A/N: Standard disclaimer when I write medical scenes: I AM NOT A DOCTOR! Do not hold me to any of the medical procedures I write about in this chapter, I do not want to get hammered about it. If it bothers you so much that it might be wrong or whatever, please PM me and I will do my best to fix it. My stories are my muses and my stress-relievers, I am not going for a medical dissertation grade of any kind. Please read and enjoy, that is my one mission in life right now (seriously, this is it. I really, really need a life and a career right about now. Being a cashier is just not cutting it and it is SO boring) Anywayssss…please enjoy, and maybe leave a review? Thanks! :)

Also: Happy Holidays! I decided to post this on Christmas as gift to everyone out there who reads this story and has been eagerly awaiting this moment and chapter. I hope it lives up to your expectations and that you enjoy it. Have a happy and safe holiday season and I hope to see you all again soon! Happy Holidays to you all and please enjoy this chapter!

The last day of autumn was upon the North as Urelais limped along, unable to move faster than an amble as he made his way through familiar woods. He knew those trees, and those rocks, and the steep incline next to the trail he was following. That steep incline, almost a cliff, was covered in trees, shrubs, and boulders; it was the first indication the valley of Imladris was near.

Urelais did not care; all he cared about was that he would be home soon, with a warm blanket and Laeron making things better. Urelais knew that he was sick, he felt as though he was being strangled, and he was too warm and seeing two trees in the same place instead of one.

His rider shifted slightly and Urelais weakly turned an ear back to listen. His rider's breathing was even more labored than his, and he could hear that his heart was causing problems, and slowing down. He was wheezing with each breath and was unbearably tense. His stomach was causing him agony and his back had not stopped bleeding yet, even though it had been almost two weeks since the beating and the captain's death. It had taken almost two weeks to cover just over thirty miles, a testament to the exhaustion and weakness they were all feeling.

Urelais' own lash marks had not healed either, the riven flesh covered in flies and maggots. Only his rider's shirt and tunic had protected him from maggots eating away at his flesh also. Urelais looked ahead, seeing that the two Men had left them behind, likely by accident. He was going so slowly that they would stop and wait for him to catch up before continuing on. But both were exhausted and in both cases slightly delirious from illness, so Urelais did not blame them for forgetting him and his rider. And Urelais was going more slowly on purpose: he knew the other horses could catch the illness he had and he did not want that to happen.

Especially not to Gledswith; that mare was too beautiful to be killed by a simple illness.

Daydreaming about a beautiful mare, whether elf or horse, when exhausted and wounded has the potential to end in disaster, and Urelais was headed for that when he let his mind wander, not paying attention to where he was walking.

His lame leg stepped on a loose, slippery rock and slid right off. Normally he would have been able to catch himself, but these were not normal circumstances. He fell onto his knees before hitting the ground and falling onto his side, his rider's leg trapped beneath him. It was then that he felt and heard two snaps. One came from his leg, and he saw that his knees were skinned, his hoof was in pieces, and his leg was even more swollen than before when he stood carefully, his rider staying on the ground and too weak to rise. His leg was also bleeding, and he could see bone had pushed through the skin. He tried to put weight on it, but the pain was too intense and he raised his leg, trying to keep his hoof off the ground.

He turned to his rider then, seeing that his left leg was broken as well. He was dragging it as he crawled closer to Urelais, feeling his way with his hands. He found the broken leg a moment later, feeling the bone protruding from the skin and feeling the knee and the blood pouring from it. The fall and broken leg seemed to have given him some clarity of mind, and he pulled what remained of his tunic off, careful not to lean back and fall off the trail. The way down was rather steep and disappeared out of sight.

Urelais watched as his rider tied his tunic around his leg, using the small knife he had held onto for years to cut it into the shape he wanted so that his entire lower leg and knee were covered by the makeshift bandage. Another piece cut from his shirt was tied around his hoof to keep it together. Once finished his rider reached out blindly for Urelais' muzzle. Urelais turned to him, an ear turning to catch the whispered words.

"Go, friend, go home. You know the way. Follow the hidden path I showed you long ago," his rider collapsed to the ground, too weak to continue on or rise again. Urelais' eyes widened, understanding the difficult choice in front of him: stay or leave. His mother, long ago, had taught him to be faithful and loyal to his rider, no matter what, but now he could not. He needed help, and he knew those that pursued him would not try to help him. A horse with a broken leg was a dead horse as far as Men were concerned. Only Elves would attempt to heal his leg and save his life.

He looked to his rider, and then the trail, and back to his rider before closing his eyes and sighing, knowing he had no choice. Snow had not arrived yet but it was already very cold out and his rider was fully exposed. Elves were expert trackers, they would be able to follow his trail with ease. He took one hobbling step, then another, then another, keeping the weight off his leg as much as possible as he continued down the trail. After ten feet he looked back and his rider was gone. His eyes widened and he considered going back, but then realized turning around would be impossible. He could not put weight on that leg, and that was essential for turning no matter what direction it was.

He sighed again and continued on, hoping his rider would be well and found in time. He came, eventually, to a fork in the trail. In truth, it was hard to tell there was a fork. To the right was a trail that would lead, eventually, to the first guard outpost of Rivendell and the borders of the valley, but it would take several days. To the left was only a slight gap in the trees that led down into the valley right away. His rider had shown him this way once, telling him that the guards did not watch it because very few outside the valley, or inside it for that matter, knew about it. It was a faster way into the valley, and the way was so overgrown none would notice he had passed that way.

Urelais limped down the trail to the left, while behind him his rider lay where he had fallen: against a tree and hidden under a bush, hidden from sight. When Cendar and Tordag came back a day later they found no sign of him and continued on their way, too exhausted and sick to look around more closely before moving on. When the hunters came they did not see Elrond either, following the trail and the two Men. The hunters, and Cendar and Tordag, did not notice the trail to the left, and Urelais was finally able to return home.

Behind him, Elrond waited in agony, too delirious and in too much pain to know for what. All he knew was that he could not fall asleep, no matter what.

A journey that would normally have taken several hours took Urelais almost two days to complete. Three times he nearly fell, and three times he was able to rise again, knowing if he fell again he would never be able to rise again. He followed the trail, and finally, after years away, he made it to the bridge over the river just as the sun began to set. He had found some water to drink and sipped a little, knowing instinctively any more would be deadly. He also knew he only had the energy for one try at being recognized.

He looked across the bridge and saw many elves. He immediately recognized the twins and his favorite groom, and Laeron was there too. His favorite groom had taken care of him so well and had bonded with him, and he had missed him all this time, almost as much as he had missed his home. There were several others he did not know, but it did not matter.

He was finally home, and began to limp across the bridge.

Elladan and Elrohir were speaking to their grandparents, Círdan, and Thranduil about winter stores in the courtyard as they made their way to the study. They were getting ready to continue on their way when Laeron and another groom joined them, and they had been conversing steadily when Lindir who was passing by looked towards the bridge and said, "My lords, look!" pointing in that direction.

They all turned and were surprised to see a horse limping across the bridge with single-minded intent. He was already mostly across, and a trail of blood followed him. Laeron and the groom immediately ran to help him walk the rest of the way into the courtyard, where the horse stopped, too weak to continue on.

Laeron stopped as well, immediately kneeling and running a hand down the broken front leg. He held it there a moment, and when he pulled away his hand was red with blood. He only shook his head, "Broken, and very badly, although someone did bind it rather well. I would wager this hoof is in pieces as well," looking at the hoof on the same leg before turning to those gathered there that had come forward to look at this strange horse.

It was not often that stray horses found their way into the valley, but they were always treated well until their owners were found, and if not they stayed in the valley and treated well for the rest of their lives. Everyone was upset to see the leg was broken, but they would try to mend it. Even if it did not heal all the way and he limped the rest of his life, the horse would be comfortable here in Imladris.

As this was going on the other groom, Nortaro, was checking over the rest of the horse. He shook his head in disgust as he explored his haunches, "He has been beaten Laeron, the whip marks are fresh and I can see bone. There are maggots in some of these cuts, and he is nothing more than a skeleton. He has been starved," his voice angry, and the horse turned his ears back to listen, listening to a voice he had not heard in years.

