Hello Everyone!
Thank you so much for the warm reception for "The Unwanted Guest." I was going to do personalized responses before posting the third installment to the series, but I figured this is probably more fun for you, lol - life overtakes one sometimes and so when I had to choose, here we are :) But please please do not ever think I do not read or treasure your reviews. They are invaluable to me... so inspiring as a matter of fact, that I may actually have another fic to post after this one! Thank you reviewers for kindly sharing your time and attention, and thanks also to all who are reading. As always, I welcome constructive C&C's, and wish everyone well in these complicated times. I sincerely hope my work brings you some joy, especially this lighter piece :) Best wishes to all and for those who celebrate - Happy Easter!
03: Sons at Home
Imladris is a place of peace. A frequent visitor from the darkening Woodland, however, is a constant reminder that beyond their Valley, evil is amassing strength and things are about to change.
# # #
Imladris, T.A. 2950
Note: The series is not chronologically posted. They are uust a depository of similarly-themed, stand-alone one-shots
His sons were home.
Elrond exhaled slowly, in relief and a deep sense of satisfaction. He sent a prayer of thanks up to the gods for their safe return, and looked across the vast property in his stewardship.
The view from the lord's balcony was the best in all of Imladris, and the land spread before him in all its glory from this vantage point. Wild greens, dramatic cliffs and rushing waters somehow blended seamlessly with the delicate, intricate bridges, pathways and houses that comprised the residence. He could not see his sons from where he stood, but he felt it – they had entered the sphere of his protection.
Sometime later there was a knock on the door and his seneschal, Erestor, confirmed what he had already known to be true.
"My lords Elladan and Elrohir and young Estel approach," he announced and by unfortunate habit knew to add right away – "On their feet and none the worse for wear this time. There is no need for your attendance at the healing halls."
Elrond smiled grimly. "Thank you, mellon-nin."
"They arrive grimier than ever if you can believe it," Erestor said wryly. "Something to do with a final encounter just before home. They headed directly to the baths, and should be in time for dinner."
Elrond brightened. "I would have them in any incarnation, as you know. Young men are easier to clean than keep inside these halls as of late."
His twin sons always had some compulsion for venturing beyond their home for hunting. But since their adopted, Estel, reached his human majority, they have taken him in hand out in the wider world more and more frequently. Elrond had encouraged it to hone Estel's skills for what lay in his daunting future, but Elrond was a father too – he missed them. He already had to contend with distance from his daughter Arwen, off with her mother's kin. The house felt empty too often lately.
"I've arranged for a private dinner at the family rooms," Erestor said, eschewing the grander halls where guests and residents of Imladris shared community meals. "I know you like having them to yourself first whenever they return."
"You are too kind my friend," Elrond said. "It is a good day."
# # #
Elladan arrived first, which was not atypical. He walked up to his father and gave him a solemn bow before grinning jauntily at him and collecting a heartfelt embrace.
"You are looking well, father," he said.
"And you are unscathed," Elrond said, keeping Elladan at an arm's length and peering at him for careful assessment. "I cannot ask for more. I am hoping the same could be said of your brothers."
Elladan was the child most like him. They shared the same sensibilities, had the same measured approach. While Elladan wouldn't tell on his brothers, Elrond always felt they could be more or less candid with each other.
"A few scrapes here and there," he reassured Elrond, saying no more than necessary but certainly enough, "Nothing to worry you about."
Father and son walked toward the dining table, and Elrond grinned at the sound of Elladan's deep sigh at the sight of the lavish spread. The household outdid itself in welcoming its children back.
"We do not have such meals in the wilds, I can tell you that," he said before frowning in thought. "A setting for just four, ada? Is the Prince Legolas not joining us? I was told by our guards at the border that he has also just arrived."
Legolas Thranduilion, warrior-prince and messenger of his father the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, had been visiting Imladris for diplomacy and intelligence-sharing once every yen or so, ever since Thranduil initiated ties a few centuries past.
The amiable prince was a regular, welcome presence in the household; fascinating to the ever curious Noldor, and a peer to Elrond's children as so very few were. They were the sons of elven leaders – the owners of a new and increasingly more complicated time, the same way their fathers owned the previous ages and its wars. He was thus a friend of the family, though yet to meet the much younger Estel as the adan became part of the household after Legolas' last visit.
"I suppose the guards couldn't have known if they haven't returned from their post," Elrond said with a wince. "But Legolas is indisposed. He was not as well as he seemed when he arrived yesterday, and is in his rooms resting."
"Not too bad then?" Elladan asked, a small worry wrinkling his brow.
"In a manner of speaking," Elrond murmured, and he really couldn't describe it better than that, even with Elladan's disapproving frown at the ambiguity of his words.
The prince had arrived the previous day without escort, as he did once in a while. He was clearly weary but that seemed appropriate, given that the road was long and arduous between their kingdoms. It was even more apt after Legolas dispensed quickly of his messenger's duties and reported on the declining state of their southern border and the increasing attacks of orcish forces in and around the Mirkwood. It was no wonder he was exhausted, Elrond thought at the time.
They adjourned the meeting quickly and Elrond had a meal sent up to their guest's quarters so he could eat and then promptly rest, and they all slept through the night without incident.
When Legolas did not appear for the morning meal at the common dining hall, Elrond thought it prudent to check on the prince's well-being. What he found was their guest ashen and unresponsive in his bed.
But then the change was sudden. Jarring.
Lethal, Elrond thought.
In one moment, the prince was a mass of boneless limbs on wrinkled sheets and in the next – one of his mighty arms rose from the bed, and his powerful archer's fingers closed about the neck of one of the healers Elrond had summoned for assistance in rousing him.
