A/N: Ok, I debated for a while bringing in an OC then decided it didn't
really hurt the story any and gave the chance for a good explanation of
some of the circumstances without resorting to pure narration. Dialogue is
one of the best tools I have always thought for moving a story along, and I
had a hard time deciding which OC's to bring in and which to leave out
because some of their dialogue is key to doing that.
If you're asking yourself why I bothered agonizing, it's because I really feel that Mary Sues get a bad rap (mostly from annoying picky critics like myself). Self-insertion is not what you're supposed to strive for, I don't think, not if we're talking about just putting on Elrond's circlet and saying "What would *I* do in this situation?" meaning with your personality and character traits. I think you're supposed to say "What would I do if I were in *their* shoes given all that's happened before?" which means you step into the characters' lives and history and personality, not just their clothes.
When a Mary Sue achieves this then it goes beyond what I consider the term. So you can flame me for hypocritically stating this story wouldn't be a Mary Sue in the beginning, I don't mind. You and I can argue over the distinction I'm making or whether I actually achieved my own goals.
Also, this story is necessarily Alternate Universe. I mean, how could such a crossover not be? So the history and events of the LOTR books and probably even the Sil are being mangled here by me to make a lot of things possible that didn't happen in those stories. If you don't like that, why are you reading a X-over fic in the first place? Come to think of it, why are you reading fanfic at all? Ah.anyway! Things get more explained in future chapters so if you're just confused hang in there.
One more note: Magolhith means The Mist-Blade in Sindarin.
**************************************************************************** ********
Chapter Four: Eye of the Storm
"Perhaps a sling.torn muscles.he can be so stubborn though."
Elrond awoke to the soft sound of his own voice in the silence of an empty room and opened his eyes. Could he really have fallen asleep again? This was becoming so inconvenient. He needed to keep his wits about him, needed to be awake and heal. But the fever still burned in him, although he was feeling far better than he had when he lay on the cold grassy downs between the Entwash and the Limlight six days ago.
Where was Arwen?
He looked around and recognized his room in the halls of Helm's Deep. He was alone for once, and smiled mischievously as he rose and stretched. Any moment now, Arwen or one of the other members of the small, strange company that had traveled south from the army of Lothlorien would come in and scold him for getting out of bed. Their love for him was very dear to him, especially upon returning from death in such a way.
But death and the return from it, along with the items he still carried with him, gave him a greater sight than they could know. For which he was very grateful, although it was a selfish thing perhaps. There was much responsibility that sight gave him, and his spirit fought against the weight of it. The full weight of being High King of the Elves was greater than anyone except another who had borne that burden themselves could know, especially in such times. He needed to be doing things, and the others would have to accept it despite their good intentions.
Elrond managed to make himself some tea, grateful for the small fireplace at the end of the room. He felt he had drunk enough water, not to mention other fluids his daughter was constantly urging him to drink along their journey and his subsequent convalescence here in the refuge of Helm's Deep. He had slept and regained consciousness at various intervals, helpless to hold back the sudden periods of black fatigue that would overcome him after unpredictable lengths of time. It was time to take charge of his own affairs.
He knew what was happening outside.
Feeding the fire a bit more, he slipped back into his bed and under the covers. He still expected Arwen or Elladan to come into the room and catch him, and smiled with amusement at the thought of the scolding that would ensue. He was still smiling as he drank the last of his tea, and the fever-sleep stole over him again.
He awoke an hour later; hardly knowing he had slept. Reflexively he went to take another sip of tea, and discovered to his annoyance that he had dropped the cup and it had rolled under the bed. He also discovered that Elladan lay in the great bed beside him, asleep from utter exhaustion. He lay still for a few moments, then gently moved away from his son and leaned over the side of the bed. His hand stole quietly from beneath the covers and searched blindly underneath the frame for the recalcitrant vessel.
There was a soft *thock*, and the sound of the cup rolling against the paneled floor. A moment later he felt it connect solidly with his hand, almost as if it had been searching for him as well. Bemused, he stared at it, blinking in the dim firelight, and contemplated what had happened.
"It rolled under the bed and up against my foot," a voice said very quietly. It was so quiet and different from her usual bold tones that it took a moment for him to register the identity of the speaker.
