Elrond's heart shattered at the sight of his eldest son's limp body being taken off the horse. He unconsciously brought his hand to his mouth. "No," he whispered. For a brief instant, he thought his eyes were deceiving him. He had long dreaded the day when one of his sons would come home… Please, not my son, he thought. His emotions began to unravel and tears started their slow descent down his cheeks. Glorfindel ran towards him and took the elven lord hard by the shoulders. He looked frantic.
"Elrond, you need to help him!" He motioned for the elves to place Elladan on the floor at Elrond's feet then ordered them to retrieve the healer's supplies.
"I can't." Elrond stated. Elladan was haemorrhaging badly from a wound to his side. The sight stole his breath. This was his son. His son. Images flashed through his mind from Elladan's childhood. He couldn't work on him. What if he failed? What if he couldn't save him? What if he couldn't heal him? This was his little boy. He wouldn't be able to do it.
Glorfindel shook him and broke him from his reverie. "Elrond, you are the only one who can save him! Help him! He won't live for much longer without aid!" He met his friend's eyes. "Please."
The look of fear and pain in Glorfindel's eyes brought him partially back to reality. He nodded firmly. He would try…