Chapter 10
He reached for the scalpel from his pack, willing his shaking hands to close around the thin hilt. Weariness shrouded him like a heavy blanket, weighing down his limbs, muffling even the despair that tore at his heart. He could feel Elladan's pain, could feel his twin's struggle to withstand the evil malice of the weapon's sliver still embedded in his side. His brother might have been deeply unconscious, but his fëa was still fighting a desperate battle.
A losing battle.
Elrohir fought another wave of cloying despair, not entirely sure if it was his own or that of his twin, conjured by his own mind or a byproduct of the foul sorcery of the Nazgûl. He grasped the corner of the table in support as a wave of vertigo struck him with sudden, unforgiving force. Darkness taunted him.
His eyes snapped open at a sudden touch on his arm.
He did not even remember closing them.
Aragorn's gaze was calm, his touch featherlight as he laid his own hand over Elrohir's, wordlessly asking Elrohir to release the small surgical knife he held. A part of him balked at the very idea of it, of placing Elladan's life into the hands of anyone else but himself. And yet, a quiet, insistent, and undeniably reasonable part of him pointed out that those very hands, his hands, could barely hold the knife he would need for the delicate surgery. That his fingers were trembling enough he risked injuring Elladan further.
His sigh was more tortured anguish and anger at his own weakness than it was acceptance, but he relinquished the knife.
"Here," Estel handed him the small vial of dwale, a mixture of poppy and mandrake extracts, from his pack in exchange for the knife. It was a lifeline to cling to and a peace offering, an exchange of one task for another. A message that said that while Estel would perform the surgery but he would still need Elrohir's help - it did not make Elrohir feel any better.
Lifting Elladan's head to make him drink the thick liquid that would keep him beyond the reach of pain for the next few hours, Elrohir's heart constricted anew at the sight of his twin. If possible his skin had grown paler still. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow, eerily reflecting the light of the candles that someone must have lit when they had entered the room. He had no recollection of it. In their flickering, yellow light, shadows seemed to dance over his brother's face, like hungry vultures of the twilight realm, come to claim him.
He let his hand linger on Elladan's throat as he gently rubbed it to make his unconscious twin swallow the tincture. If nothing else, the steady thrum of Elladan's pulse beneath his fingers was a welcome reminder that Elladan was still with him, still fighting.
The potion worked quickly, and Elrohir could feel Elladan sink deeper into unconsciousness as the echo of his twin's pain faded in his own side and the insistent call of the darkness lessened. But it left another darkness in its wake, a hollow void in his soul where Elladan's usually comforting presence was now all but absent.
"Elrohir?" Estel's question was soft and carefully neutral and Elrohir could not gather whether he was asking about his own condition or Elladan's, or both.
Deciding that he did not need to know which, Elrohir pushed his own discomfort aside, burying it deep and straightened, then he joined Estel at Elladan's other side. Their little brother had been efficiently cleaning the wound in his twin's side - when had that happened? It was a jagged, raw cut that had torn deeply through Elladan's flesh. Still, mercifully and despite the cleaning, the cut was barely bleeding. Powered by Elrohir's desperate attempt to provide healing the blood vessels had started to knit together and repair themselves, and the flesh remained free of the tell-tale angry red of inflammation. If only stopping the bleeding would have been all it took to save Elladan.
Elrohir gave his little brother what he hoped would pass as a grateful smile before facing Elladan's still form. He placed a hand on his brother's chest, above the ugly wound gaping in his side and closed his eyes.
Estel tensed beside him, doubtlessly fearing a repetition of what he had seen on the beach. "Do not worry, Estel. I am not trying to heal, merely to see." His voice sounded tired even to his own ears and he was not sure if Estel would believe him. In truth, he was not being entirely honest, as even this small expansion of his fëa was drawing his energy, sapping his rapidly dwindling strength further.
His senses shifted. He could see Elladan's fëa, the soft and resilient spirit of his twin, reliable, steadfast. It almost brought a smile to his lips. He knew his brother's spirit like his own, two sides of the same coin, but each with unique patterns, swirls, quirks. They belonged together, complemented each other, needed each other. But in the midst of Elladan's fëa was a dark blemish, a sliver of pure malice, one that was not of this world, that had no place among the living.
Even now, the fragment seemed to possess a will of its own, a consciousness, unholy and dark. It fought against the touch of Elrohir's energy as it had done on the beach, fought against those that would claim its prize.
And its resistance unleashed fury in Elrohir's chest. It would not have Elladan! With a rush of light his healing powers responded to his unconscious plea, his desperation to save Elladan and save him now.
But before he could fully establish the connection needed, it was violently interrupted. Estel had grasped his hand and removed it from Elladan's chest, severing the physical connection once more.
Elrohir rounded on his brother, his fury readily redirected, but Estel met his eyes with a gaze of calm, unforgiving steel. Estel's grip on his hand was unyielding, his silent command uncompromising - and, surprisingly, Elrohir found himself withering beneath his brother's stare. No one but their father had ever quelled his raging emotions and shown him the folly of his actions quite so effortlessly.
His shoulders sagged and he dropped his gaze, only to have the room start spinning around him, the floor beams twisting about themselves, dancing around his feet in a wild pattern. He grasped for the table that held Elladan, squeezing his eyes closed against the sickening sight, waiting for the vertigo to abate, breathing shallowly through clenched teeth. Estel's hold on his hand turned from restraining to supportive and if he had not been quite so helpless, Elrohir would have resented the need for assistance.