The healer couldn't even scream in surprise – his voice was cut off as efficiently as his air, even after just a moment at the mercy of the close-eyed patient's unyielding grip.
More chaos erupted around them. Hands clamped about the patient's arm; his muscles were sweat-slick, coiled and trembling with strain. They tried to pry his fingers from the poor healer's neck, but the patient's dexterous digits were that of a renowned archer's, their strength singular. These fingers were the envy of his peers and the fear of his enemies.
They could also be the death of the healer he held by the neck.
"Open your eyes, wood-elf, we are trying to help you!" someone exclaimed by the patient's ears.
"You're killing him, stop!" implored another, "Stop, for the love of the gods!"
"Thranuilion!" Elrond barked out, demanding attention.
The word got through more than the others, and the sunken eyes snapped open in alarm. They were a striking icy blue, especially under the soft white light of the sunny room. He released his death-grip, sending the poor healer to his rump on the floor, coughing and choking and fearfully backing away by delayed, terrified instinct.
Legolas lifted his head from the bed, to follow after the his scurrying victim. He opened his mouth - to apologize, Elrond guessed by his stricken expression – but choking sickness came out, not words.
He was turned to his side and by incident, it gave him a good view of the ellon he inadvertently harmed. He looked up at Legolas fearfully. The healer needed healers too, and they brought cold compresses to his neck while the wood-elf on the bed watched in misery.
"I'm sorry," he gasped out, voice ragged and thin. "You need... you need to take... take me down." He moaned, "Put-put...me out..."
He was scrambling for words, but Elrond understood enough. He reached for the younger ellon's face, and helped him sink into nothingness...
"He suffers an infected wound," Elrond told Elladan. "Tended but old, it healed enough to get him this far, thank the gods. But it was in a declining state. We had to perform minor bedside surgery, and all he needs now is rest."
"So it is not the wound that worries you," Elladan pointed out – always astute, Elrond thought. He was spared the need for an immediate answer by the arrival of Elrohir.
This twin went straight for his father's arms – not so much in need but as if staking a claim. His strides forward were wide, powerful and purposeful. Anyone who did not know him would have adopted a defensive position, but Elrond took it gladly. This one was the son whose heart was worn on the sleeve, who lived louder and larger. Elrohir reminded him of his own long-gone brother, Elros. He barreled into Elrond so powerfully he took his father's breath away, but he was also quick to make his exit from his father's arms.
"Let's not neglect this food for much longer," Elrohir said jovially of the spread before them. "We can just leave scraps for Estel."
"But we waited for you, didn't we?" Elladan raised a brow at him.
"I am not as burdened by your moral scruples, brother," Elrohir grinned. He planted himself on one of the seats around the family table, and started filling glasses of wine from the carafes.
"Huh! A setting for just four, ada?" he asked, unknowingly echoing his more prompt brother's earlier question. "I thought the wood-elf was lurking about?"
"Arrived hurt, nothing too serious, resting in his rooms." Elladan's precis was abrupt, but he sat with his brother as requested. He turned to Elrond to continue his interrogation. "So what are you worried about, adar?"
"We had to establish specific protocols for his handling," Elrond said grimly. "When Thranduilion is not in full possession of himself, his first instinct is combative, and dangerously so. He almost killed one of the healers with his bare hands."
Elrond saw clearly, how his sons stiffened in their seats. He knew their minds all drifted in the same direction – memories of Celebrian. Elrond's beloved and the twins' mother was never the same after she was rescued from orcish captivity and abuse. Before she left for the havens for the healing of her soul, she was striking out mindlessly too... at them, included.
"I do not think their plight was the same," Elrond said quickly. "Thranduilion's violence and hypervigilance stem from a different source, I think, something completely unlike that suffered by your mother. Unfortunately, the result is the same – and as skilled a warrior as he is, Legolas is far more dangerous."
"Explains that at least," Elrohir said, nodding at Elrond's wrist. The elven lord looked down at the barely-visible, mottled flesh from the folds of his long, wide sleeves. He'd forgotten the bruises there, where he had been grabbed by the prince at a recent examination. He'd also forgotten how, as casual as he liked to play it, Elrohir was at least as perceptive as his brother.
"He was not like that before," Elladan said thoughtfully. "This is not the first time Legolas has been unwell here. Something must have happened."
"I think the declining state of the Woodland's southern borders and increasing vulnerability to attacks have much to do with this," Elrond said. "Legolas' military reports are increasingly alarming, but the state of his mind makes it all more clear to me how bad things really are. I've seen this before, amongst soldiers. But not in so long, and not in anyone of your generation..."
Elrond had last seen this heartsickness in times of darkness and open war. He could not help but wonder if Legolas' state was a herald of things to come for all the rest of them.
The sound of Elladan thoughtfully drumming his fingers on the dining table cut into Elrond's bleak thoughts.
"Would he welcome visitors, you think?"
It was, Elrond thought, a fair question. As sons of the masters of the house, Elladan and Elrohir were of course expected to play host in some fashion to their guest, which now included visiting with the sick. But the exposure of vulnerabilities was meant for closer friendships, wasn't it? It wasn't sport for friendly peers who only saw each other for a few weeks, once every 100 or so years.
"Don't be silly, 'Dan," said Elrohir and as if it were all so easy, he spoke around a mouthful of freshly baked bread – "Why wouldn't Legolas welcome a visit from friends?"
The simplicity of the sentiment made Elrond think – but like Elladan, perhaps he suffered from an overabundance of that already. Why shouldn't it be easy, to visit with a sick friend?
Elladan frowned, and stared at his father as if gauging Elrond's stance on things. Finding what he sought, he nodded in concession and asked, more productively – "So what protocols have you established in tending Legolas?"