Laeron nodded, running a hand along his neck while investigating the badly matted mane. Both hands came away covered in dirt and mud, and Laeron sighed, "And it seems he is not a bay, he is just filthy," He looked into the stallion's eyes, unable to recognize the powerful stallion he had known in the ruined horse in front of him, "Who did this to you, mellon nín?"

The horse gave no answer, just looked at him trustingly, before looking to the twins who were only partly paying attention to him and the grooms. They were focused on a strange blond elf saying that some humans had no respect for the lives of other creatures if they were willing to treat a horse so poorly. The twins were only listening politely and seemed to agree with him a bit.

The horse took a step forward, trying to get their attention, and it seemed to work. One twin turned to him and walked over, holding out a hand for him to sniff. He smiled sadly when the horse did not, "You do not trust anyone now, do you? I can understand why," the stallion shook his head at the same moment another groom came with a bucket of water and some rags.

The horse had no interest, beginning to despair when the twin began to turn away, and Laeron and the grooms bent to take a closer look at his broken leg. He licked his cracked lips, then did something he had not done in years: he whinnied, a deep, throaty neigh that had always been recognizable. He also tossed his head as much as he could, and that motion caused what remained of his saddle to break in half. The one side fell away and the cinch was pulled rather painfully off the sore it had created on his belly.

There was a clang as metal hit stone, and it echoed and silenced all in the courtyard as they looked at the horse again. The twin, Elladan, went to the object and picked it up, eyes widening when he saw what it was.

It was a horseshoe, a horseshoe with a specific name on it.

He whipped his head around to the horse, looking carefully into his eyes for a moment before going to the bucket of water and the rags near it. He dipped a rag in before going to the stallion's back legs, both caked in mud. He ignored everyone's questions and odd looks, instead washing both legs until two white socks and hooves became visible under the mud, even though both seemed stained completely. He stared at them a moment in shock, before his brother finally asked, "Have you finally lost your sanity, Dan?" knowing that such a question always garnered a response.

Elladan only glanced at him and said, "I do not think so," before rising from his crouch near the stallion's legs and getting and soaking another rag. Everyone looked at each other in confusion, not understanding his actions. Laeron, who had seen and thought the socks looked familiar, stood as well, as did Nortaro. The other groom had left to get bandages, herbs, and help. They would not force the stallion to walk all the way to the stables, he was too weak for that.

Elladan went to the stallion's head, and the stallion nudged the wet rag, asking him to continue. Elladan stood in front of the stallion, blocking the view of everyone else assembled. He raised the rag, hesitating only a moment, before beginning to clean the stallion's forehead. Once finished he stared in disbelief, a tear sliding down his cheek as he rested his forehead against the stallion's forehead. The horse only sighed and closed his eyes, relieved it was finally over.

"Elladan, what is wrong?" Círdan asked, and that drew Elladan back to the present. He turned around slowly, slowly revealing the four-point star on the stallion's forehead. Laeron froze, as did the others, while Nortaro only whispered, "Urelais?" the stallion opened his eyes and nickered tiredly, and the groom immediately went and embraced him, not minding the dirt and mud caked to the stallion. He had been so worried when the stallion had disappeared, afraid for both him and Lord Elrond. He knew that the stallion would give everything he had, and it would likely be too much for his body. For him to be here and alive was more than he had hoped for, and he could tell Urelais felt the same as the horse relaxed into his embrace and sighed.

His movements spurred everyone out of the shock they were in, and Elrohir came up next to his brother, taking the horseshoe from him and looking at it before looking at the stallion.

"It is you," he said simply, "You made it home, Urelais."

Urelais sighed again, just as more grooms arrived to help, some of them not believing it was really Urelais until they saw the star. They had everything they could possibly need, which was a good thing as Urelais' strength finally gave out. He swayed and then collapsed onto his side with a weak whinny, but the grooms were ready. They, along with everyone there, caught the stallion and laid him on a sheet that could be used to carry him so he would not have to walk to the stables. Urelais lay still and calmly, the pain in his body and leg unbearable, and he could not breathe very well.

Laeron, once he was settled, gently pulled the rusty bit out of Urelais' mouth, the ruined bridle falling to pieces as he did so. Another groom removed what was left of the saddle and revealed large sores that were infected. Laeron squeezed his windpipe gently, and Urelais coughed weakly. He sighed, shaking his head, "Strangles," and the grooms nodded in sympathy, covering the stallion with a blanket. Urelais would have to be isolated for a long time. Feeling his chest Laeron could see he had a fever and was exhausted. He was also severely starved and dehydrated, pinching the skin on his neck revealed it did not snap back immediately.

Laeron shook his head again, watching as consciousness left the stallion and he went limp, finally giving in to his pain-filled body's need to sleep. Nortaro stayed near, his head in Nortaro's lap, murmuring into his ear, just being there for him. Laeron turned to the leg then, reaching for the makeshift bandage and wanting to see how bad it was now that Urelais could not feel the pain anymore.

As he did so, Elrohir showed everyone the horseshoe that had fallen from Urelais' saddle, while saying, "Urelais must have been limping and walking for months, and yet he still made it home. That is incredible."

"My lords, you need to see this, now," Laeron said urgently, and they all turned to him. He had removed the makeshift bandage and noticed something, "This is a fresh break, my lords, maybe two days old. This tunic has been wrapped around it as long, judging by the fresh blood on it," handing it to Elladan before going back to tending the leg.

Elladan took it carefully and he said, "This was not made by a man, or even a dwarf for that matter," examining it closely and seeing the familiar designs and patterns woven into what remained of the sleeves and the few buttons that remained before looking up at those assembled, "This was made in Imladris."

Elrohir took it from him and nodded after looking at it carefully, "Elladan is right. This came from the valley, and the blood is very fresh."

Elladan turned to his grandmother, who had been silent the entire time and said simply, "One more search, and then I will stop hoping he will come home."

Galadriel hesitated a moment before nodding, feeling something that could be tentatively called hope in her chest, "Tomorrow," was all she said as the sun had nearly disappeared behind the mountains.

Both twins nodded, and they watched as the grooms and a few others carried the unconscious stallion to the stables to be tended.

Outside the valley, as night descended, Elrond lay still and shivered against the cold, unwilling still to give in to the weakness in his body.

Above him, Eärendil watched over him throughout the night, anxious for dawn to come again.

Morning could not come soon enough for the inhabitants of the valley. News that Urelais had returned spread like a wildfire, bringing with it the hope that their lord might still be alive and nearby as well.

As Elladan made his way to the stables he was surprised to see Merilinel with an armload and a basket of blankets on her way to his father's chambers, as well as some cleaning supplies. She would get everything ready and hope for the best. Behind her Mistaro, Hadlathon, and Maeassil all had the same hope as well as they made for Elrond's chambers. The healers would get herbs and supplies ready while Maeassil helped Merilinel. Once finished they would go to the back courtyard to wait. This courtyard was only used by Elrond and his family and was completely private, and it was there the patrol would go if they found Elrond. They would wait there just so that the entire valley would not see their lord and the condition he might be in if he was found. They all remembered what Gandalf had said when he reached the valley last year, and they needed to be ready.

Elladan shook his head, hoping that their hope was not in vain as he was joined by his brother and Glorfindel. All three exchanged glances and determined nods before they went to the stables. When they arrived Heledhon and Belegon were getting their patrol ready. Faneth was going as well and was dressed in a tunic and trousers. Elladan breathed a slight sigh of relief; this patrol had followed his father for almost three Ages and unlike the majority of warriors did not gossip. If his father was found today in terrible condition, none outside his closest friends would ever know about it.

Elladan, before going to prepare to ride out, went to where Urelais was, accompanied by Glorfindel and Elrohir. Looking inside, they were saddened at the sight of the stallion brought so low. He was covered in several blankets and still unconscious. His leg had been expertly set by Laeron and Hadlathon and was bandaged and propped on the softest pillow they could find, his hoof back together with the aid of a special shoe. Urelais was now the black color he had been before. He was thin though, and his coat was shaggy and rough, no longer the sleek shimmering black it had been before. He seemed slightly better now that he was being tended and getting healing herbs that would help his illness and breathing, as well as pain remedies for his leg. The lashes on his haunches had been cleaned and stitched, and the sores were cleaned and had a healing paste on them to relieve the stinging. Athelas was steeping nearby to help his breathing and ease the pain in his chest.