Sitting back up, he looked over at Magolhith with such a look of shy, mischievous guilt that she was hard pressed not to laugh. Well, not that hard pressed. She was as exhausted as Elladan and nursing a wound in her side. She winced as the chuckle escaped her as a soft wheeze and cursed herself for doing so. She knew already that his keen eyes would catch the reflex and he would ask about it. She did not want him to trouble himself in his state.
Too late. Elrond slowly disengaged himself from the bedcovers and stood up despite the frown Magolhith gave him. Silently he approached her where she sat on the floor, legs outstretched before her and back pressed against the warmth of the stones framing the fireplace.
"No, Elrond, I'm fine. There's no need for you get up; please, your children will carve me up if they find out I woke you."
"You didn't wake me. I was already awake and needed to get up anyway. Now," he said, ignoring her softly spoken protests and kneeling beside her. "You would not have come in here if you did not wish to gain my attentions in any case. So then what has happened to you?"
Magolhith glanced at Elladan to make certain he was still sleeping, then looked back at Elrond. His warm fingers were already loosening the haphazard bandages that bound her side, probing the wound there, and she succumbed to the inevitable. You might as well ask a nightingale not to sing as tell Elrond to ignore a wound, however slight. It was in his nature to heal, as it was in all elves to some degree, and she would not change it for anything.
"Actually, I think I just wanted to be near you. You look so lovely when you sleep, the only thing better is to have you awake so that those seawater gems you call your eyes are open to the world and I can lose myself in their depths," she countered, trying to distract him.
The complex compliment failed of course, though she knew by the hesitance in his eyes that he was wondering if she was going to kiss him. It made her smile. She absolutely loved it when he was shy, although it could be a sweet frustration as well. Only those close to him would see this side of him, despite the fact that he hardly tried to hide it. He was both a mystery and a revelation to all those who knew him. At times he was so honest, so forthright, and as merry as the warm summer stars. At others, he was as mysterious, subtle, and inexorable as a chill autumn wind.
That was a good metaphor, she thought, pleased with herself. She would save it for another poem for him, another time. Right now, it would only be wasted. He was looking at her sternly now, waiting for her to respond to his question.
"The orcs of course, and the Dunlendings. Saruman's forces. They attacked in the night, as you must know by now, and we had to fight them off at the gate. Then." She trailed off, not knowing how to describe the mad chase to head off the ones who had broken through in the caves below the refuge, the fury that had overtaken her and driven her, Gimli, and the others into the maze to slay them all. Blood lust was not a good thing for an elf to feel, she thought, despite the heady rush of power and ecstasy she felt when she was at one with her blades. You didn't have to lose yourself in killing in order to be satisfied in your skill. It was dangerous and corruptive, and it was another reason she wanted to be here in this room, close to Elrond. She didn't particularly want to talk about it; she just wanted to be here.
"I see. So this was done with an orc-blade." He studied the wound carefully, letting his eyes unfocus slightly as he sought to find the extent of the damage to Magolhith's body. What he saw disturbed him.
"You are poisoned," he said at last, after a long interval of silence in which the unsteadiness of her soft breathing could be heard.
"Doesn't surprise me," she breathed, and managed a slight chuckle. "They are dirty folk as you well know, and coat their blades with all manner of foul things. We have seen worse than this scratch, Elrond, you yourself have felt the effects of their poisons in the war. I will heal; I am already healing."
She drew in a sharp, pained breath as he probed the wound more deeply, and then drew out some of the poison on his thumb. The wound started to bleed more, but he allowed it to, knowing that the flow of blood itself was often a cleansing mechanism.
"Remain there for a few moments; I think they brought my salves and things in with me. I will see what I can do." Rising, he went over to a high table at the other end of the room where Arwen had laid out all their medicinal supplies in order to have them handy. He was amazed to find a pouch containing a small amount of old, dried, but still potent athelas. He wondered where it had come from since he knew full well that they had used up their own supply quickly attempting to heal both he and Arwen on the journey here.
After studying the poison a bit, Elrond decided that it was fortunate indeed that athelas was among the substances available. The particular poison used was one that would quickly sap the strength of the person unlucky enough to be exposed to it, while producing few initial symptoms that could immediately be recognized. It was not the sorcery of the Witch- King that fueled its virulence, but the Dark Art of another master who had come somewhat more newly to the trade than the Nazgul that stabbed his daughter.
Betrayal, it seemed, had more symptoms than the pain he alone felt.
But he could heal the effects of this particular treachery. That, he was confident in. The others might not be so easily remedied with his skills. And still others were out of his hands entirely.