"He is not to be touched without consent," Elrond said. "This means that as ill-conducive as it may be to rest and recovery, ever since his surgery we have been waking him every few hours when we come to check his pulse, his temperature, his breathing, the wound, and his extremities for proper circulation. We also always begin with a brief explanation of his situation in case he is disoriented."
"Seems easy enough," said Elrohir, turning his ravenous attention to the meats on the table, next. With mild amusement, Elrond noted he was partaking generously of the food just as he said he would, but also setting aside comically generous amounts on a plate for his still-absent adopted brother.
"We also limit those who tend him to a small circle of healers," Elrond went on, "So that there is more familiarity and less a sense of instinctive threat from a stranger. The hope is that over time, he would be at better, subconscious ease..."
An idea struck Elrond then. "You can be of good use there indeed, as you are known to him and you are well-trained in healing. That is – if you are rested enough from your excursions, and have no other business here."
"Our only business is to indulge our father," Elladan said wryly, "and we are at his disposal, wherever that may take us."
"It will be good for Legolas but perhaps also for you," Elrond added. "One's hands shouldn't be used only for killing."
"There have been other uses," Elladan murmured half-heartedly – it was a sore topic. In dealing with their own brand of heartsickness, the twins knew their hands could sometimes be drenched in blood for days. Their anger at what was done to mother was still occasionally overwhelming even after all these years, and it could only be sated by the blood of their foes. It wasn't only for Estel's education that they were often out hunting in the wilds.
Healing for the Eldar was an occupation both of the physical body and the soul, though; and an unsettled soul could therefore be as detrimental to healing as shaking hands were to surgery. It was why as of late, Elrond had been sparing himself from acts of violence. That was more the province of younger ellon; it was no longer his time. His wife, he remembered, seemed to have some understanding of that. After she was rescued from captivity, she was driven mad by her ordeal but still had spells of lucidity. In those precious moments, she did not ask him to avenge her - she asked him to save lives.
"Our healer's training has been mighty useful to Estel and other similarly trouble-oriented edain in the wild, adar," Elrohir said in support of his brother. "It hasn't all been killing, as Elladan said. And with the world as crazy as it's been lately, we're far from rusty tending injuries."
"At any rate," Elrond said diplomatically, "If the days grow dark and the rest of Arda is to follow in some fashion after the decline of the Woodland, it might be good experience for you to tend elven bodies for what is to come. Navigating the intricacies of mending hroa and fea together needs constant practice, and the reactions, dosages, prognoses... they will all be quite different from the edain you are used to treating."
Elrond did not mention that Legolas was a particularly comprehensive specimen of representative elven response to hurts – remnants of all manner of injury from dark forces could be found on his body, including blades, bites, arrows and poison from spiders, orcs and wargs... with wounds to match etched in the soul.
"Speaking of edain," said Elladan, "What's keeping ours?"
"Estel wouldn't be walking into Legolas' rooms out of that boundless curiosity of his, would he?" Elrohir laughed nervously. "I mean – would he?"
Elladan rose from his seat urgently and growled, "Speaking of people unburdened by moral scruples and propriety..."
Elrond and Elrohir got to their feet too, and together they started for the doors.
"Legolas placed one hand," Elrond said, "One hand on a full-grown healer's neck for a moment, and the swelling was serious. What that kind of grip can do to a young man – "
They were stopped in their tracks by the oblivious new arrival, who nearly hit Elladan with a careless swing of the door.
"Estel!" the twins exclaimed in relief and surprise.
The young adan jumped slightly, and Elrond wondered for a moment how in all of Arda his three mighty sons managed to survive and triumph in the wilds as foolish as they all were.
"Ada," Estel startled at them but forgot them quickly when his eyes landed on Elrond. His gray gaze shone at the sight of the beloved father-figure, and Elrond felt his smile broaden at his own flush delight. They embraced and Estel lingered, as was his tendency. Elrond reveled in it and let the young man have his fill, until Estel himself pulled away to regard the Lord of Imladris warmly.
He'd grown taller again, Elrond noted. And bulkier, by gods – when they embraced, Elrond's arms felt full and the body beneath them was solid, powerfully-built. Estel was clean and neat after freshening up but there remained a telltale shadow on his chin too, marks of the grown man he had truly become over time.
"I missed you," he told Elrond earnestly, but then he sniffed at the air and was captured by another compulsion. "I'm hungry."
Elrond laughed. "It is good to have you back."
His three sons led the way back to the family table and Elrond followed behind, looking at their mighty backs fondly as they walked, jostling each other. Sometimes he just watched them and he felt so shamelessly wealthy, as if he had everything he could need.
"What kept you, Estel?" Elladan asked as they sat.
The adan reached for a bun and took a hefty bite out of it. "I was walking over and heard a sound of distress from one of the guest rooms. The guards did say you had that prince over and I wondered if I could be of help."
Elrond froze, and found his eyes raking over the young man for signs of any hurt or injury, clues that any negative encounter may have occurred between the oblivious boy and the violent prince.
"I checked on the occupant –"
Elrond groaned, inside.
"No one said he was unwell," Estel went on. "At any rate I checked him over quickly as you had taught us to do, ada: pulse at the wrist, temperature, breathing. He was just having a nightmare, but settled and fell quickly back to sleep. I left him, called for someone more qualified than I for a proper examination, and then I headed here."
"Are you all right?" Elladan asked.
Estel frowned. "Am I all right? Why wouldn't I be?"
Elrond exhaled in relief. Legolas was probably still under heavy medicine from a recent dose and thus, unable to act on any violent impulse. It was either that, or perhaps that odd saying about the gods was true – they really did have a fondness for fools and looked after them. Whatever the reason, Elrond was happy Estel was spared the ravages of a violent encounter with the delirious wood-elf. They could all breathe easier, and prepare him better now.