He was slightly stronger, but not by much, and they all knew it. He had a long road of recovery before him, and then he would have to be careful with his leg for years after.

Elladan could still smile though, at the sight of Nortaro. He had been untangling Urelais' matted mane and tail and was halfway through his mane when he fell asleep. Urelais' tail was untangled and thinner than before, but that would change with good care and feeding. Urelais was propped up with blanket-wrapped hay bales to ease his breathing, and Nortaro was sleeping with his head on Urelais' shoulder, a comb still in hand. It was clear he had been there all night, as someone had covered him with a blanket as well. But he would not leave and would stay until Urelais woke again.

All three elves exchanged smiles at the sight before leaving to get their own horses ready. Elladan did not make for the horse he had been riding after his stallion had been slain at the battle of the Ford a year ago, though. He made for the stall where Veryafion was. Ignoring Laeron's warning he opened the top door. Instead of an explosion of fury, Veryafion came forward calmly and let Elladan stroke her head. He looked her in the eye, which she returned, before whispering, "You know where to go, don't you? You have always known, and we were too ignorant to listen. How much pain could have been avoided if we had listened to you, I wonder?" Veryafion only shook her head and continued to stare at him. He smiled, "Will you let me ride you, Veryafion? We will follow you, just as we should have done from the beginning."

Veryafion was already nodding her head and Elladan smiled. He left, coming back minutes later with a brush, hoof pick, saddle, and bridle. He groomed Veryafion quickly and picked her hooves, before saddling her, reaching into his memory for what his father had told him about Veryafion and her preferences.

"You place the saddle, but let her adjust it," his father's voice floated through his mind, "And unless you have the softest hands in the world, do not use a bridle or bit; her mouth is too soft for it if you are heavy-handed. Not that you need the bridle, you can steer Veryafion with just your knees. Never use your heels, unless you want to find yourself in Gondor inside of a day and out of breath, she is that fast. The bridle is just to get her to stop, but be gentle about it. Always sit when she trots, and remember she is intelligent enough to know when you are about to do something stupid. Be careful then, because she will put you in your place faster than you can blink," he had chuckled, "If you do not believe me, just ask Glorfindel. Putting him in his place is her favorite pastime, and she is rather sadistic with how much she enjoys it."

Elladan nodded to himself; placing the saddle on Veryafion and then let her adjust it. She did, even reaching around and pulling at the saddle blanket with her teeth to fix a few things, shifting her weight to fix other things. Once finished she nodded at Elladan, who reached under and cinched the saddle snugly, mindful not to make it unbearably tight. Veryafion nodded again, satisfied, and Elladan was reaching for the bridle when he remembered his father's warning: he rode with too heavy a hand for Veryafion. His father had shown him and Elrohir how light a hand was needed, and he definitely did not have that light a hand. His father only moved his hand without pulling on the bit, and she turned where he wanted her to go, and Elladan always pulled a little when he wanted to change direction.

He went for a bit-less bridle instead, securing it to her head and adjusting it on both sides. She nodded in approval and he led her from the stall, Veryafion already ready to go and ready to run.

She had been ready for months now.

Outside the patrol was waiting and when Elladan appeared leading Veryafion, Glorfindel said, "I am not sure that is a good idea, Elladan, she is too unpredictable," it was a sentiment shared by Galadriel, Celeborn, and Gandalf, who had come to see them off along with Círdan. Legolas and Thranduil were helping Erestor run the valley while the twins were away. Arwen was with Eafled and Edhelvain, teasing the she-elf about her engagement and upcoming wedding.

Círdan said nothing, but there was a light of approval in his eyes as Elladan said, "Have you ever noticed that Veryafion always heads south when she escapes, Glorfindel? And is always listening, even when there is nothing to hear. You said she was Amani, did you ever think she could hear the Song? She knows something, and today I think we will follow her lead," mounting as he said this.

Glorfindel shook his head, but only said, "I will give her two hours Elladan, maybe three, and then we find another place to search."

"Very well," Elladan said, nodding farewell to those gathered there before giving Veryafion her head. The mare immediately made for the bridge, trotting over it quickly before breaking into a canter as she made a left instead of a right out of the valley. Elladan only let her go where she wished, and she was relieved.

Her rider did not have much time.

Instead of following the main path out of the Valley, Veryafion took a very steep and nearly invisible trail. She slowed at certain parts to a walk, and looking down Elladan could see the bloody trail Urelais had left. He looked at Glorfindel alongside him, who said nothing and only shook his head, unable to imagine how the severely wounded stallion had managed the trail.

They continued on, following the trail until it met the one that led to the first guard post. It was here Veryafion stopped a moment before walking on a few steps. She stopped again, ears turning every which way, and Glorfindel sighed before turning to the patrol, "Spread out and search up the trail towards the guard post. Stay in hailing distance," everyone nodded and began to search, while Veryafion began walking down the trail out of the valley.

Elladan only looked at Glorfindel and shrugged, "We still have an hour and a half, Glorfindel. I will see where she is going."

"Very well, but stay where you can be heard," Glorfindel said.

Elladan nodded and disappeared around the bend in the trail, and Elrohir said, "I think he has finally lost it."

"Maybe not, Elrohir," Glorfindel said, "Veryafion may surprise us yet, and Elladan seems to think she knows something. If it helps both find peace, then why not?"

Elrohir only looked doubtful but left to continue searching nearby. Glorfindel looked after Elladan a moment before shaking his head and beginning his own search, uncertain where he should begin to search or what he was truly looking for.

Down the trail a way Elladan was beginning to doubt his sanity. Maybe letting Veryafion finally find what she was looking for was not the best idea?

She could be looking for the best apples in the world as far as he knew, although a small part of him doubted it highly. Veryafion did not even like apples enough to have a favorite, preferring sugar cubes instead.

He was willing to admit he let his attention wander a bit, so suddenly being at a downward angle caught him by surprise. He looked up and saw that Veryafion wanted to go down an incline too steep for her. He pulled back sharply on her bridle and she backed away with a head toss and a snort.

"No Veryafion, last time I checked you are not a mountain goat," Elladan said firmly. Veryafion only snorted again and continued to stare down the incline, trembling slightly. Elladan sighed before dismounting, deciding to see what had her interest. He looked down the incline and at first saw nothing. Then he saw how one shadow, the one Veryafion was fixated on, did not move with the others. Looking even closer and squinting, Elladan could just make out the outline of someone under a bush. Someone that could only be one person.

"Stay here, Veryafion," he whispered in shock, before collecting himself and his emotions enough to call out, raising his voice as loud as he could: "Sí! E nâ sí!"

Up the trail every head turned as one, their bodies frozen in shock, and then Glorfindel was signaling them to move, not that they needed to as they all fairly ran each other over in their haste to get around the bend. They did so quickly, rounding the bend to see Veryafion staring over the edge of the incline and something below her, and Elladan was nowhere in sight.

"Elladan!" Glorfindel called, "Where are you?!"

"Down here!" he called back, and Glorfindel and Elrohir looked at each other before dismounting and going to the edge, accompanied by Heledhon, Belegon, and Faneth. They all looked over, seeing Elladan kneeling in front of a bush below them. He turned just then, and Glorfindel immediately felt dread at the barely hidden tears before Elladan was turning back around. The fear was almost palpable coming from the twin, and it was enough to spur Glorfindel into action.

"Faneth, Elrohir with me, the rest remain here and keep a lookout," Glorfindel said firmly, seeing that only a few would be able to get down the incline without causing the loose rock to collapse under them. They all nodded, and the three began their treacherous descent. They slid and skidded, and at one point Glorfindel cursed, but soon they were next to Elladan and saw what he had found.

He had found his father.

And yet, he looked so different than when they had last seen him. Almost two years ago, when he left, he had been healthy and strong. Now he was clearly dying, and Faneth did not need to look hard or for long to find wounds: he was covered in them, and Faneth knew he needed to be taken to Rivendell immediately if he was to have any chance. Pulling up his eyelids revealed that his eyes were out of focus and he was severely dehydrated. Pulling at what remained of his shirt revealed ribs that were clearly broken. Elrohir just stared, in shock at what he saw, and then sank to his knees and placed a hand on his father's cheek, trying to reach out to him. There was no response from Elrond, he was too focused on staying alive a bit longer to notice anything else.