"I wonder, has anyone else shown signs of poisoning?" he asked as he mixed the athelas and a few other ingredients into an existing salve.
"I do not know. I did not stay long among the wounded. But it seems reasonable to me," Magolhith replied, voice still soft.
"I shall have to find out. I do not know if the skills of men are equal to healing the damage it inflicts."
"That bad, eh?" Magolhith bit her lip as she shifted position.
There was a pause. Then Elrond nodded in agreement, his back turned to her and engrossed in his work. She contemplated the graceful lines of his back, his thin frame clad only in the thigh-length tunic and breeches that he wore under his armor. Illness and hard use had claimed some of the flesh of his body, she noted, but it detracted nothing from one so beautiful in spirit that its light shone through in everything he did. If anything, it only made that light shine brighter about him.
While his back was turned, while Elladan remained asleep, Magolhith could allow her feelings to flow through her and the salty tears to come to her eyes. She had not cried when she thought him dead, she had sent her soul after his, reaching out through the astral planes to bind his here before he was taken to Mandos so that he could continue with what was needed. With the people that needed him. And he had told her to go on without him and turned away. Now she felt like crying, when she hadn't then, because to see evidence of suffering he didn't even try to conceal, just went on caring for others as if nothing had changed, hurt her in ways that made her want to murder things. Had made her murder them in the maze below.
She closed her eyes against the tears. Not the best way to honor such a man, if one truly loved them. It had made her feel better to have some vent for frustration down there. Now it felt empty, with the evidence that such acts truly changed nothing before her. But there hadn't really been much of choice for her. They had to fight, had to kill those who would slay them without a thought. They had come all this way in order to warn the Rohirrim, not knowing that Aragorn himself would leave the company of nine himself to do so shortly after they set out from the ruin of Dol Guldur. And so they had done, and now they were stuck until they could fight their way out. Not even the Elf-Lords such as herself and Elrond's family could turn this tide themselves. Not even with what Elrond himself bore.
"Are you making miruvor over there, Elrond?" she asked, forcing her tone to sound light. She opened her eyes half-way to see what he was doing again.
"What? No.Why would you think that?" He seemed to be just standing there, contemplating the rain beating against the darkened windows outside.
"I don't know, it just seems to be taking about as long," she chuckled.
".It takes weeks to make miruvor.and I don't have the necessary ingredients."
"I'm joking Elrond.trying not to fall asleep yet."
"I wasn't. I wish I had what was needed," he said softly.
Magolhith sat up a bit more and scrutinized him. "Elrond, are you trying to tell me I'm dying or something ridiculous?"
He turned around, bewildered. "No.I should be able to help you, Magolhith."
"Oh that's good then. I thought maybe you were thinking miruvor was the only thing that would help with the poison, and really, I didn't feel quite that bad off. What were you thinking?"
"Actually I was thinking that there are probably many wounded people who have this poison in them now. And that there are many of them who will die because they won't know how to treat it. I have to go down there and help. With the rain.they'll be cold and .damp."
Magolhith was on her feet in an instant, grimacing with pain and exhaustion, but the natural grace of an elven master of swords had not yet deserted her. "Arwen is already there, and you're still not well yourself."
"Arwen will not know how to deal with this particularly. She may not even realize they're poisoned until it's too late. I have to do something for them Magolhith," he sighed in frustration and started towards her, salve in hand. "You forget she was wounded as well, Magolhith."
As he came close, she laid a firm hand on his before it could reach for the bandages, stopping him. "I do not forget that you also almost lost your own life trying to save her, and are still feeling those effects. She is much better now. *You* have to *rest*. Write them some instructions."
He shook his head. "It would be pointless. 'The folk of the Rohirrim sing many songs, but write no books.' I will have to instruct the healers personally."
"Then we'll find someone who can read them to them." She was not to be deterred.
"Who would you suggest? I need to be involved anyway. There are things I can do for them their own healers may not be able to." Neither was he.
"My lord High King, at the risk of sounding disrespectful, not everything in the world requires your personal touch, however lovely and exquisitely talented your hands may be. I will go and find someone who can read them. Heavens, I'll read them to them myself if I have to."
"I will go with you. After I have seen to *your* needs." He disengaged his hand and reached for the bandages again.
"You can't possibly have enough energy for all that," she murmured, with distinctively Magolhith innuendo. She was rewarded with a slow blush and aggrieved sigh.