The twins gave Estel a summary of Legolas' situation, and how part of their stay in Imladris now included duties to help out. Estel was unfazed, but eager to be useful.
"I'm not sure what the fuss is about," he admitted, "As you can see, he did not harm me. But I am happy to help. And I do want to know him better – you all talk about him often enough."
"Do we?" Elladan asked. Even Elrond hadn't noticed.
"Yes," Estel said emphatically. "Why do you think I hate picking up a bow and arrow? Moments into a session and I already have my fill of Legolas-this and Legolas-that. Don't even get me started on the horses, but that is leas avoidable."
"Well your seat really is awful," Elrohir teased.
Estel threw him a roll of bread. Elrohir caught it, and ate it happily. Elladan laughed and pointed at Estel's plate, noting he now had none left of the bread for himself, having disposed of it so thoughtlessly. Estel pouted in half-seriousness, but it was still fully effective, in that Elladan eventually handed him the one left from his own dish.
Elrond watched them with quiet satisfaction.
His sons were home.
Now - to help bring another young ellon back to his feet and back to his own father.
# # #
Elrond brought steady, dutiful and proper Elladan in first. One by one Elrond's sons would go, so as not to be too overbearing. Elrohir and Estel were sent off to their quarters for rest, with their own turns scheduled for sometime in the morning.
"You are certain you are rested enough, ion-nin?" Elrond asked as they walked beside each other toward the guest quarters of the residence.
"Yes father," Elladan assured him. "And I am eager to be of use. Returning after a journey sometimes leaves me too restless for sleep anyway."
"At any rate if all is well we shouldn't take long," Elrond told him. "What we do now is but part of the periodic checks we do after the performance of surgery. As soon as tomorrow we will be disturbing him less."
"If you are bringing in Elrohir and Estel," Elladan chuckled, "I dare say we will be disturbing him more."
Elrond kept himself from laughing only because they reached the wood-elf's door. He stopped there, and Elladan gave him a short nod of acknowledgement – that he was paying careful attention and would keep things in proper mind.
Elrond knocked three times to announce their arrival but entered without waiting for a response; he did not expect it from someone heavily medicated within. He led the way and Elladan followed.
The room was warmed and lit by a fireplace, but the flame needed to be fed if it were to last much longer. Elrond made a mental note to take care of it later. He focused first on the object of their visit, the stirring, sole occupant of the room.
"Ernil," Elrond said, voice soft but tone firm, to command attention without jarring the prince. "It is Elrond of Rivendell, you are under the care of my House. Do you remember?"
The ellon's eyes fluttered open to a glazed semi-awareness. They were a startling blue that Elrond could never quite get used to. He inhaled and nodded shortly, before wearily closing his eyes again.
"My lord," Legolas murmured, voice low and breathy from disuse. He did not seem fully aware, but Elrond should have known better. He remarked, "Your son is with you."
"Just returned from the wilds," Elrond said.
"Hello Legolas," Elladan said.
"Mmmhmm," Legolas acknowledged sleepily. The tension from his body eased, and he seemed to return to some unknown point between being awake and asleep.
Elrond sat on the bed beside Legolas' left arm, and felt at the pulse point on his wrist. Legolas jerked in reaction at the touch, and though he gripped Elrond's wrist back tightly, like a warning, Elrond shushed him and he remembered himself. The Woodland Prince released the elven lord, and let himself be tended.
Elrond did his quiet count and satisfied, lowered the wrist and lifted his hands up to feel the half-asleep elf's forehead and neck. Legolas jerked at this touch too, but was aware enough not to strike out. He was stiff and uneasy throughout, but he also let Elrond's hands drift down skin-to-skin beneath the blanket at his chest.
"You are warm," Elrond reported calmly, "but nothing alarming. Your body fights what ails you and that is expected. I will listen to your breathing and look at the wound on your belly now. It will be uncomfortable, but I will be quick."
Elrond signaled at his son for assistance, and while he washed his hands on a basin at one of the tables in the room, Elladan picked up the edges of the blanket and lifted it carefully away from the elven prince's body. He gathered the material low at the hips, freeing the torso for examination. Legolas shuddered slightly at the sudden chill.
Elrond dried his hands with clean cloth, then stepped forward and opened the lightly laced robe over the prince's form. He slid the garment just off of the shoulders to expose the chest, and lowered his head to listen for proper breathing and the heartbeat. He tried to focus on his healing duties, rather than his position of vulnerability. His neck, he couldn't help but note, was intimately accessible to the archer's conspicuously clenched hands.
"Breathe deeply," he instructed, and was quietly followed. "Larger than that if you can, Legolas. I want to feel you chest expand... good. Good. You have been bed-bound, and we need to ensure your breathing is clear."
The Lord of Imladris lifted his head and chanced upon his son's eyes raking over the prince's exposed flesh. The main object of their examination was a loosely bandaged wound on Legolas' right side, but Elladan's eyes were looking at the other scars and bruises on the chest. They were highly varied in provenance, gravity, and stage of healing.
"What in all of Arda is going on over there, father?" Elladan asked in a stricken whisper.
Elrond had no good answer. None of them were strangers to danger and tragedy, but the marks of a protracted war on minds and bodies could still be startling when witnessed by outsiders. His sons, after all, needed to go beyond the bounds of home for hunting. The Woodland on the other hand, has been dealing with frequent and escalating attacks into their home for yeni.
Elladan's eyes darkened, and Elrond wondered briefly what was waking in his son's tender soul. Sometimes the ravages of the world woke anger and other times... well, Celebrian's abuse had stirred in her sons bloodlust for their enemies but in her husband, productivity and compassion for healing.