She looked up and said, "We need to get to Rivendell, now, if he is to have a chance. This is worse than I could begin to imagine."

All three stared at her, then Elladan nodded before untying his long winter cloak. They wrapped his father in it gently and were getting ready to lift him when they heard the clink of chains. All froze, and then Faneth was reaching inside the cloak and pulling out a hand to reveal a manacle so deeply embedded into Elrond's wrist skin had grown over it. The other wrist and both ankles were the same, and everyone there was angered at the sight. But they could do nothing but make their way back up the incline carefully, Elladan gently carrying his father and feeling blood seeping into the cloak. The hood was up to hide his father's thin and sunken in face, and Elladan could feel his body tremble with each heartbeat and breath, his teeth clenched and his eyes open to slits. His father was tense and awake, and in incredible agony, and not even murmuring that he was safe seemed to reach him. Elrond was beyond them and Elladan could see that he would not be aware of anything for a long while.

As for Elrond, all he was aware of was the pain he was in and being carried. Not even the warmth the cloak offered registered in his mind; he remained tense and awake, every breath a struggle and every heartbeat an agony.

Once back on the trail, Veryafion gently investigated her rider, nuzzling him gently and nickering, before kneeling down to make it easier for Elladan to mount. He did so, careful of his father when there was a pain-filled raspy groan from him as Veryafion rose as smoothly as she could. Everyone there looked on in sympathy but said nothing, with Heledhon and Belegon taking a quick look under the cloak before pulling back, looking disgusted at what they saw but also saddened. They had never seen anything this bad since the War of Wrath.

Elladan looked at Glorfindel, whose eyes were solemn and his face was grave, "The back courtyard," was all he said. Glorfindel nodded, and they were on their way immediately, the horses almost seeming to fly in their haste. Veryafion galloped smoothly, leading the way, and Elladan just held his father tightly but gently, trying to let him know he was safe and home now.

Hadlathon, Mistaro, and Maeassil had been joined by Galadriel and Celeborn, Círdan, and Thranduil while they waited in the back courtyard. They had not been there long when they all heard it: galloping hooves, coming their way. Uneasy glances were exchanged and then the horses were in the courtyard, Veryafion in the lead. Elladan sat astride her, someone wrapped in his cloak. He looked at his grandparents and nodded, eyes and face grim, and everyone there knew that Elrond Half-elven was finally home.

But it was clear it was bad, as there was no joy to be seen on the faces of those of the search party.

Faneth was the first to speak: "We need to hurry. He does not have long."

Her words spurred them to action, and Círdan came forward. He gently took his foster-son from Elladan and was surprised by how tense Elrond was and the amount of pain he seemed to be in. He smelled as though he had been on the road for months and months, and Círdan did not need to see him to know things were dangerous for Elrond. He walked carefully with his son, stopping only so that Hadlathon and Mistaro could take a quick look. Both shook their heads in disbelief, with Mistaro saying, "I have not seen anything this bad since the Pits of Angband."

Hadlathon only said, "We must hurry."

Círdan nodded, ascending the stairs and disappearing into the House, followed by everyone else. The twins followed quickly, Heledhon and Belegon taking their horses to be tended, along with Asfaloth as Glorfindel followed on the twin's heels. Elladan only stopped long enough next to Veryafion to say, "Thank you, Veryafion. You have done exceptionally well."

The mare only nudged him after his father and walked away towards the stables, following the others. Elladan raced after everyone up the stairs, joined by Arwen who looked panicked, and they both practically flew to their father's chambers. When they arrived and entered many people were there and waiting. But their father was not there, and Elrohir said, "Círdan took him immediately into the bedchamber along with Hadlathon, Mistaro, and Faneth. Daernaneth and Mithrandir are there now too. They locked the door, Dan," he said as Elladan made for the door. Elladan turned to him and Elrohir said, "They will let us in when they are ready."

Elladan only looked at the door again before sighing in frustration and sitting down next to Legolas. Thranduil had an arm on the mantle and was staring at the fire in thought about what he might be asked to do soon while Erestor paced. Arwen settled next to Elrohir and they were joined by Lavaneth and Levenil, who had been shooed from the bedchamber to keep them from getting underfoot. The two cats settled onto their laps, eyes fixated on the door and tense. They would be ready to race in as soon as they were given a chance.

They all stayed there and waited, looking up only when Heledhon, Belegon, Idhrenor, Quildolorë, and Merilinel entered the room and settled in to wait. Arahad and Aragost came in then as well, saying nothing and looking around as if expecting to be kicked out. Elladan waved them in and they settled into chairs to wait. Eafled came in with them also, and nestled next to Arwen on the couch, waiting with her new friends for news. Celeborn waited as well, staring at a closed book in his lap but not reading it, his mind far away.

The bedchamber door remained closed.

As soon as the bedchamber door was locked Círdan made immediately for the bathing chamber. His son was a tense, trembling form in his arms, and he waited only a moment for Glorfindel to open the door. Once inside they gently settled Elrond on the thick rug near the bathing pool and peeled back the cloak.

It was worse than they thought.

Elrond was covered in sweat, grime, and filth from constant travel as well as blood from wounds, and there was not much left of his clothes. His hair was severely matted and there was fresh blood on the cloak. He was awake, though, tense and eyes opened to slits. That he was in agony was without question. His left arm lay over his stomach, and the manacles were a cruel reminder that he had just survived and was still trying to survive a hellish experience.

Elrond let out a wheezing breath and gasped in pain slightly, twitching his head before wincing, and Hadlathon said, "We need to get him clean and see what wounds there are. His hair can wait so long as it is clean, although if you have any suggestions or tricks, my ladies, it will be appreciated," looking to Faneth and Galadriel.

They all nodded and began to get ready. They re-covered Elrond with the cloak to give him some warmth, and then Glorfindel and Círdan were stripping, along with Mistaro. They would bathe Elrond and support him in the water.

Glorfindel went in first, finding the water warm but not too hot, and waited while they got Elrond out of what remained of his clothes, Faneth and Galadriel looking away and getting healing supplies; Galadriel setting some athelas to steep in hot water before pulling a bottle of some concoction out of her dress and setting it aside. The calming scent of athelas filled the room and even broke through to Elrond's shattered mind, whose breathing came slightly easier.

Removing his clothing turned into a task in and of itself, as parts were stuck to his skin with dried blood. In the end, they carried him into the water to let the warmth and water soak it and loosen the fabric to where it could be pulled off as gently as possible. His boots were gone, destroyed and missing, and his feet were bare and blistered from the road and the sun.

The warmth of the bath was a shock to Elrond, and he gasped slightly, the water clearly too warm for him. Every nerve felt like it was on fire until his body adjusted to and began to absorb the warmth. It had been so long since he had last felt warmth and his body started to relax slightly, only to tense again as the pain reasserted itself into his mind. The three elves in the water only exchanged sad glances before gathering around. Glorfindel and Mistaro went to work, washing and scrubbing gently while Círdan supported Elrond's head and chest. He murmured softly to the half-elf, trying to reach his son and let him know all was well.

Elrond gave no indication he heard him at all.

Mistaro was washing his left side when he cursed and said softly, "His leg is broken, rather badly," feeling two breaks in the calf and another in his thigh. His hip had a fracture in it as well, and Mistaro looked at Círdan, "He must have been riding Urelais when Urelais' leg broke, and could not get out of the way. He probably fell down that incline as well."

"It explains the broken ribs as well, Mistaro," Glorfindel said from Elrond's other side, "And this arm is broken as well, and the shoulder too," gently holding Elrond's right arm.

Mistaro shook his head and sighed, returning to washing and cleaning the half-elf. Once finished with his body they turned their attention to his face and head. They were careful as they cleaned his face, revealing sunken-in cheeks and a face that was almost skeletal, it was so thin.

