Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jeren grabbed Two's reins and led the horse out of the brush and trees. By the time she'd made her way to where the family lay dead, Elrohir and Elladan had gone into the cabin to make sure there were no more Orcs inside. She went to one knee, checking for life amongst the ruin of bodies that lay there.

She started with the mother of the clan, noting the slash across her throat and her vacant eyes. Jeren said a silent prayer as she did the woman two final courtesies: She took off her own tunic and draped it across the mother's nakedness, and she then closed the woman's eyes on the world that had been so cruel to her in the end.

Rising, she moved a few feet to the daughter. This girl had been beautiful and hale, with her whole life before her. She was blonde, as was her mother, and Jeren knew the girl would have found a husband and raised a brood of her own in a few years. Yet here she lay, with a fatal wound in the heart, rendered in the name of hate by the dagger of some random Orc. Jeren shook her head at the waste of such youth.

She moved once more, this time to the grandmother of the family. Jeren supposed this had been the husband's mother, since her gray-streaked hair bore the traces of darkness that her son's had also held. She found no breathing—no pulse where there should have been one, and as she held her fingers against the woman's neck, she noted the odd angle of her head. It looked as if the Orc that had killed her had been trying to decapitate her, without using a blade.

Jeren stood, looking at the carnage that surrounded her. She warily glanced at the father's head, lying amidst the bodies of Orcs, his sightless eyes and the startled expression forever etched on his face. Her gaze wandered, finally finding the small boy, who had bravely tried to make the Orcs leave off torturing his father. She walked sadly over to his little body, her feet feeling as if they were trudging through mud. He was so small! Barely more than a baby…

Squatting down, she ran her fingers through the blond hair that was matted with blood on one side. He'd been fair-haired, just like his mother and sister. It was downy and soft, except where he'd been hit with the hilt of an Orc's sword, and there it was sticky and stiff. She swiped a tear from her cheek and closed her eyes in a silent prayer for the young life snuffed out long before its time was up on this earth. When she opened them again, she continued to stare at the child's still form. But as she watched, she could swear she could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. She ran her hand over his face and he was warm! She placed her fingers against his the side of his throat and—he had a pulse! She had wrongly assumed that the violent beating he had endured had taken his life!

She was almost afraid to move him, but he needed aid, and she knew that the twins could see to his healing much better than she could. So she threw caution to the wind and gathered him up, walking quickly toward the house as she called out to Elrohir.

Having heard her call, Elladan stepped into the threshold of the cabin just as she drew nearer, and opened the door wider as she approached. She stopped as soon as she reached him, so that he could make a cursory examination of the child, and then he led her to the doorway of one of the two small bedrooms within the house. Just as she was about to enter it, Elrohir was coming out of the room, and in his arms he carried a blanket. He was holding it so carefully, Jeren wondered just what he held wrapped in the cover. He'd been staring so intently at whatever he had, that when he glanced up he seemed almost startled to see her. Then a queasy smile broke over his lips and he said, "Look what Elladan and I have found."

He held the blanket open and inside was a baby! The tiny pink dress gave away the fact that this must be a girl child, and to further that guess, her features were delicate and feminine, even at this tender age. She had wispy blond hair, just like her brother. She was chewing on one of her fists, and from the looks of things, she was just about ready to cry. It must be very close to feeding time.

Elrohir then frowned as he noticed the boy in Jeren's arms. He handed the baby off to Elladan and took the child from Jeren, walking with him over to the largest bed in the room. Jeren couldn't help thinking that the child's inert body looked like that of a doll: lifeless, with the limbs dangling bonelessly as Elrohir walked.

Jeren pulled the covers down and Elrohir laid the boy onto the mattress carefully, placing his poor, injured head onto one of the two pillows there. Before Elrohir had a chance to ask, Jeren went to the kitchen and began heating water, first lighting the stove and then finding a large pot in which to heat the water, which she found in a bucket there in the kitchen. By the time she had the water heated, she'd also found some clean cloths and towels, so that they could bathe the little boy; find out just how bad that wound on his head was, as well as the injury to his arm. She'd seen the Orcs beat him, and the bruises on his face stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. She knew that, once they'd removed his clothing, they would find his little body in the same condition.

She carefully carried the pan with the heated water in it into the bedroom and placed it on a table beside the bed. Elrohir was almost ready for her. He'd stripped the child, and was still in the process of examining the rest of him, checking for broken bones or damaged organs inside.

Elladan placed the baby in Jeren's arms, saying, "There's a cow in the barn—thank the Valar the Orcs did not kill her. I'll go see if she'll give us some milk, and then we can feed this baby. She's not going to be quiet for much longer." He smoothed the infant's hair against her head, and smiled at Jeren as she settled the bundle more securely against her shoulder, and she did not think she'd ever seen him so captivated before. It seemed as if he'd already fallen in love with this child, and he'd only held her for a few minutes.

She sat on the side of the bed, so that she could lay the baby down if Elrohir had need of her help. She watched with pride as her husband gently bathed the boy's wounds, checking them to see if they needed stitching. The arrow that had wounded the boy had taken a large chunk of flesh out of his arm. Had it hit the bone, the arm more than likely would not have been salvageable, the limb being still so small, the arrow would have effectively cleaved it in two. As it was, he would bear a very large scar, where Elrohir would sew the gaping wound closed.