"I was talking about your wound. Its healing is the only 'need' you ought to be considering at this point," he replied, and began to apply the salve.
"I know," she said with a smile that quickly changed to a grimace at the purposeful invasion, however gentle, of her wound. "You're spiteful," she mumbled after a few minutes, carefully studying the back of his neck as a distraction from the pain as he bent over the wound.
"So I've recently been told. I have yet to figure out exactly what people mean, since I myself do not think I spend a great deal of time plotting against my allies. I'm sorry if this is painful, it will be easier to bear once it's had a chance to do its work and draw out the poison."
"It's fine. And they're talking about how you, Mithrandir, and Cirdan always tend to come up with these side plans dealing with events happening West of the Misty Mountains without consulting the council. Celeborn is always muttering about hearing after the fact what this that and the other Elrond and Mithrandir have gotten up to secreted in Imladris. He is still fuming that he was not consulted on the matter of the Quest of Erebor. And complaining that Cirdan refuses to stir himself from the Havens to come to Lorien, but will visit you in your home."
"Actually Cirdan most often sends messengers to us both and can hardly afford to leave the Havens himself. Crossing the Misty Mountains for him would be a grave undertaking. In any case, I don't think Celeborn will have to worry about plots being brewed in Imladris for some time now."
Magolhith blinked. "He won't?" Then, "Oh, how stupid of me. It wasn't that I had forgotten, really, it was just that when I think of Imladris, I don't think of it as a place exactly. I tend to think of it as you, and the other elves there. And well, you're here, and.I am sorry to remind you of it, Elrond."
He isn't really spiteful at all, she thought. It is just that he is so linked to all of us now, more so than ever before. Linked to Arda itself, and it loves him. He has no need to be spiteful, life itself responds to him, and perhaps people get what they deserve for a reason when they confound him. Maybe all the High Kings of the Elves are so attached. Who else besides Gil-Galad ever managed to make *me* feel guilty for teasing them?
Elrond smiled kindly, and adjusted her bandages a final time before straightening and going to clean his hands. "It's alright, Magolhith. As I said before, it could have been much, much worse. No-one was there, and I was able to warn many of the creatures that dwelt there. I doubt the dragons got much for their spoils, either. Buildings can be remade in time." He began looking for quill, ink, and parchment among his things.
"You say that, but I wonder sometimes if you really believe it," she commented, watching him.
He sighed. "I do not truly wish to leave Middle Earth. You know this, and it is why we are here, instead of in our homes. Why I even considered becoming High King in the first place. Right now, yes, I am less concerned with rebuilding than cleansing the corruption of Arda itself. It doesn't mean I do not have hopes for what comes after."
They looked at each other for a moment in silence, both their thoughts turned to a Quest they would not dare speak of. In mutual unspoken agreement, they turned their thoughts deliberately away from it. And though the weight of dread was on them both, they still had hope.
"You said Manwe himself showed you the truth of why we were being called home," Magolhith said at last. "That Middle Earth was dying and could no longer sustain us. That the command of the Valar after the War of Wrath to return to Aman was given in order to save us from being drawn into corruption and annihilated."
Elrond nodded, turning his gaze back to the parchment. His pen scratched briskly over the scroll. "They confirmed what I suspected after long years of watching the darkness grow, yes."
"You did more than just watch, Elrond. And now we are here, and I really hope there isn't a need for you to go challenging Morgoth himself directly again."
"Just our being here is a challenge to the darkness, Magolhith. The Darkness would be content if we left Middle Earth, but even happier if it had a part in prolonging our misery before we did so. I cannot say what else will be required of me in the future. Besides, I did succeed in what I wished to do." There was a hint of something in his tone, and Magolhith crept a little to the side to better see his expression from where she was behind him. Yes, she thought she caught the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, and it made her smile too. This was her High King, she thought, and pride swelled in her own heart.
"Mmm hmm.yes, you saved us all that time, and I will tactfully not bring up the fact that you died in order to do it. Oops.sorry." She could not resist teasing him about it a little.
There was a long pause, during which Elrond said nothing, only glancing off into the gloom of the fire-lit room towards the windows shadowed in the night. Magolhith began mentally castigating herself again, wondering if she had hurt his feelings in some unknowable way, and moved closer to him.
"Elrond?" she inquired softly, and he blinked. Facing her with an absent smile, he shook his head.