Galadriel and Faneth came then, and began the task of washing Elrond's matted hair; Glorfindel and Mistaro getting out and getting dressed after drying off, knowing that the two she-elves likely had a few tricks up their sleeves to untangle such severe mats. His hair was caked with mud and blood and had a bit of an odor to it from being unkempt for so long. Galadriel and Faneth took the soap and lathered Elrond's hair before washing it several times, gently pulling out leaves and twigs that were caught in it as they did so. Once that was finished, Galadriel took the bottle she had brought and poured it into Elrond's hair. She worked it deep into his hair and scalp, rinsing a few times only to pour more in. Finally, the knots and mats were loose enough for her and Faneth to try and untangle it with two combs. They started at the ends and worked their way up, and after only ten minutes Elrond's hair was thinner than before but the mats were gone and he seemed more at ease now that his scalp did not feel as though it was about to be pulled off by his hair. Quite a bit of the knots were loose strands that had fallen out and been instantly matted, and there were large piles of loose hair that they had pulled out next to them.

"Time to see what we could not see before," Hadlathon said, no small amount of dread in his voice. Círdan nodded, and between Hadlathon and Mistaro they carried Elrond out of the pool, the water a dark brown from all the grime and filth that had covered Elrond for so long. As they settled him on a table that was at the perfect height for them to work on him without having to bend over as much, with stools around it, Círdan also exited the pool and dressed before going to Elrond's head and sitting down to continue murmuring softly in his ear. Elrond still gave no indication that he even knew where he was, his body tense and him still in pain.

Elrond's trembling had increased even more when the cool air touched his wet skin, and they were quick to wrap him in several heated towels before beginning to tend his wounds. His leg was expertly set and so was his hip, even though Elrond did not react to the pain at all. He was still conscious, they could see that, but in too much pain to sleep. Reaching out with her mind Galadriel could not follow a single train of thought, they were jumbled and convoluted with exhaustion and pain, but the one thing that seemed to have cemented itself in his mind and was a constant refrain was that he could not sleep. She just could not understand why, and he fought her fiercely when she tried to push his mind into sleep. Looking at Gandalf, they shared a glance at the sight of Vilya clearly visible. The sapphire was dull and dim; clearly, her power was gone and she had nothing left to give. Gandalf only came close to sit next to Círdan and said, "Things will get better soon, Elrond," even though the elf still gave no response and Gandalf sighed. His friend did not deserve to be in this much pain.

"By the Valar," Mistaro murmured, and Gandalf turned to look. He was immediately disgusted: two deep, infected burns were on Elrond's thighs, and they were in the shape of large, circular brands. Gandalf remembered something Haedirn the Gondorian Ranger had told him and gently moved Elrond's head to the side, wincing himself as Elrond winced and whimpered dryly, dreading what he would find. He found it easily enough and sighed, "This one is worse, Mistaro."

Mistaro looked and saw he was right: the deep brand on Elrond's neck was infected as well and clearly caused him pain whenever his head was moved. He shook his head, turning to help Hadlathon debride the dead tissue and tend the burns. Healing salve was applied and both were bandaged, Mistaro being careful of the splint on his broken leg. The brand on Elrond's neck was tended and bandaged in the same way, even though they had to remove a lot more dead tissue and flesh to get to the healthy flesh and muscle underneath. They moved on to Elrond's torso; Círdan leaving a moment later but not saying where he was going, and everyone was too focused on Elrond to ask.

Elrond's back was covered in infected and open lash marks, and it was clear whoever had done it wanted to cause as much pain as possible. There were was another burn on Elrond's back that had clearly received the worst of the beating. The healers spent well over an hour stitching the cuts and removing the dead flesh from his back as he was held up by Glorfindel, who said, "His breathing does not sound good, Hadlathon, and he is wheezing more than before. I am no healer, but should each heartbeat be a struggle and cause him this much pain?" indicating how Elrond was wincing weakly every time his heart beat, which was already too slow for Hadlathon's liking.

Hadlathon finished stitching the cut he was tending before coming around and listening closely to Elrond's chest, an ear over his heart. His eyes widened and he was feeling Elrond's neck for a pulse an instant later. He found it but it was hard to feel. He pressed on Elrond's chest gently, and Elrond groaned in pain, Glorfindel immediately running a hand through his hair to try and soothe him. Galadriel was braiding it as the healers worked, trying to make it presentable but comfortable. In the end, she settled for a single plait down his back.

"I think I know what is wrong, and it is not just the pneumonia he has," Hadlathon said, going to the table they had set everything they might need on and finding what he was looking for. He came back as Glorfindel asked, "What is wrong? And what can be done about the pneumonia?" knowing this was not the first time Elrond's human side had held sway over him and his health. There was a reason he bundled up more than full-blooded elves during the winter.

Hadlathon said, "For pneumonia, all we can really do is get a little bit of fluids into him, without shocking his body that is no longer used to food and water, keep him warm, and try and keep his fever down. He will likely cough up some blood; his illness is too advanced right now and his lungs are in terrible shape because of it. As for his heart problems, that is something we can relieve right now, as well as herbs to strengthen his heart and lungs and ease his breathing," taking a bucket and placing it next to the table Elrond lay on. One end of a long tube went in it, the other end had a long, thick needle with a small knob on it. He grimaced, knowing this would cause some discomfort, then palpated Elrond's chest as he looked for the correct place. He found it a moment later and inserted the needle deep into Elrond's chest near his heart. He turned the knob on the needle, and yellowish-brown fluid poured out into the bucket. It was thin and smelled of infection and illness.

Glorfindel was sickened as he watched, and he saw that Galadriel and Gandalf did not look much better. It was a steady stream of fluid the entire time Faneth and Mistaro were stitching Elrond's back. Once it finally stopped Hadlathon removed the needle and nodded as he felt for Elrond's pulse again. Elrond's breathing had eased and deepened now that his heart and lungs were not being crushed by fluid. Hadlathon turned to Glorfindel, "The fluid was caused by the infections and pneumonia. Once both have been cleared from his body he will not have to worry about it hurting him again."

Glorfindel nodded and continued to watch as they moved on to the next injury that required their attention: Elrond's broken arm and shoulder. He had laid Elrond back down once his back was stitched, wanting to give him some comfort and settling his head on a pillow. Throughout it all Elrond remained conscious but oblivious to what was being done to him. All he was aware of was pain, and he was still in a lot of it, especially his stomach.

Círdan had walked out of the bedchamber, locked it, and left without a word. He came back, almost an hour later, with an elf by the name of Carmatan. Carmatan was a blacksmith and one of the best lock-pickers in the valley, although none asked him where he had learned that particular and rather dubious skill. He was also one of the quietest, most reclusive elves they knew. He could not gossip to save his life, which was why Círdan had chosen him.

He knew Carmatan would say nothing of what he had seen that day to anyone unless ordered to do so by himself or Elrond. He was a bit eccentric in that way, but right now Círdan was grateful for that fact. Only himself and Elrond could order him to do anything he did not wish to do. Círdan gestured at Merilinel as he passed, and she rose and followed him into the bedchamber before he locked the door behind them once more, nudging the cats away from the door and forcing them to return to the couch. Merilinel immediately began heating the blankets and sheets on the bed after banking the fire into a brightly burning blaze. She had only dusted earlier in the day, not wanting to make the bed until she was certain Elrond had returned. As she did so Círdan and Carmatan went into the bathing chambers.

Círdan entered the bathing chambers with Carmatan right behind him; just as the healers were trying to figure out how to get the manacles off. Everyone looked up, and Faneth said, "Thank you for coming, Carmatan. We are at a bit of a loss here. I have never had to do this before."

"There is no other place I would rather be, my lady," Carmatan said quietly as he set down the tools he had brought. He had known exactly what he would need to bring and what he would have to do and was as prepared as possible. He joined them, his rough hands gentle as he held his lord's hand and looked carefully at the manacles embedded in the flesh, paying special attention to how the locks were constructed, "Is he awake?" Carmatan asked, looking at Hadlathon.

Hadlathon nodded and Carmatan sighed, "This will be agony even if he were unconscious. He needs to be sedated. I do not want to work on him if he can feel everything I am about to do," gently manipulating Elrond's hand and seeing how hard it would be for him to do what he needed to do. He did not like what he saw: the manacles were unbelievably tight and cutting off much of the circulation and likely, feeling, to his lord's hands. The skin was torn and red, blood coming from his wrist as he manipulated the joint. Looking at his ankles revealed much of the same, and Carmatan's heart went out to his lord. What he was going to have to do would be so painful.