Elrohir felt gingerly along the boy's skull, checking to see if he could feel any 'give' in the bone. He looked at her and smiled, so she took that to mean there was none.

"He might still have severe injury, swelling in the brain, but at least we can hope not, since the skull does not seem fractured," he said.

"Children look so fragile…" Jeren started.

"But are so resilient," he finished for her. "Their bones are more pliable than adults' are. So many times when their bones are stressed, they crack instead of shattering. Still painful, but more hopeful for a full recovery."

"Where did you find this little beauty?" Jeren asked, glancing down into the infant's face. The baby's big blue eyes were staring up at her, and when she caught Jeren's gaze, she smiled a toothless smile. Jeren laughed, as she looked back up at her husband.

"She was in a basket that had been wedged into the space between the bed and the wall, and someone had hastily piled blankets all around it. They'd been careful not to cover her face. I'll bet she slept through all the ruckus, and that's a very good thing, or she more than likely would have been killed immediately."

"She's so beautiful," Jeren said, her voice trailing off.

"Yes, she is," he replied absently, as he bent his head to the boy's wounds once again.

The boy in the bed stirred slightly, as Elrohir cleaned the wound on his head. Jeren's heart felt like breaking, when she saw little tears fall from his eyes and trickle toward his ears. Even unconscious, he was in pain…

"Jeren, would you go put some more water on to boil? For tea this time. He will need Valerian when he wakes, if we can get him to drink it.

The baby was truly chewing on her fist and beginning to fuss. "What about her?" Jeren asked, her eyes large, as if she feared the answer. Elrohir smiled at Jeren's unease when she had complete charge of the baby.

"She'll be fine. Just lay her down closer to me, and I'll make sure she doesn't go anywhere. I'm not sure exactly how old or mobile she is yet; this will probably be a good test. If she's in peril of falling, and I can't stop what I'm doing, I'll give a yell."

Jeren went into the kitchen and there she found Elladan, looking in the lone cupboard for something, probably having to do with feeding the baby. He looked up and frowned. "I suppose it's a cup and spoon for the job, and we'll try and spoon the milk into her," he said. Then, as if he were reconsidering, he added, "We could try one of our water skins, I suppose…"

"That's a very good idea, but it will take some time to refashion the stopper, so that she can get something out of it without it drowning her at first."

"No, we'll just be very careful of the flow," he said. "Worry not; I've done this before."

So Jeren set about heating more water for the Valerian tea that Elrohir wanted to give to the boy. As soon as she had it near boiling, she went outside to retrieve their saddlebags and brought them in. She dumped their contents onto the kitchen table, finding the medicinal herbs that they always carried with them, along with the kit that contained the needles and scissors that Elrohir would need to stitch the child. She then set another pot to boiling, one in which she could immerse the instruments, to make sure they were as clean as possible before Elrohir used them on the boy. She hoped there was a well on the property, so that she could get water more easily than by carrying a bucket to a nearby stream. But if that was the way it turned out, she would do it. It definitely wouldn't be the first time she'd fetched water a fair distance from the house.

She left the steeping tea on the stove, just off the fire, so that it would stay warm but not boil away. She had the instruments cleaned and cooled, so she took them and a packet of herbs she knew Elrohir would use to make a poultice, into the room, finding him standing close to the rocking chair, where Elladan held the baby, trying to feed her. She was cooperating nicely at first, but suddenly got choked, so Elladan thrust the water skin of milk at his brother, and held the baby against his shoulder, patting her on the back to help her breathe easier. Her coughing quickly subsided and she let out a big burp, making them all laugh to hear such a loud noise coming from such a dainty package. But then she began fussing again, so Elladan took the 'milk' skin from his brother, and again began trickling milk into the child's eager mouth.

Elrohir and Jeren then bent to the task of caring for the wounded boy. Elrohir had gotten all his injuries washed and prepared for stitching. She knew she wouldn't be much help, but she was there just in case he needed something quickly that she could go fetch. He first mixed the poultice, and then she smiled when he pulled one of the long, dark hairs from his head, remembering how the twins had tried to entertain her when she'd been in this little boy's place and needed stitching herself. Elrohir had rudely yanked a hair from Elladan's head, and the ensuing verbal battle had made Jeren want to laugh.

She'd not noticed before, but while she'd been busy in the kitchen, Elrohir had found the father's razor and had cut the hair away from the wound on the boy's head for easier stitching.

"Jeren, help me, please. Hold the edges of this cut together as I stitch."

So Jeren first dipped her fingers into one of the bowls containing a cleansing herbal bath, and then did as Elrohir had asked her to. He placed the first two stitches, and then the boy's eyes fluttered open, and he grabbed for the cut where all the pain was coming from.

"I was afraid this might happen…" Elrohir muttered under his breath, as he caught the child's hand. "Mae govannen, little man," Elrohir said to the boy.