"What is it," she asked as he still said nothing.
"Just.dreams."
"What dreams Elrond?"
"I'll explain later. Let us go and find the healers."
"Hmm.very well, if you truly insist."
They left the room quietly closing the door behind them and made their way down the stairs, supporting each other like drunken Corsairs as their injuries weakened their sense of balance. Arwen, they discovered, had departed on some mission of her own just before they arrived. Ruefully Elrond thought she probably had gone back to his rooms to fetch something from the store of medicines there and smiled to himself at the idea that they had only just missed her. The healers also confirmed that none would be able to read his directions, but the mention of letters seemed to give them pride as they told him that King Theoden knew how to read. He had spent his youth in Gondor.
After checking some of the wounded personally, they made their way back up the long stairs to search out the King in his chambers. They encountered no-one on their way, as all were either in preparation for the next battle or recovering from wounds.
King Theoden was quite surprised to see him. He was even more surprised when the newly-made High-King of Elves in Middle Earth fainted away in a dead sleep on the doorstep of his rooms. As Magolhith caught him against her bad side, both their knees buckled, but she managed to support them both enough so the swooning Elven-Lord didn't bang his head on the floor.
The scroll he had come there to give the King rolled out of his hand and onto the floor. It was somewhat ignored in the ensuing chaos.
If you're asking yourself why I bothered agonizing, it's because I really feel that Mary Sues get a bad rap (mostly from annoying picky critics like myself). Self-insertion is not what you're supposed to strive for, I don't think, not if we're talking about just putting on Elrond's circlet and saying "What would *I* do in this situation?" meaning with your personality and character traits. I think you're supposed to say "What would I do if I were in *their* shoes given all that's happened before?" which means you step into the characters' lives and history and personality, not just their clothes.
When a Mary Sue achieves this then it goes beyond what I consider the term. So you can flame me for hypocritically stating this story wouldn't be a Mary Sue in the beginning, I don't mind. You and I can argue over the distinction I'm making or whether I actually achieved my own goals.
Also, this story is necessarily Alternate Universe. I mean, how could such a crossover not be? So the history and events of the LOTR books and probably even the Sil are being mangled here by me to make a lot of things possible that didn't happen in those stories. If you don't like that, why are you reading a X-over fic in the first place? Come to think of it, why are you reading fanfic at all? Ah.anyway! Things get more explained in future chapters so if you're just confused hang in there.
One more note: Magolhith means The Mist-Blade in Sindarin.
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Chapter Four: Eye of the Storm
"Perhaps a sling.torn muscles.he can be so stubborn though."
Elrond awoke to the soft sound of his own voice in the silence of an empty room and opened his eyes. Could he really have fallen asleep again? This was becoming so inconvenient. He needed to keep his wits about him, needed to be awake and heal. But the fever still burned in him, although he was feeling far better than he had when he lay on the cold grassy downs between the Entwash and the Limlight six days ago.
Where was Arwen?
He looked around and recognized his room in the halls of Helm's Deep. He was alone for once, and smiled mischievously as he rose and stretched. Any moment now, Arwen or one of the other members of the small, strange company that had traveled south from the army of Lothlorien would come in and scold him for getting out of bed. Their love for him was very dear to him, especially upon returning from death in such a way.
But death and the return from it, along with the items he still carried with him, gave him a greater sight than they could know. For which he was very grateful, although it was a selfish thing perhaps. There was much responsibility that sight gave him, and his spirit fought against the weight of it. The full weight of being High King of the Elves was greater than anyone except another who had borne that burden themselves could know, especially in such times. He needed to be doing things, and the others would have to accept it despite their good intentions.
Elrond managed to make himself some tea, grateful for the small fireplace at the end of the room. He felt he had drunk enough water, not to mention other fluids his daughter was constantly urging him to drink along their journey and his subsequent convalescence here in the refuge of Helm's Deep. He had slept and regained consciousness at various intervals, helpless to hold back the sudden periods of black fatigue that would overcome him after unpredictable lengths of time. It was time to take charge of his own affairs.
He knew what was happening outside.
Feeding the fire a bit more, he slipped back into his bed and under the covers. He still expected Arwen or Elladan to come into the room and catch him, and smiled with amusement at the thought of the scolding that would ensue. He was still smiling as he drank the last of his tea, and the fever-sleep stole over him again.
