let's go on a new path." It was Celeborn who explained this time, seeing the confused look of his grandson as they continued toward the hills ahead.
Soon they were in a narrow and silent valley, where twisted trees and hillsides made up the landscape. The ground from there became a little more gritty, hindering the horses' walking, but soon they found a passage through the hills that they knew, and they fell onto the familiar track. When the end of another day came, the wind blew cold, moving the treetops, but this time the group didn't stop or rest, choosing to continue their way until the dawn of a new day, one that revealed itself to be very clear, with a brilliant blue sky. It was late afternoon, when the way they were following finally went back to open space, and at the base of a small hill a picture finally emerged distinct, enlightening and comforting: a green flat surface, beyond which was the Ford of Rivendell.
Just then Elrohir awakened in his father's arms, in time to see the water coming down the river in its violent course. The strong sound caused memories to flood back quickly. Elbereth, he loved this river from the deep of his heart, but now the idea of coming home with another guilty act on his shoulders was driving him insane. The twin felt his eyes sting and he shivered, this time for a completely different reason. Behind him, Elrond embraced him with both arms, resting his chin on his shoulder.
"Soon we will be at home, ion-nîn," he softly said. "Go back to sleep…"
Elrohir took a deep breath; the latent memory that had been uncovered had unfortunately sown terrible fruit in its numerous nightmares. Now awake, he would not even think about the possibility of going back to sleep, but neither did he feel prepared to face reality again.
Elbereth, he had killed an adan in the swamp... He was responsible for that. What would happen now? What would happen in Rivendell? How could he redeem himself this time? He couldn't run away again. He couldn't go anywhere this time. How could he compensate for what he had done?
"Shh, do not think about it." He heard his father's voice again, deducing his thoughts and pain, as the healer had always been able to, his lips almost in his ear, his fingers wiping the tears from his son's face.
His father's voice. How he loved to hear his father's voice, that tone that belonged only to him, like the breeze in green leaves of spring. The last thing he remembered hearing was his voice, when the image of the past had come to show him the seriousness of what he had done.
He should have run away. He should have escaped... But he could not. What happened after that? He did not remember; he did not even know if he actually wanted to remember.
Elrohir opened his eyes, looking again to the landscape which was welcoming them. He had made a decision; he'd wanted to come back, but now... Now he wasn't sure anymore.
It was then that he felt his father's head lean against his and the healer did something that only he could do. His voice sounded inside his son's mind.
"Tell me, my child. Isn't it the right of a member of any race to defend and protect himself?"
Elrohir's eyes rounded with the question and the strange dialogue his father was trying to have with him. He never admitted being able to talk to anyone using telepathy, even sharing it with his brother almost every single day of his life. He thought about ignoring what he was hearing; he didn't want to talk about this, even in the silence and secret of his own mind. But then he felt his father's hand over his heart, sending him healing energy, trying to make him feel better. Only then he realized there were tears falling from his eyes again.
Here he was, crying again, making his family suffer again, he thought, pressing his eyes shut. Ilúvatar, he did not want to cry; he wanted to be a brave warrior. He wanted to make his father proud, but everything he did had the opposite effect.
It was then that he felt his father's face move closer to his again and this time Elrond gave up any deceptions, asking an important question directly in his child's ear.
"Do you know how many Edain lives your father has taken?"
The question surprised Elrohir, who paled even before thinking that this was a question, and there was an answer for it. But Elrond remained calm. Elrohir could feel his father's breath on his cheek as Elrond gently stroked his chest. At one moment he left his palm over his son's heart. "Many, ion-nîn," he said in the same tone. "And he felt no pleasure with these deaths, nor did he invite them. He used the only option that remained to him, and I hope the weight in your heart will soften with the knowledge that in none of these instances was he the first to raise his weapon or did he do so solely for the purpose of taking someone's life."
Elrohir blinked a few times, thinking of his father in a way that he never had before, and wondered why he was telling this story in the third person as he was doing. That's when he concluded that it might be such a sad experience that even his father, whose knowledge of life and death exceeded that of many, hadn't the strength to associate it with his own name, to use the word "I".
"I did it... I did it..."
Elrohir tried to say it mentally, but the word "it" appeared to be irreplaceable, and he realized the terrible force that the terms "kill", "murder" and "take or steal life" associated with that first personal pronoun.
"This feeling you have. It is called the warrior's heart pain, child," Elrond said in a patient tone, but his tone was also as sad as the landscape where that horrible deed had occurred. "Do you have less love for your father now that you know this truth that I told you, child?"
Elrohir shook his head urgently, surprised by the question. He then raised his eyes for the first time and dared to look at him.
"Do you think your father carries a curse on his back or should be despised for what he did, ion-nîn?" Elrond insisted, gently wiping the child's face. His lips sketched a small but sad smile, when Elrohir shook his head shyly this time.
And no other question did the father ask his son in the moments that followed. While the minds of both were united in a shared experience, they each kept their silence, dwelling on the similar images in their own lives that the subject had awakened in them. Elrohir finally looked down, but then moved his arm back toward his father and hugged him. Elrond also strengthened the embrace he already offered and then kissed the boy's face with affection.
"Let's go home, ion-nîn. Let's go home, my child.
Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for chapter 24. Your opinion made my day. You know that. Thank you so much: alexiana75. Gwedhiel0117, DreamingIn2Eternity, melissamed,world-classgeek, Evereven, Myriara, Sivan Shemesh, LalaithElerrina, Oleanne,Glory-Bee, Lia Whyteleafe, guest (who are you, please?) And many, many thanks to Puxinette, my patient beta and dear friend.