"He does not want to sleep, Carmatan," Galadriel said, "I have been unable to push his mind into sleep, and he is fighting my attempts even now. Even though his mind is shattered from exhaustion he refuses to sleep. I do not think sedating him will work."

Carmatan sighed again and shut his eyes as he bowed his head before saying, "Very well, I will try and be as gentle as possible, but this will cause him pain no matter what. You may have to physically hold him down to keep him from struggling and causing more harm to himself," he turned to the healers, "Be ready for heavy bleeding, in case the artery or a vein has been damaged or compromised."

They all nodded and began to prepare while Gandalf asked, "How do you know how to do this, Carmatan? How do you know how to remove embedded manacles and chains?"

Carmatan froze a moment before saying simply, "I had to do this many times after the War of Wrath. It is a lesson and skill I never wanted to learn or have."

Gandalf wisely said nothing and only stepped back before deciding to go see if Merilinel needed any help, although in truth he knew he would not be able to witness what was about to happen, not be able to witness such a good friend in even more pain. Carmatan did not notice, his focus was on his task. He looked at his lord for a moment, seeing his eyes opened to slits, before sighing. He went to the table and picked up a scalpel, returning to Elrond's side with it. He also opened his bag and pulled out several differently sized lock-picks before sitting back down on the stool he had first vacated. He picked up his lord's right hand, mindful of the splints and broken bones and said, "I will need to cut the flesh and skin away from the metal first, and you will have to remove it," looking to the healers seated opposite him, "otherwise the dying flesh and skin will cause infection and sepsis."

All three nodded, and Carmatan took up the scalpel and began to cut. The blade was sharp, the sharpest they had, but Elrond still tensed even more. Even though there was still a haze of pain over his senses, it had lessened somewhat as his body was tended and salves were applied to soothe wounds, but now he felt every new pain more than before. He could feel every cut the knife made into his flesh, and it hurt. He tried to pull away but could not, unaware Glorfindel was holding his arm still and too weak to fight him off or push him away.

Glorfindel and Círdan only exchanged glances, in Glorfindel's case a miserable glance, at Elrond's weak attempts to pull away. Círdan started to stroke his hair, trying to soothe him and give him comfort, and it seemed to help a little as Elrond turned his head in that direction as best as he could; wanting to get closer to the comfort being offered. Círdan rested his forehead on Elrond's and continued murmuring in his ear, speaking to him of anything under the sun that he could think of. Carmatan only continued to cut, until finally, he had cut the skin all the way around the manacle; cutting in such a way Faneth was able to peel off the excess skin from the manacle's surface, leaving only blood and metal behind. Carmatan wiped the blood off the manacle lock, which had been under some skin, before inspecting it closely. He frowned and said, "I may have to break this open. The lock looks rusted; I do not know if it can be picked."

"Try first, Carmatan," Galadriel said quietly, "Try to pick it first. The pain needs to be kept to a minimum."

Carmatan nodded, "I make no promises, my lady, but I will try," reaching for his bag. He pulled out a few other tools, one almost needle-like, and proceeded to clean out the lock as much as he could. The holes were small and the key would have been almost tiny. If it were someone else the lock would be impossible to pick, but Carmatan was an expert who spent time in his smithy designing specific tools to pick certain locks. Thankfully he had a tool that would hopefully work.

He took the needle-like tool from before and inserted it into the lock, pulling and pushing gently, trying to get the tumblers to align. His eyes slid shut as he concentrated, and after many agonizing minutes there was a click and he opened his eyes, "Be ready," was all he said to the healers. They all nodded, ready with gauze and bandages, and Carmatan gave the pick another gentle push. The lock sprung open, and then Carmatan was moving away to let the healers work, going to Elrond's left hand to see what would have to be done. Much of the same, he realized glumly, not wanting to cause his lord even more pain. His lord was trembling from the tension in his body, and Carmatan's jaw ached in sympathy when he saw how tightly clenched Elrond's teeth were. The pain must be unbearable.

The three healers noticed none of this; they were focused on Elrond's right wrist. Hadlathon reached for and gently removed the top of the manacle, Faneth having to separate flesh and metal with a scalpel. Elrond groaned and tried to pull away but was too weak, and the three healers only bent their heads and continued on. If not even Galadriel could force his mind to sleep, then what chance did they have in taking away his pain?

"At least the damage is not as bad as it could be," Mistaro said once it was revealed how severe and deep the manacle had bitten in. Only a thin layer protected the bone from being rubbed and exposed to the air which would have caused another infection, but the healers knew Elrond would have a long road ahead of him if he were ever to write or draw a blade again. Satisfied that things were as well as could be expected, Mistaro turned Elrond's hand over, and they began the even more delicate process of removing the manacle from the underside of Elrond's arm. It was more delicate in that they had to be careful of the veins and nerves. Thankfully the tendons had acted as a barrier of sorts between the metal and the nerves, and so the manacle was removed completely without any major problems. The healers padded the area with gauze after cleaning out the rust and grime. A healing salve to encourage healing without causing pain was packed in, then they bound his arm almost to his elbow to encourage everything to heal correctly. It essentially meant keeping Elrond's hand and wrist straight and immobile. The bandage went all the way down his fingers and kept them straight, as a few of them were broken or fractured.

Once finished they moved on to Elrond's left hand, seeing that Carmatan had already cut away the overgrown skin and removed it. He was looking over the lock and sighed, "There is no way I can pick this; the lock is completely rusted in. There is only one way now," going to his tools and pulling out a hammer and what looked like an awl for cutting holes in leather but was smaller and much sharper. Carmatan turned to Glorfindel, who sighed and nodded, gripping Elrond's arm tighter. Carmatan inserted the tool into the lock, found the angle he wanted, and struck with the hammer. Elrond stiffened even more, clearly feeling the pain, and Carmatan struck again.

This time Elrond gasped and tried to pull away, fingers on both hands convulsing slightly, and then Carmatan struck again. The lock popped open, but they were all busy holding Elrond down as he struggled weakly. It only lasted a few seconds before his strength gave out, but he was still conscious and his breathing was labored, despite how congested his lungs were. Once his struggles finally stopped the healers remove the manacle and bandaged his arm and hand in the same way as before with his right hand. Mistaro did check the feeling in his hands and said with relief, "The blood flow was not too badly compromised and the nerves seem to be intact. He will likely have to do exercises to strengthen them, but he should be fine in time."

Círdan and Glorfindel looked relieved, but then their attention was on Elrond's ankles as Carmatan repeated the process on them. One could be picked, the other not. The left came off without too much trouble, but the right needed to have the lock broken. Elrond cried out then or would have, but his voice was gone. All he managed was a dry whimper, and Círdan raised his head to see if he wanted a drink, well aware he had not had anything to drink since before he arrived. He was surprised when Elrond turned his head away, clearly not interested. He did not have any interest in the broth Maeassil had made for him that Galadriel offered him either. Círdan said as much to the healers, "He has no interest in food, or water. He has been starved, clearly, and yet he has no interest. Is there something wrong?"

Faneth came over to him as Hadlathon and Mistaro finished bandaging Elrond's ankles, bandaging to mid-calf to encourage the healing they wanted. She gently opened Elrond's mouth and saw nothing other than a small sore that would heal on its own. She ran a hand down his throat, feeling for an obstruction, but found nothing. She continued down and stopped at his abdomen when he whimpered again. It was there that she felt a heat in his stomach and tightness throughout his abdomen. That it caused him agony was clear, and Faneth turned to Hadlathon, "Hadlathon, I think you and Mistaro need to see this."

"That burn is next on the list of things to be tended, Faneth," Hadlathon said from where he was bandaging Elrond's right ankle, referencing the burn that was on Elrond's abdomen. The healers had not tended it yet because it was so badly infected and needed a lot of debriding before it could be bandaged. Carmatan was quietly gathering his things and the manacles. He would take them to his forge and melt them down, turning them into something practical. He left quietly, nodding only at Galadriel. Gandalf entered as he left, but stayed near the door, ready to get anything the healers might need. Galadriel returned the nod absently, not paying attention as her focus was on Elrond and what Faneth had noticed.