Elrond moved to the other side of the bed and turned his attention to the sodden bandage on the prince's right side. It was not unexpected either; they had left the wound partially open to drain. He removed the bandage carefully, but Legolas still gasped and arced away from him in pain.
"Shhhh, rest... rest..." Elladan pushed the wood-elf back gently at the shoulders, and by his own healer's instincts murmured words of assurance, telling the prince he was safe. Legolas stilled, and Elladan released him while Elrond turned to examine the wound.
From where he stood Elladan could see it clearly too, and Elrond heard his son hiss in dismay. The injury showed marks of repeated dehiscence – there were tracks from old stitches, and tracks of newer ones installed after what they could only assume were repeated instances of reopening. It was a wound that, likely from premature use or repeated trauma, just could not heal properly at all.
"We had to debride this deeply," Elrond murmured in explanation. "It should progress properly now but there is something here... hm..."
"Father..." Elladan said uneasily, and Elrond looked up at him from prodding the wound. Legolas was still but hardly settled. Pain was etched into every feature, from the furrowed brows to the set jaws, to how stiffly he held himself as the raw wound met air and touch. He looked blanched, and had started trembling.
Elrond gave his son a nod of permission, and Elladan scurried for the miscellany of draughts and herbs on the table on Legolas' left side to find their guest some relief. Elrond on the other hand, prepared wound tending tools on the right. The elven lord prepared a wash of water and salt, a lancet, a set of clean, rough cloths and fresh bandages. As he worked, he listened with half an ear and a proud heart as his son helped settle their unwell guest.
"We will need to lift you a bit to drink... let me do all the work... That's it, slowly..." Elladan murmured, softly but with a sense of calm assurance. "That will work to ease you soon, I promise."
He sounded like a healer, and Elrond looked to find he moved like one too. He was strong and firm, but had gentle hands. He helped Legolas drink, and then eased him back down to lie on his pillows.
The prince did not completely relinquish control though, and by instinct used the damaged muscles at his core to aid his descent; a mistake, one he paid for with a cut cry and a quiet whimper at the landing. His hand shot forward too, and met with the flesh of Elladan's forearm nearby. His grip, already powerful owing to his archer's profession, was white-knuckled in pain now. He would leave marks, but Elladan just bit his lip and nodded at his father to proceed with what they needed to do.
Elrond focused on his work – it was a simple cleaning but of course it was going to hurt. He set aside the sounds of the prince's soft gasps, and the sounds of Elladan's quiet assurances. He wanted to be as efficient as possible, to get things over with quickly. He let his soul sink into his craft, just descend into it, opening his heart and mind to the ailing elf in his hands and the energies of the world around them, letting himself be a conduit of light and healing...
"I'm s-sorry," he heard, and the sound of the prince's voice – low and ragged but in control now – ushered Elrond back into the here and now at the tail end of his work.
He lifted his eyes to watch his son and the ernil. Legolas was slowly releasing his iron grip off of Elladan's now-marked forearm finger by cramped finger.
Elladan hushed him, and pressed his free hand over the sick-white digits, pressing them back against his own bruised flesh.
"None of that now, mellon-nin," he said quietly, "Let it stay."
Legolas sighed, and it echoed something in Elrond's soul that swelled up and settled, sweetly, into the very core of him. The wood-elf fell asleep, and the rest of the examination was uneventful.
As Elladan was still caught in Legolas' hold, Elrond continued with the rest of the tasks on his own: he bandaged the wound lightly and laced Legolas' robe, and pulled up the covers to the wood-elf's chest to keep him warm. He lifted up the sheets at the legs next to check for swelling; too long abed and the body's circulation presented hazards all on their own. He massaged the calves to simulate movement and walking, then replaced the blankets again. Elladan stopped Elrond only when he stooped to feed more wood to the dying fire.
"Let me do that, ada," he said quietly. He finally extracted himself from the wood-elf's hold, and he lowered Legolas' limp hand to the bed and covered it gently with the blanket before assisting his father at the fireplace.
Elrond watched him work, and watched the flames dance in his son's dark, determined eyes. As Elladan fed the fireplace, the flames lengthened and largened in his eyes too. Sometimes Elrond could read him like a book and other times, as now, his son was a mystery unfolding.
"I would like to sit with him for a while," Elladan said into the thick silence of their contemplations.
"You've just returned, ion," Elrond reasoned, "and have need of rest yourself. Legolas Thranduilion is checked often and in no real danger. He might be in pain, but he is on the mend."
Elladan shook his head minutely, and Elrond wondered at him anew. As son of the House's lord, Elladan was used to the expectation that he would visit with Legolas out of courtesy. As they became friends over the years however, visiting the elf in the few occasions he arrived hurt was both that, and born out of genuine concern. But a vigil such as that which Elladan was intending to begin here, that was different. He had gone swiftly from questioning his welcome here to asserting his presence and protection.
"I would like to sit with him for a while," Elladan said again.
"Of course," Elrond said with a small smile. Sometimes the ravages of the world woke anger and other times...
Elrond reached for Elladan's shoulders; he had to pull his son down to be able to press a kiss to his head. Really, when did any of these silly children suddenly emerge grown, taller and bigger than their own father?
"You have a kind heart, ion-nin," he said, and he left the room quietly and closed the door.
# # #
Elrohir took his turn next, and set the tone for his own brand of care by first – authoritatively booting his brother out of the room to seek his own bed for rest.
Elrond winced as Elrohir pointed at sleepy Elladan seated on a chair by Legolas' bed and exclaimed, "Were you here all night?"
The wood-elf was jolted awake by this unabashed arrival, and he blinked at his visitors with bewilderment. He was startled, but owing to the draughts in his system was still not fully engaged. Elrond could appreciate his confusion, especially as the prince's glazed blue gaze tossed between the identical twins.