As the Elf had planned, he'd made the child curious enough by speaking Elvish to him, he did not take the time to cry. He looked at Elrohir with tearful, yet skeptical eyes, probably wondering what manner of speaking this person was using. But the effect of Elrohir's plan did not last long, and the child began whimpering, calling for his parents: first his Papa, and when he did not materialize from another room, then his Mama.

Elrohir called for his twin, and Elladan handed the baby to Jeren again, along with the skin filled with milk. She sat in the rocker, watching as the Elves joined hands. Jeren nodded to herself, remembering when the twins had used their version of their father's deep healing sleep on her, back when she'd been attacked by Orcs. Their ability was slight, compared to that of Elrond, but with any luck, this child would stay asleep through the rest of their tending. They placed their free fingers on the boy's head and began chanting, putting him into a sleep that they all hoped would last through the stitching. None of them wanted to hold the child down, if this did not work. He'd already been through the trauma of watching as his father had been tortured and then killed, as well as being beaten himself by the horrible monsters that had invaded his home today. He would only be further distressed, having strangers restraining him and hurting him. He would not understand that they would be helping, he'd only be more terrified. He was so young...

Meanwhile Jeren resumed trying to feed the baby. She'd trickle the milk into the infant's little mouth, which the baby held open like a tiny bird awaiting a meal from its mother's beak. Jeren was amazed at how quickly the infant had learned this behavior, because the mother must have surely been feeding this child at the breast. But before long, the baby decided she'd had enough, and began squirming and turning her face away from the offered milk. Jeren got up from the chair and took the skin to the kitchen, placing it in a large bowl to prevent it spilling onto the floor. She returned to the rocker, and held the baby against her shoulder, as she'd done a time or two when she'd helped Elen with Charlie when he was a baby. She hummed softly and patted the infant's back, and the baby burped a few more times. Jeren was further amazed when the child dropped off to sleep again.

Elladan had stayed with Elrohir, helping with the stitching of the now peacefully sleeping boy. The head wound was soon finished, poulticed and bandaged, and they moved to the arm.

"See the cracks in the bone, Elladan?" Elrohir asked. "Had the Orc's arrow hit the arm in the center, we'd be closing the end of a stump, if he hadn't bled to death first." As soon as the stitching was done, they not only poulticed and bandaged the arm, they splinted it as well, finding a few boards in the barn at lengths and widths that would do nicely. They placed the arm in a sling, too, in hopes that it would discourage movement of the limb, thus helping it heal all the faster.

Jeren had placed the baby girl into the cradle that was in one corner of the room. She couldn't believe that the child would sleep again so soon, but mayhap she'd worn herself out by crying a great deal of the time this afternoon, while the Orcs were outside of the house. Had they heard her, they would have surely killed her. Thank the Valar they had not.

She went to the wardrobe, trying to find a nightshirt for the little boy to wear, hoping to make him more comfortable. All she could find were the parent's clothes, and those for the baby. So she went into the other bedroom, which contained one large bed and a small cot. She assumed that the grandmother had shared the larger bed with the daughter, and the little boy must've slept in the small one. She checked the wardrobe in there and was rewarded with finding all of his clothes and even an extra pair of shoes. Whether they still fit him, she would not know until she could try them on his feet.

She ran her fingers over one of the seams of the nightshirt she'd found—such fine stitching—almost as good as Elen's. A pang of pity went through her heart, as she thought of the children who were rendered motherless this afternoon. Shaking her head, she draped the nightshirt over her arm and went back into the room where Elrohir was now sitting in a chair beside the bed. She handed the clothing to him, and he uncovered the child, and Jeren helped him put the nightshirt on the little boy, all the while wincing when she'd have to touch one of the many livid bruises on the child's body. They laid him back down and covered him again.

"Why do you not go lie down in the other room and get some sleep, Jeren?" Elrohir asked her. "It's been a long day."

"I won't leave you with all the work of the children. What if one or both of them should wake?"

"Elladan will help me," he said, and at her beginning protest, he added, "I know you hate it when I say this, but—" He paused for emphasis… "—we're Elves, and we do not need the rest that you do."

Jeren pursed her lips, frowning at him and wanting to argue, but she knew the futility of fighting the truth, so she finally said, "All right. But if you have need of my help, please do call me."

He promised that he would, and kissed her. Before she left the room to go to sleep for a while, she first touched the little boy's head, not really knowing why she did it. She looked at her husband, and said, "He's very young to have lost both of his parents. Poor little thing…"

"Children are amazing creatures, Jeren," he said. "With time, he will get over the shock of losing them. I just hope the sight of seeing his father hewn in two before him does not leave a lasting effect, but I would not count on that being the case."

Jeren kissed Elrohir again, but said no more.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Elrohir had been watching the child in the bed for some time now, as he grew more and more restless in his sleep. It was probably just past midnight now, and Elladan had taken the baby into the kitchen, after she'd awoken and had not gone back to sleep. Neither of the twins wanted to wake the injured boy, so Elladan had taken the baby out of the room and had tried to feed her again. When she persisted in her crying, he checked her thoroughly, to see if he could understand what else might be wrong. He decided she was of an age where teeth might be erupting, so he checked her gums and that is where the problem lay. Her gums were swollen and red right in front on the bottom, and when he ran his hand over her face, he realized she was slightly feverish. Teething—the bane of babies…

He called Elrohir into the kitchen by the quietest means they possessed—their link. When his twin entered the room and had closed the bedroom door, Elladan asked, "I don't suppose we have any essence of clove in our gear, do we?"