He awoke an hour later; hardly knowing he had slept. Reflexively he went to take another sip of tea, and discovered to his annoyance that he had dropped the cup and it had rolled under the bed. He also discovered that Elladan lay in the great bed beside him, asleep from utter exhaustion. He lay still for a few moments, then gently moved away from his son and leaned over the side of the bed. His hand stole quietly from beneath the covers and searched blindly underneath the frame for the recalcitrant vessel.
There was a soft *thock*, and the sound of the cup rolling against the paneled floor. A moment later he felt it connect solidly with his hand, almost as if it had been searching for him as well. Bemused, he stared at it, blinking in the dim firelight, and contemplated what had happened.
"It rolled under the bed and up against my foot," a voice said very quietly. It was so quiet and different from her usual bold tones that it took a moment for him to register the identity of the speaker.
Sitting back up, he looked over at Magolhith with such a look of shy, mischievous guilt that she was hard pressed not to laugh. Well, not that hard pressed. She was as exhausted as Elladan and nursing a wound in her side. She winced as the chuckle escaped her as a soft wheeze and cursed herself for doing so. She knew already that his keen eyes would catch the reflex and he would ask about it. She did not want him to trouble himself in his state.
Too late. Elrond slowly disengaged himself from the bedcovers and stood up despite the frown Magolhith gave him. Silently he approached her where she sat on the floor, legs outstretched before her and back pressed against the warmth of the stones framing the fireplace.
"No, Elrond, I'm fine. There's no need for you get up; please, your children will carve me up if they find out I woke you."
"You didn't wake me. I was already awake and needed to get up anyway. Now," he said, ignoring her softly spoken protests and kneeling beside her. "You would not have come in here if you did not wish to gain my attentions in any case. So then what has happened to you?"
Magolhith glanced at Elladan to make certain he was still sleeping, then looked back at Elrond. His warm fingers were already loosening the haphazard bandages that bound her side, probing the wound there, and she succumbed to the inevitable. You might as well ask a nightingale not to sing as tell Elrond to ignore a wound, however slight. It was in his nature to heal, as it was in all elves to some degree, and she would not change it for anything.
"Actually, I think I just wanted to be near you. You look so lovely when you sleep, the only thing better is to have you awake so that those seawater gems you call your eyes are open to the world and I can lose myself in their depths," she countered, trying to distract him.
The complex compliment failed of course, though she knew by the hesitance in his eyes that he was wondering if she was going to kiss him. It made her smile. She absolutely loved it when he was shy, although it could be a sweet frustration as well. Only those close to him would see this side of him, despite the fact that he hardly tried to hide it. He was both a mystery and a revelation to all those who knew him. At times he was so honest, so forthright, and as merry as the warm summer stars. At others, he was as mysterious, subtle, and inexorable as a chill autumn wind.
That was a good metaphor, she thought, pleased with herself. She would save it for another poem for him, another time. Right now, it would only be wasted. He was looking at her sternly now, waiting for her to respond to his question.
"The orcs of course, and the Dunlendings. Saruman's forces. They attacked in the night, as you must know by now, and we had to fight them off at the gate. Then." She trailed off, not knowing how to describe the mad chase to head off the ones who had broken through in the caves below the refuge, the fury that had overtaken her and driven her, Gimli, and the others into the maze to slay them all. Blood lust was not a good thing for an elf to feel, she thought, despite the heady rush of power and ecstasy she felt when she was at one with her blades. You didn't have to lose yourself in killing in order to be satisfied in your skill. It was dangerous and corruptive, and it was another reason she wanted to be here in this room, close to Elrond. She didn't particularly want to talk about it; she just wanted to be here.
"I see. So this was done with an orc-blade." He studied the wound carefully, letting his eyes unfocus slightly as he sought to find the extent of the damage to Magolhith's body. What he saw disturbed him.
"You are poisoned," he said at last, after a long interval of silence in which the unsteadiness of her soft breathing could be heard.
"Doesn't surprise me," she breathed, and managed a slight chuckle. "They are dirty folk as you well know, and coat their blades with all manner of foul things. We have seen worse than this scratch, Elrond, you yourself have felt the effects of their poisons in the war. I will heal; I am already healing."
She drew in a sharp, pained breath as he probed the wound more deeply, and then drew out some of the poison on his thumb. The wound started to bleed more, but he allowed it to, knowing that the flow of blood itself was often a cleansing mechanism.