"I am not talking about the burn Hadlathon," Faneth said urgently, "This is worse."

Something in her voice caught his attention, and he turned to her. Seeing her worry he nodded, tying off the bandage and joining her. Looking closely at his lord's abdomen he was surprised with how tight and hot it was. Granted his lord had a fever, but his stomach was hotter still. He palpated it gently, and Elrond winced and tried to curl in on himself. Hadlathon could only guess why: the bruises on his stomach said someone had kicked him repeatedly, likely causing severe damage.

Damage that could only be repaired with surgery. A surgery Hadlathon did not think his lord could survive if they could not get him to eat or drink. Mistaro tried, but Elrond coughed it up, unwilling to swallow. Which left Hadlathon making a decision he never thought he would have to make. At least...one he had hoped would never have to be considered.

But...it was his lord's wish and order, and so Hadlathon could only sigh and turn to Gandalf, "Could you get Aran Thranduil please, Mithrandir?" not saying why and ignoring everyone's confused looks.

Gandalf nodded, confused, but he still stood and left. Once he did so Mistaro turned to him, "Why?" was all he asked. Hadlathon sighed and began to speak, knowing this would not be received well by anyone in this room or in the living area.

Thranduil was still staring into the fire, after almost three hours, when Gandalf slowly opened the door. He turned, along with everyone else, but Gandalf's attention was only on him and Thranduil's heart dropped. A situation he had never wanted to be in was upon him, and all he could do was steel himself and follow Gandalf inside, the door again locking behind him. Once he was gone Elrohir asked, dread in his voice, "What was that all about?"

Erestor stopped his pacing and sighed, "Do you really want to know, Elrohir?"

Everyone turned to him and all three of Elrond's children nodded and Erestor sighed again. He walked over to Thranduil's recently vacated spot near the fireplace and stared at the fire for several long moments before saying, "After that battle where Oropher was cut down, it took him three days to die; even though Elrond did not expect him to survive past the first. Healers tried to save him but only prolonged his suffering. He died in agony, and both your fathers witnessed it," including Legolas in this story as well. Legolas only looked sickened as he listened and Erestor continued, "Both decided, then and there, that they never wanted that kind of fate for themselves," he stopped and turned to the rest of the room, seeing he had everyone's attention.

"What happened?" Elladan asked softly.

Erestor shut his eyes and sighed before opening them and saying, "They both agreed that, if one of them was in such dire straits as Oropher, the other would make the decision whether to try and save their life or let them pass peacefully from this world, likely with the help of a painless poison or something similar. It is not the way of the Eldar, but neither wanted that kind of death."

His words were met with stunned silence and then Celeborn asked, "Who knew about this?"

"Lady Celebrían knew, and even though she did not like it she accepted it as something for Elrond's peace of mind. He did not want his family having to make this decision," Erestor said quietly, "Your mother knew as well, Legolas," turning to the prince, "And then it was only myself, Galion, Hadlathon, and Angoldil, the chief healer in Mirkwood. Not even Glorfindel knew."

"I do not understand," Arwen said, tears in her eyes, "Why would either agree to this and why did you, Erestor? This is so unreasonable and makes no sense!"

Erestor shut his eyes tightly, pain on his face as the memories returned, "I was there that day, Arwen, in the tent. I watched Oropher die, and I have never seen anything more painful and excruciating in all my life. Your father knew he would die, even Oropher knew it, and Elrond had made him comfortable and agreed to stay with him and Thranduil until he passed away. But then other healers came in, under-trained with too much confidence, and tried to save Oropher instead, not understanding it was his wish to die then. He tried to get them to leave but they would not listen. They were not Elven healers, who had respected Elrond's word as the final say and left, nor were they Dwarves. Even the Dwarves respected Elrond's skill, and still do. It was Men, and they prolonged Oropher's suffering. Oropher was in the camp of the Noldor so that Elrond could tend him while recovering from a wound himself, not the Silvan, and the Men were able to come and go as they pleased. Elrond and Thranduil were thrown out of the tent before they could stop it and were not allowed back in, and it took an order from Elendil to get those Men to leave. But it took two days, as Elendil was out on patrol, and by the third day, Oropher was in terrible agony. He died in terrible pain, and there was nothing Elrond could do to relieve it when he was finally able to get back inside. It was then they made this pact, and they still hold true to it. I saw all this because I was in the tent at the time, too wounded to move or be moved, and I saw what they did to try and save Oropher. In truth, it was nothing short of barbaric," eyes shutting tightly at the memory.

The silence was no less stunned than before, and then Belegon asked quietly, "How do they facilitate this if they live in two different realms and there is not much communication between them?"

Erestor only said, "Falcons, or one of the Great Eagles. It is my understanding that if one is in such a position as Oropher, then an eagle flies over the realm of the other or something, perhaps flying them back and forth. It has never come to this though, neither have been this badly wounded before, or in that level of pain," his voice trailing off before he said, "This was not an easy thing for either to decide, but neither wanted immediate family having to decide this. They trust each other's judgment, and now we need to do the same."

"But Lord Thranduil is not a healer!" Elrohir said desperately.

Erestor grimaced, "He knows more than you think, Elrohir, your father made sure of that. But he also knows your father and is one of his closest friends. Trust him, and have faith that he is doing the right thing. Trust his judgment, just as your father does."

Elrohir only stared at him a moment before turning to the door, staring at it desperately, his brother and sister doing the same. Everyone else eventually did so as well, and silence descended again that was only broken by the crackle and popping of the fire.

The door remained closed and locked for hours more.

Thranduil had immediately gone to the bathing chamber and opened the door to Galadriel's outraged face. Círdan did not look any happier, but there was understanding in his eyes that was lacking in Galadriel's. She rounded on him as soon as he stepped into the room, "Why would you do this, Thranduil? Why would you and Elrond make this pact, and tell none about it?"

"Your reaction is why we told only a few, Galadriel," Thranduil said calmly, "And as for why do I really need to remind you of what happened to my father?"

"Enough," Círdan said firmly next to Elrond, "We do not have time for this. Hadlathon, repeat what you just said to me."

Hadlathon nodded, turning to Thranduil, "Lord Elrond needs surgery if he is to live, but he is so weak I do not know if he can survive it. And if not, he will die in extreme pain. And before you ask, we cannot get him to drink anything, so there is no way to end this peacefully for him," Thranduil understanding the hidden meaning of Hadlathon's words.

Thranduil turned to his friend as Hadlathon finished speaking and was dismayed. It was so hard to recognize his friend in the ruined body in front of him. He ignored Galadriel's glare, Glorfindel's uncertainty, and Gandalf's grumbling about never being told anything until Galadriel quietly told him what was happening and just focused on Elrond, reaching out beyond the physical world he saw with his eyes to the spiritual world he sensed with his entire body.

Elrond's body was badly abused, but it would heal after many months of painful healing. Once he started eating he would regain the weight he had lost and be strong again. As for his spirit...Thranduil searched deeper and found it, and was slightly surprised considering how badly damaged his body and mind were. Beneath the exhaustion and pain that nearly reached his spirit, Elrond was still clinging to life with a tenacity Thranduil had seen in him many times throughout his life.

A tenacity that reminded Thranduil of his father.

A tenacity that said Elrond still wanted to live, and had some strength left to survive what was about to happen and what needed to be done.

Elrond was still willing to fight, and fight hard to live and be home again.

Thranduil withdrew from the spiritual world slowly, opening his eyes as he returned to his physical body. He took a deep breath, then turned to Hadlathon, ignoring Galadriel's questions. He only said, "Do it, do the surgery. Elrond still has some strength left."

The healer nodded, and began to get ready, as Mistaro and Faneth began prepping Elrond for surgery; gently cleaning his abdomen with alcohol and quickly prepping a cloth laced with sleeping herbs.

"Can you..?" Mistaro asked Galadriel, who shook her head again, unable to force Elrond to sleep. Mistaro sighed before placing the cloth near Elrond's nose, hoping he would inhale some of the herbs and just give in to sleep. As this was happening, Thranduil said quietly to Galadriel and Gandalf, "Perhaps you can add your strength and power as well? I am certain it would help and would give Vilya a chance."