Elrohir smiled, saying, "Most of the warriors we travel with have already gotten all of their teeth, Elladan. No, I don't think that we do."

Jeren came into the room then, rubbing one of her eyes, her hair a disheveled mess. "What is wrong with the sweet little girl?" she asked, holding one eye closed against the lamplight and patting the fretting infant's back.

"She's teething," Elladan said, "which is not only making her cranky because of the pain, but she's also got a low fever." At Jeren's look of concern, he chuckled. "Do not worry; she is in no danger. Almost every baby goes through this. Didn't little Charlie?"

"I think I must've been out on patrols during this sort of thing," Jeren said, her voice soft and comforting for the tiny child. She held out her hands, seeing if the baby would come to her of her own accord. The little girl leaned toward Jeren, obviously wanting to try a new set of arms. Jeren smiled as she hugged the baby against her shoulder. She didn't know what it was, but there was something about a baby in her arms that made her feel good.

His hands now free, Elladan set about heating more water. Elrohir went back into the bedroom, to sit with the injured boy again.

"What are you concocting, Elladan?" Jeren asked, as she sat in the lone chair in the room that the Orcs had not broken, rocking the infant back and forth in her arms. The table was intact, and she had stowed a large amount of their gear on it last night, when she'd gone through the saddlebags to find the medicaments they would need to treat the little boy.

"Valerian tea. We will spoon some into her so she'll be able to sleep."

"Isn't that too potent to give to a baby?" she asked, her quiet voice taking on a hint of alarm.

Elladan smiled again. "We won't give her much. Worry not, I've done this before. I know exactly how much she will need, but I won't give her more than she can tolerate for her size."

Jeren rolled her eyes. He'd done this before, too! Was she the only one inexperienced in taking care of children and babies?

While the water was coming to a boil, he looked in the cupboard, hoping that perhaps teething had been a problem in the past, and the mother had stored some clove oil there. He didn't search for long—the small bottle was right in front, obviously in a handy place. He unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. Wrinkling his nose, he nodded to himself. He thought that either the mother had anticipated this problem, and had stored this close to hand just in case, or perhaps it was a recent purchase.

He took the little vial and placed his index finger over the top, inverting the bottle to leave a little on his fingertip. He bent down to the child in Jeren's lap, and coaxed her little mouth open, massaging her gums as he rubbed the oil onto the tender flesh. She batted her eyes at the sudden, acrid taste, smacking her lips a couple of times. Then her fist went back into her mouth, and she began quietly chewing on it again.

Jeren smiled up at Elladan as he stood. "Looks like it's better, at least temporarily."

Elladan had fixed the Valerian in short order, and before long they had gotten a spoonful of the tepid liquid into the baby. They changed her nappie, putting a fresh gown on her, too. Then Elladan held his hands out to the baby, and she smiled, leaning toward him. He took the child from Jeren, and she seemed to naturally lay her head on his shoulder to rest. It looked as if the Valerian was going to do the trick.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A few hours later, the little boy suddenly sat up, calling out for his Papa. Elrohir quickly sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled the child, still mostly asleep, onto his lap, trying hard not to hurt him. That was difficult, considering his broken arm and all the bruising on him, but the boy didn't make any sound of pain, he just clung to the Elf, as Elrohir held him securely where they sat.

"Do not let them get me, Papa," the child said in that quavery, 'scared little boy' voice, that of a child who had been frightened from sleep. How well Elrohir remembered another such boy, waking in the middle of the night in Imladris, so many years ago. Estel had been plagued by nightmares for a time, after he'd inadvertently heard the story of how his own father had died at the hands of Orcs. Elrond made sure from then on that the Elves in Imladris did not underestimate the temerity of Estel again, since his true identity was not to be known, not even by Estel himself. Elrohir smiled at the memory. Considering his father's reaction, he had certainly been glad that it had been neither he nor his brother who had been guilty of that lapse in judgment.

After several minutes the child sat up straighter, craning his neck to look up at Elrohir. Elrohir looked at him, too, wondering if the boy might begin crying or if he'd show some of his earlier courage. He did not have long to wait to have his curiosity satisfied.

"You're not my Papa," the child said in a quiet, wary voice.

"No, I'm not. My name is Elrohir, and I'm here to help you."

The boy thought about that for a moment, but then said, "My head hurts, El-ro-heer," as he laid his head against Elrohir's chest.

"I have medicine for that," Elrohir said, massaging the boy's temple with the fingers of one hand. "It doesn't taste very good, but warriors drink it when they've been wounded and they are in pain."

Elrohir saw the child grimace at the thought of drinking something vile tasting, but then the boy surprised the Elf by saying, "Could I have some, anyway? I don't spit med'cine out—not like Jessa does."

Elrohir decided that the pain must indeed be severe, if the child would brave something nasty tasting to quell his headache by asking for it. So while he transferred them both back into the chair that he'd been sitting in all night, so that he could reach the cup of tea better, he asked, "Jessa?"