"Remain there for a few moments; I think they brought my salves and things in with me. I will see what I can do." Rising, he went over to a high table at the other end of the room where Arwen had laid out all their medicinal supplies in order to have them handy. He was amazed to find a pouch containing a small amount of old, dried, but still potent athelas. He wondered where it had come from since he knew full well that they had used up their own supply quickly attempting to heal both he and Arwen on the journey here.
After studying the poison a bit, Elrond decided that it was fortunate indeed that athelas was among the substances available. The particular poison used was one that would quickly sap the strength of the person unlucky enough to be exposed to it, while producing few initial symptoms that could immediately be recognized. It was not the sorcery of the Witch- King that fueled its virulence, but the Dark Art of another master who had come somewhat more newly to the trade than the Nazgul that stabbed his daughter.
Betrayal, it seemed, had more symptoms than the pain he alone felt.
But he could heal the effects of this particular treachery. That, he was confident in. The others might not be so easily remedied with his skills. And still others were out of his hands entirely.
"I wonder, has anyone else shown signs of poisoning?" he asked as he mixed the athelas and a few other ingredients into an existing salve.
"I do not know. I did not stay long among the wounded. But it seems reasonable to me," Magolhith replied, voice still soft.
"I shall have to find out. I do not know if the skills of men are equal to healing the damage it inflicts."
"That bad, eh?" Magolhith bit her lip as she shifted position.
There was a pause. Then Elrond nodded in agreement, his back turned to her and engrossed in his work. She contemplated the graceful lines of his back, his thin frame clad only in the thigh-length tunic and breeches that he wore under his armor. Illness and hard use had claimed some of the flesh of his body, she noted, but it detracted nothing from one so beautiful in spirit that its light shone through in everything he did. If anything, it only made that light shine brighter about him.
While his back was turned, while Elladan remained asleep, Magolhith could allow her feelings to flow through her and the salty tears to come to her eyes. She had not cried when she thought him dead, she had sent her soul after his, reaching out through the astral planes to bind his here before he was taken to Mandos so that he could continue with what was needed. With the people that needed him. And he had told her to go on without him and turned away. Now she felt like crying, when she hadn't then, because to see evidence of suffering he didn't even try to conceal, just went on caring for others as if nothing had changed, hurt her in ways that made her want to murder things. Had made her murder them in the maze below.
She closed her eyes against the tears. Not the best way to honor such a man, if one truly loved them. It had made her feel better to have some vent for frustration down there. Now it felt empty, with the evidence that such acts truly changed nothing before her. But there hadn't really been much of choice for her. They had to fight, had to kill those who would slay them without a thought. They had come all this way in order to warn the Rohirrim, not knowing that Aragorn himself would leave the company of nine himself to do so shortly after they set out from the ruin of Dol Guldur. And so they had done, and now they were stuck until they could fight their way out. Not even the Elf-Lords such as herself and Elrond's family could turn this tide themselves. Not even with what Elrond himself bore.
"Are you making miruvor over there, Elrond?" she asked, forcing her tone to sound light. She opened her eyes half-way to see what he was doing again.
"What? No.Why would you think that?" He seemed to be just standing there, contemplating the rain beating against the darkened windows outside.
"I don't know, it just seems to be taking about as long," she chuckled.
".It takes weeks to make miruvor.and I don't have the necessary ingredients."
"I'm joking Elrond.trying not to fall asleep yet."
"I wasn't. I wish I had what was needed," he said softly.
Magolhith sat up a bit more and scrutinized him. "Elrond, are you trying to tell me I'm dying or something ridiculous?"
He turned around, bewildered. "No.I should be able to help you, Magolhith."
"Oh that's good then. I thought maybe you were thinking miruvor was the only thing that would help with the poison, and really, I didn't feel quite that bad off. What were you thinking?"
"Actually I was thinking that there are probably many wounded people who have this poison in them now. And that there are many of them who will die because they won't know how to treat it. I have to go down there and help. With the rain.they'll be cold and .damp."
Magolhith was on her feet in an instant, grimacing with pain and exhaustion, but the natural grace of an elven master of swords had not yet deserted her. "Arwen is already there, and you're still not well yourself."
"Arwen will not know how to deal with this particularly. She may not even realize they're poisoned until it's too late. I have to do something for them Magolhith," he sighed in frustration and started towards her, salve in hand. "You forget she was wounded as well, Magolhith."