When he opened his eyes again, Estel had procured a tall chair and was not so subtly indicating for him to sit. "Guide me." Estel prompted. And Elrohir recognized the simple instruction as yet another lifeline for him to cling to, a task that he could focus on among the cloying dread, weariness and despair that tried to incapacitate him.
"The splinter is here," he indicated the spot on his brother's chest, pointing at where it would be if seen from above, the blemish he had sensed on his twin's spirit. "It sits deep inside the wound and it burrows further even now. Follow the cut the Morgul Blade has made." He swallowed thickly, but soldiered on. "You need to reopen the wound - and cut deeper still. The morgul splinter keeps moving."
Estel nodded, his eyes hard and his hand steady as he placed the first cut. Fresh blood welled as he reopened the deeper lesions of the wound and cut into the areas that had started to heal under Elrohir's influence earlier. Elrohir watched him anxiously. He knew his brother had the skill required, had the calm and steady hand that he himself currently lacked, but irrationally, involuntarily, he still would have preferred to hold the knife himself. He grabbed clean muslin to wipe off the worst of the blood, to keep Estel's vision clear for the further cuts - and to give himself something to do. Something to hold his waning focus lest his thoughts run free to contemplate the dangers, the consequences of a possible failure.
As Estel steadily and expertly cut deeper into Elladan's flesh, Elrohir kept his hand on his brother's chest, seeking weak reassurance in the touch, the steady thrum of Elladan's heartbeat against his fingertips.
Estel cut deeper.
Beneath his fingers, in his dim awareness of Elladan's spirit, Elrohir could practically see the blade as it carefully moved closer to the solidified evil of the morgul splinter. Just a few more fractions of an inch.
"There", Estel gasped, and concern flashed briefly as Elrohir saw his young brother shiver the moment the healing knife hit the metal sliver of the morgul blade. But Estel righted himself quickly, already grabbing a pair of tweezers from the edge of the table. He moved closer.
Estel did not hesitate. With a steady hand and enviable calm he directed the long surgical tweezers into Elladan's side, ignoring the fresh flow of blood, the sickening sound of the instrument pushing deep between muscles and sinew.
When he retrieved it, the splinter of the morgul blade was in the grasp of the metal throngs. It hissed even as it dissolved into a thick cloying smoke. The light of the candles flickered for a moment, but then they shone out stronger. Light prevailed.
Both brothers released a shared breath of relief. The worst was over.
Elrohir sank forward, practically collapsing onto the operating table, his head resting on Elladan's arm, his hand still firmly over his brother's heart. Even if he had felt the need to disguise his weariness from Estel, he lacked the strength to do so. His energy was spent.
He was dimly aware of Estel treating their brother's wound; Stopping the flow of blood and then stitching and binding the wound with experienced ease and speed. It was only when Estel draped a heavy blanket over his shoulders that he startled back to awareness, surprised that he had let the soft call of exhaustion carry him so far.
Judging by the length of the candles, Estel had spent longer than he had realized on cleaning and bandaging Elladan's side. And with a rush of guilt and regret, Elrohir realized that Estel looked almost as pale as his injured twin. His little brother was still in the wet clothes that he had worn for his involuntary swim in the Bay of Harnen, his wandering on the beach and their desperate rush to bring Elladan back here to the Shakalzagar.
"You are wet, Estel. Find a spare set of clothes before you catch a cold." His exhausted mind dragged up the oft-spoken words from over forty years ago, when Estel had still been a small child playing out in the snow or rain. With the fear for Elladan slowly subsiding, the memory of those peaceful times almost brought a small smile to his face.
However, it was not the reminder of his childhood antics that had Estel answer him in kind. His little brother was grinning when he replied: "You first."
It was only then that Elrohir realized the blanket Estel had given him rested on his bare skin, his shirt sacrificed to serve as makeshift bandages for Elladan's wound. With a sigh and an irritated wave of his hand, he shooed Estel from the room to go and get them both a spare set of dry clothes. In truth it was good to see Estel's spirit still bright, still filled with the mischief he seemed to save for his brothers alone. He had made their little brother carry a heavy burden, had placed Elladan's life into his hands and had set him against a slither of pure malice whose very touch could pervade the light of Arda.
But Estel had prevailed. Elladan would recover. And that simple knowledge, the irrefutable truth, finally tore down his last resistance, his last bulwark against the growing exhaustion. Elrohir gave in to the unerring pull of sleep and with his hand safely resting on Elladan's chest, he let himself be dragged away onto the paths of elvish sleep.
-o0o-
A/N: Sorry for the delay and the (rather) short chapter - I am on a holiday and weirdly enough that usually means less writing and editing time (don't tell my boss how much working hours are devoted to this story). But I did try to carve out some time to get this done and posted. I couldn't leave our poor Elladan in that terrible state any loner - now at least his prognosis is good (or so his doctors claim :D)
Who knows, with the Nazgûl banished and the Morgul splinter retrieved, maybe our heroes can actually make some progress towards Umbar now(?)
As always- I would love to hear your thoughts. Thank you to everyone who has left an encouraging note - you made my day or even week