"My baby sister…"

The cup of Valerian tea that Jeren had made earlier was still on the table beside the bed, even though the boy hadn't been awake before to drink any. Elrohir offered the cup to him in spite of its coldness, because Valerian tasted bad no matter its temperature. The child leaned forward, placing his lips on the rim of the cup, instead of taking it out of Elrohir's hands. In some ways this boy seemed older, but in others, he was still very, very young. Elrohir estimated his age at six or seven, but his size made that guess improbable. Yet at the same time, the child seemed older than the three or four his height and weight would suggest.

After the boy had taken a swallow, shuddering as the bitter drink went down, he leaned against Elrohir again, absently plucking at the sling his injured arm was in.

"My arm hurts, too."

"The tea you are drinking will help that as well." The child sat forward once more, taking another sip of the tea, and then sat back again.

"Did you put this wrapping on me?" he asked, after a few moments had passed.

"Yes."

"So are you a… a… heal-er?" he asked, with what sounded to Elrohir like a cautiously hopeful tone. The child had struggled with the word, as if he were not very familiar with it; as if it was something he thought he might know, yet he wasn't very sure of his knowledge.

"Sometimes."

This time Elrohir was sure he did not imagine the expectant note in the child's voice. "Were you able to put my Papa's head back onto his body? The bad monsters cut it from his neck, you know."

Elrohir shut his eyes at the hope he'd heard in the child's words, as if the boy were wishing with his entire being that Elrohir might have been able to save his father's life after all. "I am sorry. I was unable to do that."

The quiet was deafening after Elrohir had answered the boy's question. He could feel the child's breathing quicken, could feel his pulse speed up and hear his little heart pound in its swift, staccato rhythm. After several minutes had passed, the child spoke again.

"How 'bout my Mama? I would like to see her, please. She usually takes care o' me when I'm sick."

"I'm sorry, but the Orcs killed her as well." Elrohir hated to impart such news to this child, but he would find out sooner or later, and he'd always found that children preferred the truth; they did not appreciate 'candy-coated' tales any more than an adult did.

The boy sat up then, looking into Elrohir's eyes as if the Elf were pronouncing a death sentence on him, and he was only a little child.

"Then Granny will do…" His voice had risen an octave, with this new attempt at finding someone—anyone—in his family that might still be alive.

"I'm sorry…" Elrohir said again.

"How 'bout my Sissy?" the boy asked, his voice trembling with unshed tears. Elrohir simply shook his head.

The boy seemed to shrink into himself, and he slumped back into Elrohir's embrace. Elrohir thought his heart would break when he felt the trembling of a boy, terrified and alone, not willing to cry in front of a stranger. He thought again at how mature this boy seemed in some ways, but in others, not at all.

After several minutes of silence had passed, Elrohir asked him, "What is your name?"

"My Mama calls me Andis. My Papa just calls me—well, he called me Andi."

"Which should I call you?"

"I don't care—" The boy paused, and Elrohir didn't think he would continue, but after a whole minute had passed, he added, "Andis, I guess."

"How old are you Andis?"

"I'm almost five."

So there Elrohir had it—Andis was four, but a very mature four.

Elrohir wished he could take back his answers to Andis' earlier questions, in light of how old the boy had turned out to be. Four was much too tender an age to truly process the fact that one's entire family was no longer alive. But the child had seemed so mature. Perhaps it was not such a grave error, though, considering how grown up this child acted—at four years of age. Yet what was done was done. There was no help for it now.

As he cuddled the boy, Elrohir let his mind wander, thinking about the child. He remembered earlier today, when Andis broke free of his Grandmother's arms and had run toward his father, bravely wanting to help the man as he was being tortured. Andis had to have been scared witless at the time, but his father had been tied down and shot full of arrows, and Elrohir supposed the peril Andis felt at being left without one of his parents, should the Orcs succeed in killing him, had to have been greater in Andis' mind than the threat they were to the boy's own well-being.

Elrohir absently stroked Andis' broken arm as he thought about this father and son. For a child as young as Andis to have run toward Orcs instead of away from them, he must have had a very special relationship with his father. He gave an inward smile, as he realized that these two fellows had been surrounded by females. He supposed that Andis had very early on formed a bond with his father because of that. The two were probably inseparable, spending most waking moments with each other, and that would explain this boy's mature outlook on life.

He glanced down at Andis' face, hoping he'd find him asleep again, but the child's brow was puckered with anxiety or mourning, it was hard to tell which—perhaps it was both. And his eyes were wide open…

Elrohir decided that perhaps talking about something completely different might help take Andis' mind in another direction, so he took a chance that Andis might know how old the baby was, too. "We found Jessa in a basket by the bed unharmed. How old is she?" he asked. "Do you know?"

The boy waited so long to answer that Elrohir thought he would not. Finally, Andis spoke, in a quiet halting voice. It was obvious that he'd lost the battle of trying not to cry.

"Well…" he said, as if pondering the question, his voice shaky with tears, "not 'xactly, but I do know she was born after Yule last year. My Mama was gettin' sorta fat then…"

Elrohir couldn't help the grin that spread over his face at this childish picture Andis had painted of a woman with child.