"Good morning Legolas," Elrond greeted him in a more civilized manner, throwing Elrohir a warning glare. Elrohir ushered Elladan out of the room past Elrond obliviously. The Lord of Imladris sighed.
"I am Elrond of Rivendell," he told Legolas. "You are under the care of my House..."
"I remember," the wood-elf murmured, and his eyes began to shutter again. He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "I apologize... for the imposition."
"And I apologize for my son," Elrond said pointedly, for Elrohir had returned in time to hear it.
"Hello Legolas," he greeted brightly but he was gentle yet, when he slid to sit beside Legolas' left arm on the bed. The wood-elf opened one bleary eye, and then the other.
"Bet you can't quite tell which one I am," Elrohir teased, picking up Legolas' wrist to assess the pulse, as he had been trained to do. "You seem fine but you know how it is. We have to keep checking you've not expired here – especially as ghastly looking as you are."
A strange sound came from the elf on a bed, a cross between a snort and a stifled cough, but Elrond realized it was a morbid, bubbling laugh. Elrond's own lips curved into a smile, and he wondered if perhaps Elrohir's brasher treatment had its own place at this point of Legolas' recovery.
Elrond wordlessly motioned for Elrohir to check for warmth at the wood-elf's neck and forehead, not that he needed to; his son barely spared him a glance, and was already moving to do so before the instruction. Just as he claimed the night before, Elrohir was far from rusty and knew his healer's business. Elrond decided to stand down and watch.
As Elrond did the night before, Elrohir pulled down the covers and unlaced Legolas' robe at the chest to listen to his breathing. The wood-elf exhaled a soft sigh, and seemed to sink slowly back to sleep again, beneath Elrohir's ministrations.
Elrohir leaned in to press his ear to the wood-elf's bare chest, and he had a hairsbreadth of a moment to intercept the hand that suddenly snaked toward his neck with the powerful archer's fingers already clawed to grab him. In lieu of a lethal grip on the neck, Legolas instead caught Elrohir by the defensive wrist the other ellon had raised.
Elrond's breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment all three of them were still.
"None of that now," Elrohir said sternly, though he did not resist the iron grip, lest Legolas consider him even more of a threat.
The wood-elf's bright blue eyes opened to narrow slits beneath heavy lids. The gaze was wary, measuring. Elrohir met it squarely.
"We're friends, aren't we?" Elrohir asked him pointedly.
Elrond watched the tense exchange. His sons knew Legolas well enough, that was true. But much like Elldan was, Elrond found Legolas to be somewhat reserved. In the times Legolas arrived with an escort of his father's soldiers, he even showed restraint in his relations with his own people. What more, elves he only saw on occasion, no matter how amiable their interactions? He did not seem like the type to give his heart to friendship so freely.
Elrohir, however, had all this fierce light... he felt everything strongly and sometimes his fire was catching. As his father, Elrond saw firsthand Elrohir's lifelong experience in lovingly tormenting his more reserved twin. Elrohir was an expert in breaking Elladan's silences practically into infuriated screaming. They were necessary to each other; Elrohir needed Elladan as a great ship needed the anchor. But without Elrohir, Elladan's sails had less wind.
His casual presumption of friendship was pushing Legolas now too, Elrond could tell. And didn't many friendships begin like this – someone extending themselves first, risking rejection?
Elrond watched them silently, but he was a parent enough to wish, from the very bottom of his heart, that his son's overture of friendship would not be denied.
Let him into your heart, he thought fervently, He will light up your world...
"Friends..." Legolas whispered, though more hesitantly. It was good enough for Elrond. The Woodland Prince released his hold.
It was going to bruise later, Elrond knew; the archer's grip always bruised. But Elrohir didn't miss a beat as he went on with the rest of the work, and Legolas kept blinking himself to better wakefulness so as not to be taken off-guard by his defensive instincts again. He was more able to do so this morning versus the heavier drugged haze of the previous night.
"I believe you're up, adar," Elrohir declared, stepping aside so that Elrond could set his expert eyes on the abdominal wound that had brought Legolas into his current situation. He made room for Elrond, and moved to Legolas' legs.
"No please - " Legolas protested, even as Elrohir shifted the blankets away to examine the wood-elf's legs and massage them.
"I concede it feels very intimate," Elrohir said wryly. "But it needs doing and so do it, we must. Besides - just wait until you need help getting up to relieve yourself, eh? This will seem like nothing."
Legolas made an impatient, huffing sound that made Elrond grin, but he kept his face low and hid it. He'd heard Elladan and sometimes even Estel, make that exact same sound whenever Elrohir played at being so irreverent he could make anything less crazy seem tolerable.
"So just hush and be at ease," said Elrohir.
"Everyone... says that," Legolas muttered, irate and because he was tiring again, his tongue was looser. "But everyone keeps stirring me..."
Elrohir barked out a laugh. "Now that I cannot argue with, mellon-nin."
"Everyone... says that too," Legolas said, as his eyes fluttered close as he drifted in and out. "Mellon. Around here... everyone says it. In my home... a more dangerous undertaking."
Elrond winced, and hurt for a people where friendship could be described as such. But to share the heart there - and always be under threat of hurting it due to loss from violence and death – was a most dangerous undertaking, indeed.
"I am sorry for that," Elrohir said earnestly. "Truly, I am."
They went about their work and the prince bore it quietly. After Elrond finished his examination – the wound needed no special tending this time – he stepped back from the half-asleep prince while Elrohir replaced the robe and blankets. Less necessarily, Elrohir arranged their patient's blond hair more neatly about Legolas' pillow too – one way that displeased him and he clucked at himself, and then another way that satisfied him more. He nodded approvingly.