Galadriel shook her head, "Vilya severed her bond with her sisters and has not re-established the bond. We cannot help her."

Thranduil looked irritated, "I am not saying give Vilya anything. I am saying sustain Elrond through this. Help him. Is that so difficult?"

No, it is not," Gandalf cut in, "And if we strengthen Elrond then Vilya won't feel the need to sustain Elrond's life and she can regain her power. It is a good plan, Galadriel."

"Very well," Galadriel said, walking over to Elrond and preparing Nenya. Gandalf only looked at Thranduil who said, "It is a pact Elrond asked me to make years ago, and one I still hold true to, Gandalf. Even though it makes me little better than a Kinslayer, I still hold true to it."

Gandalf nodded, "I understand better than you think, Thranduil," going to join Galadriel.

The three healers were ready, and Galadriel said, "What you see today does not go beyond this room, do you understand?"

Hadlathon answered for all of them, "We all know of the Three, my lady," at her shocked look he elaborated, "Gil-galad told all of us at one point or another before the Last Alliance. He wanted to make sure he was giving Vilya to the right person when he chose Elrond before the last battle."

"I see," was all Galadriel said, and then Gandalf asked, "Now that everyone is aware of what everyone knows, perhaps we can move on to saving Elrond's life?"

That ended the stalemate and Galadriel turned to Elrond, placing a hand on his shoulder; Gandalf placing his fingertips gently on Elrond's forehead. Both started sending their strength into Elrond, but it did not seem to make a difference. It seemed like it was only a trickle of water disappearing into a black hole. No matter how much they gave it felt as though it was never enough.

On Elrond's hand, Vilya flashed weakly, realizing what was happening and responding to the offer of strength with a plan of her own.

As this was happening Hadlathon asked quietly, "Are we all ready?" Mistaro and Faneth both nodded and Hadlathon nodded back. He picked up the scalpel, looking one more time at Elrond's face and seeing him conscious, then Gandalf said, "I have blocked all feeling Hadlathon, he will not feel this at all."

Hadlathon sighed in relief, as did the other healers, and then Hadlathon was cutting, Elrond relaxed and peaceful without the pain in his stomach. He cut Elrond's abdomen open, pulling back the flaps of skin and releasing a noxious and unhealthy odor. An odor that even made the healers nauseous and Glorfindel had to leave, unable to watch. He went out and sat in the bedchamber, where Merilinel looked at him sympathetically and gave him some tea that she had been preparing.

Inside the bathing chamber, Mistaro said, "By the Valar, how is he still alive?" not really wanting to know the answer.

"I do not know," Faneth said, "But he may be losing organs today," the elves that were not healers stared at her in shock, and then Hadlathon said, "Let us stop speculating and get to work."

The other healers nodded and began investigating. Elrond's appendix had ruptured and would need to be removed, as it was causing sepsis, and his intestines had paid the price. More than a foot would have to be removed, it was black and dead and could not absorb nutrients at all. His stomach was inflamed and solid, and when Hadlathon probed it he said, "There is something that does not belong in there. We will have to remove whatever it is," before continuing on with his investigating. Elrond's liver would be losing more than half of it, and he would lose a kidney as well. His pancreas, gall bladder, and spleen were fine, but Hadlathon knew it would be a long surgery. Not only would they be removing organs, but they would also be clearing up the mess the infection and sepsis had caused.

He looked to Faneth and Mistaro said, "His appendix first," and got to work. The two healers assisted expertly, and in no time what remained of the appendix was out. Before moving on they cleaned out as much of the infection as they could, with Gandalf contributing a Song of Healing he knew that drew the infection, sepsis, and dying flesh into a compact ball that could be easily removed. The healers said nothing, too focused on their task, and Gandalf returned to pouring his power and strength into Elrond.

Hadlathon moved on to his stomach, taking up the scalpel and carefully cutting it open. They drained out the bile with the same tool they had used on the fluid crushing Elrond's heart, after sterilizing it, and once finished were able to see inside. At least, they tried to, but there was an obstruction. Hadlathon pulled it out gently and was disgusted, as was everyone else. It was a rag, and everyone immediately knew that Elrond must have swallowed it once his gag reflex stopped working.

Tangled in the rag was a pebble, and Thranduil grimaced. Things must have been desperate for Elrond if he had been forced to use that trick.

Once the cloth was gone Hadlathon investigated inside Elrond's stomach and sighed, "Ulcers," was all he said and spent the next half hour removing them and repairing Elrond's stomach. Once finished he sealed it with a Song of Healing, not wanting Elrond to get an infection or not be able to eat because of sutures.

They moved on to the intestines, having to remove almost two feet of dead tissue and then the liver. When Thranduil expressed concern about the amount being lost Hadlathon said, "The liver, according to Elrond, is the only organ in the body that completely regenerates. He will not be able to drink anything with alcohol for a long time, but he will be fine in time," moving on to Elrond's kidney. This was slightly trickier, but in the end, it was removed, joining the others in the covered bowl on the stool nearby.

Hadlathon secretly hoped Elrond would be able to live with only one kidney, as he knew that some needed both in order to live. But he had no choice: the kidney was dead and could not be saved. It would kill Elrond if left there for much longer.

Finally, after hours and hours of surgery, Hadlathon said, "That is it. We are done. The rest is up to Elrond now," beginning the slow process of stitching Elrond closed, Gandalf contributing another Song to keep the area completely clean and keep bacteria and infection away, knowing Elrond could not survive another surgery right now.

As for Elrond, he had lain still the entire time, still conscious but not in anywhere near as much pain as before. Once the healers finished stitching his skin closed Vilya unleashed her own power, as Nenya sustained Elrond, to seal what she could and make sure his body understood it only had one kidney now and adapted accordingly. When Gandalf finally let Elrond feel his stomach again, Elrond was relaxed and peaceful. The pain was still there but not as bad as before, and when he finally relaxed after years of tension the pain was nothing more than a dull ache.

He let out a deep sigh, the tension melting out of his body and he relaxed, and then he heard Vilya: "You are safe, my friend, you are home. Go to sleep," accompanying her words with a light mental nudge.

He was more than willing and too weak to resist and immediately sank into dreams, relaxing for the first time in years.

Hadlathon sighed in relief when Elrond finally fell asleep, "Good, sleep is what he needs most now, but his family will help just as much. Let us get him settled into bed."

Mistaro left then, coming back with nightclothes Merilinel had warmed before the fire. Elrond still shivered when dressed in them, even in his sleep, and so it was a great relief when he was settled into a bed of heated sheets and blankets. His fever had not let go of him and would not for a long while, and they would have to take care of the pneumonia, but things seemed to be improving already.

Elrond relaxed and sighed into the warm blankets and pillows and Merilinel smiled. She had known exactly what he would need and had warmed the ones she knew would help the most.

They propped Elrond up on the pillows to ease his breathing, with Hadlathon checking the sutures in his stomach to make sure they had not torn when they moved him before saying, "I think he will be alright, in time," rising from the bed. Merilinel came then and tucked the blankets around Elrond well, placing a thick comforter last. That comforter was what was in the chest at the end of the bed, woven by Elwing for her sons, and it was thick and heavy and warm for the cold winters on the coast. Merilinel knew it would give Elrond the warmth and security he needed, as it had always done over the years.

Once he was settled Hadlathon said, "We can let the others in, they are undoubtedly still waiting anxiously for news. We have been a very long time," looking outside to the stars and the night sky. They had been tending Elrond since mid-morning and it was now after midnight. He and Mistaro went to the door while Faneth went to clean up the bathing chamber and dispose of the organs they had had to remove.

The four elves and the wizard stared at the half-elf asleep in the bed, almost unable to believe he had made it home and unable to know what traumas he had suffered while he was away, as they waited for everyone else to come in.

Outside Eärendil burned brightly, and aboard his ship, Eärendil himself wept tears of joy, relieved his son was finally home where he belonged.

Translations:

mellon nín – my friend
Sí! E nâ sí! – Here! He is here!
Daernaneth/daernana – grandmother/grandma
Aran – King