Wishing the boy would get some much-needed rest, Elrohir asked him, "Andis, I think you should try and get to sleep again."

"I don't wanna," he said quickly, the hand of his uninjured arm clutching at Elrohir's shirt. "The monsters are in my dreams." Elrohir could feel the child's hesitation at becoming too familiar, but sometimes fear wins those types of arguments, and Andis' fingers tightened even more in the fabric of Elrohir's shirt. The Elf smiled. Children everywhere were basically the same…

"Why do you not lie down, so that you can get more comfortable?"

"I'm very comf'table sittin' here, if you don't mind… sir," Andis said carefully, and he chanced a peek back up into Elrohir's face.

"Sir?" Elrohir said, his brow furled, but with a small smile on his face.

"El-ro-heer?"

"That is better," Elrohir said, "but as long as we'll be sitting anyway, why do we not go sit in that chair over there? It looks more comfortable than this one." He'd indicated the rocking chair, where Jeren and Elladan had been holding Jessa earlier.

"That's the chair where babies sit," Andis said stoically, as if he really might want to be held and rocked, but that it might not be fitting for a boy of his age.

"Well I'm not a baby, and I want to sit there. Do you want to sit with me, or lie down in the bed?"

"I wanna sit…"

Elrohir got up, securing Andis in his arms as he rose.

"I can walk…"

"I am sure that you can," Elrohir said, "but sometimes when warriors are hurt, they need a little help. Will you let me help you?"

Andis nodded, so Elrohir made his way to the rocking chair, where he rocked with Andis until the boy fell asleep again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The following morning was spent taking care of the dead, both the family who'd lived at this homestead and the Orcs who'd attacked them. They'd waited until both Andis and Jessa were firmly asleep again, after they'd been fed breakfast—even though Andis did not have much appetite. The boy had been dosed with Valerian for the pain he was suffering, and Jessa fell asleep quickly for her morning nap.

The Elves had begun to dig the graves for the ones who deserved such respect. Elrohir and Elladan had gone out last night and had moved the bodies of the family members into the barn, using linen they'd found in the house for shrouds. Jeren opted to leave the burial details to the Elves. She always did the same thing when she was on patrol in Joem's unit, because anytime she tried to be involved with burying the dead, when they came across any people who had battled with Orcs and lost, she was sorely reminded of having to prepare and bury her own mother's body by herself, when she was thirteen. She had no intention of shedding tears when she was anywhere near the men of her patrol, and that was always the result when she dealt with the burial of anyone now. Instead, when she was on a mission with the rangers, she would volunteer for 'Orc detail', where they would check the Orcs' pockets and pouches for anything valuable that might be later reunited with relatives of the deceased, if any could be found. They would then drag the dead Orcs into a pile well away from the others, and then set them afire.

So while the Elves were busy burying the Humans this morning, Jeren had the onerous task of dipping her fingers into the clothes and packs of the dead Orcs. All twenty-eight of them…

She found a variety of things—rings and other jewelry that may or may not have come from this homestead; women's hair combs, none of which were very expensive nor worth very much, except perhaps to whomever had owned them before the Orcs got their filthy hands on them. She also found a locket, and inside were the initials 'A' and 'M'. She wondered if it might belong to the woman who had been slain here yesterday, but she truly had no way of knowing.

The search for treasure was soon over, and Jeren decided that the two gold wedding bands she'd found—one large and one small—probably belonged to the children's parents, who owned this homestead. She'd also found one lady's ring with a fairly good gemstone, which she thought might have been the grandmother's. Of course she had no way to know for sure. The hair combs had probably belonged to any or all of the ladies of this house, and Jeren wasn't sure about the locket, since she did not know any of the adults' names. She pocketed the items and started dragging the bodies of the Orcs into a pile a good distance from the house. After a while, the Elves joined her, and with them all working, they got the task done in very short order.

They had discussed when they might take the children back to Imladris. With Andis hurt, and Jessa so young, they decided they needed to leave early in the morning, because they didn't know just how well the children would travel. The trip, which Elrohir had estimated should take four hours of fast riding, would take at least eight with the injured Andis and the baby Jessa, allowing the horses to travel at a slow and unhurried walk. So if they started fresh at dawn, they wouldn't be traveling after dark, nor would they have to take any chances with the children by camping overnight on the trail. The question now would be, whether Andis would be healed enough to start out tomorrow, or if they would have to wait and leave a few days from now.

Jeren left the Elves to the task of burning the Orcish bodies and went back into the house to check on the children, and perhaps find some clues as to the identities of these people. Andis had named himself and the baby, but the daughter who had been killed, he'd only called 'Sissy', which was surely a nickname. They'd not yet asked him if he knew what his Mama had called his Papa, or whether or not he knew his Granny's given name.

Andis was still peacefully asleep in the room where he'd been last night. Elladan had moved the cradle into the other room in the wee hours of the morning, before they'd gotten Jessa back to sleep, hoping to give Andis a little more quiet in which to recover. Jeren checked on the little girl next, and the baby was awake and standing, having pulled herself up on the side of the bed. Jeren ran to her, because the child's footing was shaky, since the cradle sat on runners so that it could be rocked side to side. When Jessa saw Jeren, her wide toothless grin made Jeren's heart melt. She thought about this baby's mother, and how the sight of her daughter's smile in the mornings must have been a wonderful gift to wake up to every day.