"Everything is in proper order," Elrond said, and Legolas forced his eyes open to listen to his healer. "We will no longer be disturbing you quite so frequently, ernil, and you can have more time for true, deep rest beginning now. Expect some disruption in a few hours however, as you've not eaten in a day and a half and you need sustenance. It will be light, and we will see how that settles. Once you are able to sit and eat, we can quickly move to loftier ambitions, and you should be walking with assistance by tomorrow afternoon. You will still tire easily, but that will resolve in no time."
"Thank you, my lord," Legolas said, and he looked up at Elrond with those clear blue eyes in a hard-won focus.
"You should perhaps thank me as well," Elrohir said with a grin. "But that is only a suggestion."
Legolas laughed softly... and did not give him the satisfaction. Elrond thought that was wise; Elrohir was a force to be reckoned with already, without being constantly indulged.
"We shall leave you to rest but I have a parting gift," Elrohir said. He drew out a small silver bell from the folds of his robes and he jiggled it slightly, eliciting a small, sharp ringing sound. "If you should wake alone and have need of aid, I beg you to call. Do not suffer alone, and do not for the love of gods, get up on your own until father gives express permission."
He pressed the gift into Legolas' left hand, and closed both their hands around it insistently. Elrond recognized the bell. The brothers passed it around, whenever any of them took hurt and had to be laid up in either the healing wards or their rooms.
"You won't want to use it," Elrohir said sternly, "But use it anyway."
Legolas made a noncommittal grunt, and let himself surrender to the sleepiness that had been tugging at him since he was jolted awake by the hurricane that was Elrohir Elrondion.
Father and son left their guest to rest and walked out into the hall, closing the door of the guest room behind them.
"He won't use it," Elrond predicted with a frown.
"Stubborn fool," said Elrohir.
"It takes one to know one I suppose," Elrond teased his son; he was used to this dance. How many times has he picked up any one of his injured children from the ground, all felled in one way or another by a combination of youthful belief in invulnerability, overinflated personal duty, and / or a premature sense of healing?
"Ha!" Elrohir barked out with mild amusement.
"You've all gotten better about it though," Elrond conceded. "Eventually."
Elrohir's eyes narrowed in thought. "He is healing and needs little monitoring, you say?"
Elrond raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. "Why...?"
"After he is given his meal," said Elrohir, "Do not check on him for as long as possible, adar. He needs to know to call for help. Look at him, for the love of the gods. Do all the wood-elves walk around quietly bearing all of that?"
He motioned for his body, noticing as Elladan had, all the bruises and scars on Legolas. "He should know he can call for help. And perhaps more importantly, he needs to know the moment he calls – someone will come."
"It is well-intentioned..." Elrond said tentatively. "But surely you've seen that wound, the tracks that show it's reopened several times. If he should get up on his own and damage himself anew..."
"Then he'll probably live through it," Elrohir said wryly. "In all seriousness, ada. We are to heal hroa just as we do fea - you said that. Now let him call for help, and let him see that someone will come."
"I will take it into consideration," Elrond said.
Elrohir had a smile, Elrond thought, the kind where he knew he got his way. Elrohir's eyes always shone with gratitude whenever he did it, though. He never took his victories for granted. He grinned at his father that way, now.
"And I will stay within hearing range," Elrohir promised. "When he calls - someone will come."
# # #
Elrond had read somewhere - it was a strange age, for edain.
Man-children were caught between their desire to fly and their need for caring, their desire to stand out and yet need for acceptance and belonging. It was perhaps doubly difficult for an adan growing up among the Eldar, what with all the inevitable comparisons of the self versus others.
Estel bore it well all things considered – that is to say, he bore it well for now. The pressures of his destiny when the time came that it should be revealed to him, Elrond thought with a heavy heart, would undoubtedly make things harder.
But that's tomorrow's problem, he told himself. He would have to tell Estel about the expectations of his future soon... but not yet. As a father, all he could do was take things day by day.
Today's problem, for example, was certainly more immediate.
"Estel we told you not to go inside Legolas' room alone," Elladan was telling him over breakfast. "Elrohir and I have things well in hand, and we agreed you can just meet the wood-elf when he is better. It won't be long now."
"I can't see why I shouldn't help," Estel said. He crossed his hands over his chest, and while it was tempting to regard him as a child, he was at least as well-built as the twins now and looked more formidable than petulant. Young men of his age were that way too, Elrond thought – they loomed larger than they knew.
"I've certainly fared better than any one of you," Estel pointed out, motioning for the miscellany of hurts collected by all the Peredhel at the breakfast table – Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan all had bruised wrists from their encounters with a half-asleep wood-elf who was forced by the circumstances of his life to always remain on the defensive.
"You've been lucky," Elrohir dismissed. "You always have, the gods know why and I am thankful for it. But I would beg you not to push their kind indulgence of your stu-"
"-bbornness," Elladan intercepted his twin. 'Stupidity' could very well have started a war.
But it was a mystery to Elrond too, how Estel could always emerge unscathed from sneaking in to check on Legolas once in a while. He only meant to be useful he claimed, but they all knew it was just as likely that Estel was curious. Also probably – jealous.
The bane of his childhood had always been the somewhat overbearing protectiveness of his older brothers. Now that same bane was focused on someone else, and he was likely coming to the conclusion that he might actually miss it when it's gone. Elrond would be amused, if the situation wasn't so dangerous. He sipped at his wine thoughtfully.
"I'm serious, Estel," said Elrohir sternly. "I'll be watching you."
"You should," Estel snapped, "Maybe then you'd learn something."
Elrond almost choked on his drink.
# # #
With his sons taking over care of Legolas, Elrond barely had to enter the wood-elf's room at all. Still, it was for his personal pleasure that he would walk down the halls leading to it, listening in on his compassionate sons tend their friend, and paying attention to how they improved both their healing craft and their relations with the ernil.
