A/N: Hello all. Indigo here again. I'm not sure why I keep putting these author's notes in front of every chapter, but it's a habit now. Well, it's a good place to say THANK YOU for reviews, though, so I'll keep using it for that at least. This part is a little sappy, a little angsty, but hopefully not boring. Okay, on with the show:

Part 5:

Elrond and Glorfindel rode into the camp just as the stars were starting to show in the sky. The ride had not been long, but Elladan faded in and out of consciousness, fully waking only once to ask if the stars were out.

"No, Elladan," Elrond had answered, stroking the dark hair out of his son's face. "It is not dark enough yet for the stars to be out." Elladan had not seemed to hear him, and his eyes closed as the horse moved on towards the camp.

Glorfindel dismounted, taking the injured elf from the saddle first and allowing Elrond to dismount before taking his son back into his arms. There was a large tent set up in the center of the clearing, and water boiling over a merrily crackling fire. Elrond took his son inside just as the first rain drops started to patter on the ground. It was warm inside the tent, and would remain dry through the night. He lay Elladan down on a small cot that was waiting for him, replacing the travel stained cloak with clean blankets.

Glorfindel handed the horses off to a waiting elf and, taking Elrond's saddlebags, joined his lord in the tent. Elrond took the saddlebags from him and began to remove various herbs and potions he brought with him from Imladris, along with clean bandages. He took some athelas and crushed it into a bowl of hot water. The tent soon filled with the wholesome smell of wild, growing things. Elladan sighed in his unnatural sleep and breathed easier. Elrond handed the bowl to Glorfindel and started to mix a poultice to use to draw out the poison from Elladan's wounds, while Glorfindel used the athelas water to clean out the injuries. He had to fight back a cry when he encountered the blood that stained Elladan's thighs.

"I have not seen such atrocities commit against an elf who has lived through it," Glorfindel murmured, half to himself.

Elrond looked up from where he was applying the poultice to Elladan's sides. "The blood of men sings strongly in his veins," he said. "Let us hope it does not fail his Elven heart now."

They continued to work silently as the rain broke over the forest and pelted the roof of the tent in uneven rhythms. Thunder could be heard in the distance, thankfully not close enough to warrant concern. At last the two elves were done with their bleak task, tucking the blankets securely around Elladan. Another folded blanket went against his back, to keep him from moving too much in his sleep and aggravating his injuries.

"Someone must be with him at all times, to make sure he stays warm and calm," Elrond instructed.

"I doubt anything could make you or I leave this tent before the morn," Glorfindel said with a bittersweet smile. They settled at Elladan's side, prepared to wait out the long night.



Elrohir let the rain wash over him as he guided his horse through the forest. It had taken them longer than he expected to dispose of the orcs' bodies, since the rain drenched any wood and a large enough fire could not be kindled. They had settled for burning them in their lair, a proper enough end in Elrohir's respect, he mused. Still, he was bone weary and worried sick and now soaking wet to add to his misery. He found the rain to be an added blessing when he arrived at camp, however, as it had washed the evidence of battle from his skin during his ride, and the delay of cleaning the blood from his skin was not needed.

The camp looked homely enough for its purpose, though the comfort of the warm, well-lit tents were lost on Elrohir. He dismounted as he neared the largest tent, where he knew his brother and father would be. His horse nickered and nipped at his cape. Elrohir sighed; he would need to tend to his steed before anything else. She ran as though she had the wings of the King of Eagles to deliver him to Imladris, then turned around in the space of hours and borne him straight back into battle. No other than an elven bred horse could do as she had done.

"My lord," a soft voice at his shoulder spoke. Elrohir turned to see a young elf standing next to him. Lindir, he remembered, was a fine storyteller and a trusted warrior. "Please, allow me to care for your horse. She has performed her duty well, and I believe that you have duties of your own to attend to."

Elrohir smiled as he handed off the mare's lead. "Thank you, Lindir. You know not the kindness you perform."

Lindir smiled himself. "I also have loved ones, Lord Elrohir, and those who love me also."

Elrohir raced the few steps to the tent, but paused at the entrance. Nothing was between him and Elladan now but the cloth of the tent flap, yet for some reason he couldn't bring himself to cross that flimsy boundary. The rain continued to fall over him as he stood frozen to his spot. Suddenly, the tent flap was pulled back and Glorfindel appeared. He looked shocked to see the soaking wet twin standing there, but he didn't voice his concern.

"Come in," Glorfindel said simply.

He took Elrohir's hand when he still didn't move and lead him into the tent. It was warmer, and the rain sounded strangely muted, he noticed, still not looking where his brother lay. Glorfindel removed his armor, as he seemed incapable of any unaided motion at the moment. A soft blanket was draped over his shoulders as soon as the wet clothes were removed, and a mug of something hot—soup, Elrohir noted dully—was placed in his hands.

"Go to your brother and your father," Glorfindel whispered. "They need you."

Elrohir nodded, finally turning around to face his family. He sat at his father's feet, next to Elladan's bedside. The cot was low enough that he could clearly see his brother from his spot on the floor and he forced himself to look. The thick blankets hid most of his wounds, but Elladan was deathly pale. The cut across his cheek and the surrounding bruises looked more like ink spilt on parchment than anything real and living. Elrohir reached out slowly and let his fingers drift across the face as familiar as his own. The skin was warm under his touch and he sighed in relief.

"He'll recover, Father?" Elrohir asked, youthful hope coloring his tone.

Elrond reached out to stroke Elrohir's damp hair. "The poison has not conquered him yet, Elrohir. Dawn's light will bring fairer judgment."

Elrohir nodded in understanding and allowed himself to lean back against his father's knees. Elrond's hand still rested on his shoulder, comforting with a practiced healer's touch. Elrohir snaked his hand under the blankets to clasp his brother's, though Elladan did not respond to the touch. Wearied by worry and battle, Elrohir fell asleep to the sweet scent of athelas and his father's voice singing a long forgotten lullaby.