"What are you doing, standing up like that?" Jeren scolded, as she lifted the baby out of the cradle. She kept her voice light and cheerful, in spite of the fact that Jessa could have easily fallen out of the bed. "Let's see… Little Charlie was about eight months old when he started pulling himself up to stand. I guess you must be about that age, huh?" she asked, her voice taking on a sing-song quality that surprised her. "Andis said that your mother was 'plump' around Yule, so if you were born, say, in the spring, that would make you about seven or eight months old, and you standing like that in your bed bears out you being that age. We'll have to figure out a better way for you to sleep, once we get you home. And I'll bet you can also drink from a cup. That will be very helpful in feeding you."

Jeren set about heating water so that she could bathe Jessa. The baby wanted down on the floor, as soon as they were in the kitchen, so Jeren placed her there and began gathering things she could use to bathe the little girl, as well as retrieving clean clothes and a fresh nappie for her.

She quietly went into the bedroom where Andis was sleeping to get the things she would need to dress Jessa again, leaving the door open so that she could still watch the little girl. As she gathered what she wanted, she glanced at Andis as he slept. She frowned when she saw blood on his hand, and quickly went to his side to see which of his injuries had broken open during this nap. But what she found threatened to make her cry. Andis had probably feigned sleep after his pitiful breakfast, fooling them all into thinking he was out for his nap, and then had gone looking for what he was holding: a picture that had been painted of who Jeren supposed must have been his mother and father. He was cuddling it in his sleep.

She could see now what had caused the blood—there was a tiny nail in the ruined frame that had pierced his hand, since he'd been holding the picture so tightly. She felt sure that the small portrait had been knocked from its perch on one of the tables or the dresser here in this room, and the Orcs who had ransacked the house yesterday had stepped on it repeatedly, pulling the frame apart in the process. She couldn't bear to take it from him, but how could she allow him to keep it? It was causing him harm, and she couldn't in good conscience leave it in his hands.

She peeled his little fingers away from the wood and canvas, trying very hard not to wake him. She hoped against hope that the Valerian would keep him in a drugged sleep just long enough for her to accomplish this goal. But luck was not with her, and as she pulled the picture from his hands, they tightened on their prize and his eyes fluttered open.

"Andis," Jeren said, hoping to appeal to his better sense, "look at your hand. It's bleeding." She pointed at the offending nail. "Let me fix it and I'll bring it right back to you. All right?" She almost had it away from him, but he tightened his hold again, hugging the picture close to his chest. Jeren winced, hoping the nail did not cause him further damage. He didn't start or cry out in pain, so she thought that he had probably escaped further harm.

About that time, Jessa pulled herself up on the side of the bed, holding the covers for security. Her eyes could barely look over the mattress, but she saw Andis there, and her smile was bright at her discovery. She babbled something to him, patting the bed with one of her chubby little hands, but Andis was not impressed. He turned over onto his side, taking the picture with him.

Jeren picked Jessa up and took her, as well as the clean nappie and dress she wanted to put her in after her bath, back into the kitchen. She stood in the middle of the room, wondering where she could put Jessa to keep her safe, while she dealt with Andis' stubborn refusal to be parted from the broken picture. Of course she could just take the baby outside to one of the Elves, but she didn't want either of those males thinking she could not handle two little children, one of which was injured and the other of which was too young to even walk! Here she was, a fearsome warrior, able to face Orcs in battle, but she could not handle taking care of two small younglings? What sort of sense did that make?

But as she looked around, she could see nothing that would help. The lone chair in the kitchen was too tall and not only would the baby simply crawl out of it, she could quite possibly fall. Of course she could tie Jessa to it, but that seemed a bit barbaric. She could put the washtub over her—trapping her underneath it while she tended to Andis—but no, again that was an uncivilized thing to do. Heaving a big sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and returned to the room where Andis was, and she placed Jessa back on the floor, intending to deal with her older brother.

She put her hands on her hips and bit her lip. She had come into the house to maybe find the identities of the victims of yesterday's raid by Orcs. That had completely escaped her mind, when she'd found first Jessa and then Andis awake. How did a mother ever get anything done?

She squared her shoulders, determined to get that picture away from Andis. She sat on the bed beside him, and he opened one eye to see who it was, then closed it again when he saw it was her. Taking hold of the mutilated frame, she pulled on it as she pried Andis' fingers away from the picture.

"No!" he said angrily. "I need my Papa!"

She let up on her pressure for a moment, but did not relinquish her hold on the portrait. "I will give it right back, Andis, as soon as I have fixed it. I can tell it is very important to you. But look at this blood that is getting everywhere. Your hand must be sore…" Andis didn't let go, his large, blue eyes just looked at her accusingly. "What would your Papa say if you disobeyed him in this way? I suppose he wouldn't be very happy with you." Jeren hated to use his father to coerce his cooperation, but she had run out of things to say or do, other than risking having Andis hurt further and just pulling the ruined frame away from him, perhaps causing further damage to his hand or arm.