Legolas was improving in a myriad of ways too – physically healing of course, but Elrond heard the bell ring for help once or twice as well. Elrohir would always beat him to running there though, fulfilling his promise of staying near.
The wood-elf had been in terrible pain in one of those instances, Elrond remembered, hearing the grunts from within and hearing Elrohir's off-beat reassurances.
"Cramps and spasms at the wound site?"
"Yes," Legolas gasped.
"That's just healing," said Elrohir. "Your skin and nerves are knitting together, able to perceive pain again. You've also been overusing them, haven't you? Ah, the body cannot lie to itself."
Legolas groaned quietly.
"I hope we learned something."
The groan turned into a low, huffing laugh.
"Hurts like the blazes but it won't kill you," Elrohir promised.
"That's all... I wanted to know," growled the wood-elf. "I suppose... you can go."
Elrohir laughed. "Not to worry mellon-nin, we will not leave you like this. I have just the thing - "
Another time, Elrond overheard Elladan with Legolas and it was predictably a much more sedate affair.
"I really am sorry for the bother," Legolas was saying quietly.
"Nonsense," Elladan assured him. "You would do the same if our situations were reversed. Besides, this is as good for us as it is for you. Father said – one's hands shouldn't be used just for killing."
A thoughtful pause.
"How about you," Elladan asked hesitantly, "What other things are you good at?"
"I..."
For a moment, Elrond feared there wouldn't be an answer.
"...I grow things."
"Ah," Elladan said with genuine pleasure, and Elrond could hear the smile on his son's face.
Another time, it was the twins together and they asked how Legolas finally learned to tell them apart. The answer –
"One... looks like he bears the world on his shoulders. The other looks like he happily put it there."
And Elrond had walked away, laughing quietly to himself. He was of a mind to listen in on something new now, as he walked down the hall of the residences. What he heard this time though, almost made him rush into Legolas' room.
Estel, he realized.
It was his youngest without a doubt – the low, earthy rumble of a young man humming could not have been anyone else. But alarmingly, the sound was coming from inside Legolas' room.
Elrond rushed forward but stopped himself at the door, and he gathered himself first. No use coming inside and jarring the occupants within. The moment he took though, let him pause long enough to listen to more of the calm, uninterrupted music. It was an elven lullaby.
Calm.
Uninterrupted.
Lullaby.
It struck Elrond then, like a bolt of lightning – this was why Estel always emerged unscathed from his encounters with the disoriented, half-asleep, hypervigilant Legolas: he hummed a lullaby as he worked.
The music was an immediate indication of a friendly, non-orcish presence. But even more than that, as a continuous song, it also kept a common strain throughout the entire visit. It wasn't as irregular or jarring as words or conversation.
Music, Elrond realized. I should have thought of that.
A sound from down the hall caught his attention and it was his twin sons, scurrying forward with their own realization that Estel was in Legolas' room on his own. Elrond raised his hand at them for calm, and to listen.
Elrohir and Elladan, though hesitant, did as their father commanded. Within moments, each of their gazes lit with surprise and understanding, and then softened with endearment.
Elrond grinned and stepped away from the door, ready now to leave their young Estel to his own devices. He could fend for himself. And perhaps the saying was right, about kings and their healing hands...
He shook the thought away. His sons followed him, and together the three of them walked away and down the hall.
"He is more clever than we give him credit for," Elladan said.
"I still think it's all luck," Elrohir said, but with a broad smile. "Do you ever look at him sometimes, and just... wonder?"
Elrond knew what he meant – it was as if the gods had dropped a magical creature at their feet... and it wasn't because Estel was an adan and different from the rest of them. It wasn't even because of his lineage, and the promise of his future. Estel was a magical creature, all on his own merit.
"I find I often wonder at all of you," Elrond told them earnestly. "But he is remarkable, indeed."
"Perhaps one who is ready for what's to come," Elladan murmured thoughtfully.
Elrond winced, but could not deny it. Estel would need to know the truth about himself soon... but while Estel may seem ready, Elrond knew that he himself was not. Revealing to Estel who he really was and what he needed to do meant too many things that Elrond was not ready to contemplate.
I barely have you all here with me as it is, he thought. If Estel knew who he was and what he must do, I wouldn't be having you here with me at all.
"It will be time for that soon," Elrohir said.
"Not yet," Elrond said abruptly. It sounded petulant to him... and who among them was the child, now?
But not yet, damn it all. Not yet. The life of an adan was already so short - did he really have to surrender his son to the needs of this insatiable world so soon?
I've only just gotten you home...
"Soon," Elrond promised quietly. "Soon."
The heartbreaking line of thought was thankfully cut by the sound of a door opening; it was Estel, stepping out of the Legolas' room. He startled at finding his family walking together down the corridor, and had modicum of grace enough to look chagrined at getting caught.
Not much, though.
Estel stalked toward them and they waited for him, but by the time he reached the three elves, he had no apologies to make.
"But-!" He opened his mouth to argue.
"Save it," Elrohir cut him off with a laugh. "You did well, you rebel. We know."
Estel's mouth hung open in surprise for a beat, before it curved into a smile. "I keep telling you."
Elrohir threw an arm over his brother's shoulders – they were almost the same height now, almost the same bulk and broadness – and the two merrily led the way walking down the hall, toward the family rooms. Elladan kept his father's pace though, and Elrond could feel him watching worriedly from the corner of his eye. Elrond patted his son on the arm reassuringly.
All is well.
His sons were home. Everything else was the worry of another day.
THE END
17 March 2021
Thank you again and see you at the next post - whenever that may be :) Whoever you are who may be reading this, I wish you well in all of your endeavors!