"Are we having trouble in here?" Elrohir said from the doorway, causing both Andis and Jeren to start with alarm. The Elf walked further into the room, pulling Jessa, who was again standing beside the bed, up into his arms. "What is the problem?"

Jeren abandoned her hold on the picture to straighten up and turn toward her husband. Pointing to the child in the bed, she said, "He must've found this little painting of his parents, while we were out of the room, and it's been damaged by the—" She paused for a moment, glancing back at Andis, not wanting to put a name to the Orcs who had killed most of his family. "There's a nail in the frame that has come loose, and Andis has cut himself on it. I was only trying to take it from him for the small amount of time it will take me to fix it, but he will not give it up."

Elrohir walked nearer to the bed, handing Jessa to Jeren, and then he sat down beside Andis, and without much fuss or bother, took the picture from the child, promising to give it back as soon as it was mended. Jeren's jaw dropped at the ease with which Elrohir had accomplished the deed, and she stopped just short of glaring at the boy. After all, he'd been through much in such a short period of time. She couldn't bear to upset him further by glowering at him.

Elrohir examined the portrait, showing Andis what the problem was and removing the nail with deft fingers, checking the rest of the frame to see if it would be prudent to just completely remove it. He turned it over in his hands, and found inscribed on the back, 'To Anders and Mavis, on the tenth anniversary of your vows', and signed simply 'Mother'. When he'd determined that there were no more loose nails or anything else that could harm Andis, he set the portrait beside the boy and examined the places on his hands where the nail had cut him. He still had a little of the herbal water left over, that he'd used last night to bathe Andis' wounds, so he wiped the new injuries clean of blood with a cloth that was also on the table.

As Elrohir finished cleaning the cuts, he said, his voice just short of being stern, "The next time Jeren asks you to do something, Andis, I want you to do it. You can trust her word. She is my wife, and when I am not here, she stands for me."

Andis dropped his eyes, apparently somewhat ashamed for disobeying an adult that had clearly been in charge of him. He nodded his head solemnly, but did not look at either Elrohir or Jeren. Elrohir contemplated the boy for a moment, and then picked up the portrait of the children's parents and handed it back to Andis. The boy hugged it to his chest and turned over, away from the others in the room.

Elrohir patted Andis' back and got up, motioning for Jeren to follow him from the room. When they were both in the kitchen with the door closed behind them, he turned to her and smiled, already reading the angry protest she had a mind to vent about at this very moment.

Holding her upper arms and caressing them at the same time, he said kindly, "It just takes practice, Jeren. I have no magic that makes the boy listen to me better than to you. It's just that I've dealt with a young boy before—quite extensively."

Understanding dawned on her face. "Aragorn, you mean…"

He nodded. "His mother was with him, but she spent a great deal of time in mourning, unable to give to Estel the guidance he needed. It was left up to us to see to him sometimes; well, that's being too kind. The first several months, it was up to us to see to him most of the time. Eventually she grew used to us and Imladris, and the fact that her husband was dead, and she was then a fine mother to Estel. He was younger than Andis is now, so Estel could not be dealt with logically. But right now, neither can Andis be. I think he has gone into himself, while he mourns the loss of his family." He stroked Jessa's cheek and she captured his finger and pulled it into her mouth, immediately beginning to chew on it. Jeren forgot her pique, laughing with Elrohir over Jessa's antics.

"Elrohir," Jeren then said seriously, "what are we going to do with these children?"

"Well," he said, moving to the bucket of water and beginning to ladle some into a large pot on the stove, "the first thing we'll do is take them home with us." As soon as he had enough water in the pot, so that they could warm it for Jessa's bath, he said, "Did you find anything in the Orcs' pockets which might point to the identities of the parents? We now know, thanks to the inscription on the back of Andis' portrait, that the man's name was Anders and the woman's was Mavis. It fits—Anders, having a son named Andis. And the resemblance between the slain man and the one in the portrait is enough to deem them one and the same. Also, the woman as well."

Jeren handed Jessa to Elrohir, and then pulled the things she'd found in the Orcs' possession from her pockets, spreading them out on the table; the man's and woman's wedding bands, the ring with the gemstone, the locket and the hair combs. She picked up the locket and opened it, showing the inside inscription to Elrohir. "A and M," she said. "Anders and Mavis. So we know that is indeed their names. Perhaps when we return to Imladris, we can get Dariel to draw sketches of the people in the portrait, and Elladan can take them to the settlement; see if anyone recognizes them as kin. Otherwise, I don't know what we can do about the children." Dariel was an excellent artist among the Elves of Imladris, even though his primary work there was scribing.

"I think that's exactly what we will have to do," Elrohir said, placing Jessa into Jeren's arms, and then laying his hand on the baby's fair head. "And if that yields no results, we will have to make many copies of the portrait and take them to the villages and towns near here. This house truly seems to be in the middle of nowhere, but a map will let us know if we can widen the search further afield.

"If we can find no one?" Elrohir looked at Jeren a long moment, his gaze then sliding over to Jessa's little face. "I do not know what we will do then."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/N: Thanks in advance for any and all reviews. Let me know how you think this story is going.