As he came close, she laid a firm hand on his before it could reach for the bandages, stopping him. "I do not forget that you also almost lost your own life trying to save her, and are still feeling those effects. She is much better now. *You* have to *rest*. Write them some instructions."
He shook his head. "It would be pointless. 'The folk of the Rohirrim sing many songs, but write no books.' I will have to instruct the healers personally."
"Then we'll find someone who can read them to them." She was not to be deterred.
"Who would you suggest? I need to be involved anyway. There are things I can do for them their own healers may not be able to." Neither was he.
"My lord High King, at the risk of sounding disrespectful, not everything in the world requires your personal touch, however lovely and exquisitely talented your hands may be. I will go and find someone who can read them. Heavens, I'll read them to them myself if I have to."
"I will go with you. After I have seen to *your* needs." He disengaged his hand and reached for the bandages again.
"You can't possibly have enough energy for all that," she murmured, with distinctively Magolhith innuendo. She was rewarded with a slow blush and aggrieved sigh.
"I was talking about your wound. Its healing is the only 'need' you ought to be considering at this point," he replied, and began to apply the salve.
"I know," she said with a smile that quickly changed to a grimace at the purposeful invasion, however gentle, of her wound. "You're spiteful," she mumbled after a few minutes, carefully studying the back of his neck as a distraction from the pain as he bent over the wound.
"So I've recently been told. I have yet to figure out exactly what people mean, since I myself do not think I spend a great deal of time plotting against my allies. I'm sorry if this is painful, it will be easier to bear once it's had a chance to do its work and draw out the poison."
"It's fine. And they're talking about how you, Mithrandir, and Cirdan always tend to come up with these side plans dealing with events happening West of the Misty Mountains without consulting the council. Celeborn is always muttering about hearing after the fact what this that and the other Elrond and Mithrandir have gotten up to secreted in Imladris. He is still fuming that he was not consulted on the matter of the Quest of Erebor. And complaining that Cirdan refuses to stir himself from the Havens to come to Lorien, but will visit you in your home."
"Actually Cirdan most often sends messengers to us both and can hardly afford to leave the Havens himself. Crossing the Misty Mountains for him would be a grave undertaking. In any case, I don't think Celeborn will have to worry about plots being brewed in Imladris for some time now."
Magolhith blinked. "He won't?" Then, "Oh, how stupid of me. It wasn't that I had forgotten, really, it was just that when I think of Imladris, I don't think of it as a place exactly. I tend to think of it as you, and the other elves there. And well, you're here, and.I am sorry to remind you of it, Elrond."
He isn't really spiteful at all, she thought. It is just that he is so linked to all of us now, more so than ever before. Linked to Arda itself, and it loves him. He has no need to be spiteful, life itself responds to him, and perhaps people get what they deserve for a reason when they confound him. Maybe all the High Kings of the Elves are so attached. Who else besides Gil-Galad ever managed to make *me* feel guilty for teasing them?
Elrond smiled kindly, and adjusted her bandages a final time before straightening and going to clean his hands. "It's alright, Magolhith. As I said before, it could have been much, much worse. No-one was there, and I was able to warn many of the creatures that dwelt there. I doubt the dragons got much for their spoils, either. Buildings can be remade in time." He began looking for quill, ink, and parchment among his things.
"You say that, but I wonder sometimes if you really believe it," she commented, watching him.
He sighed. "I do not truly wish to leave Middle Earth. You know this, and it is why we are here, instead of in our homes. Why I even considered becoming High King in the first place. Right now, yes, I am less concerned with rebuilding than cleansing the corruption of Arda itself. It doesn't mean I do not have hopes for what comes after."
They looked at each other for a moment in silence, both their thoughts turned to a Quest they would not dare speak of. In mutual unspoken agreement, they turned their thoughts deliberately away from it. And though the weight of dread was on them both, they still had hope.
"You said Manwe himself showed you the truth of why we were being called home," Magolhith said at last. "That Middle Earth was dying and could no longer sustain us. That the command of the Valar after the War of Wrath to return to Aman was given in order to save us from being drawn into corruption and annihilated."
Elrond nodded, turning his gaze back to the parchment. His pen scratched briskly over the scroll. "They confirmed what I suspected after long years of watching the darkness grow, yes."
"You did more than just watch, Elrond. And now we are here, and I really hope there isn't a need for you to go challenging Morgoth himself directly again."
"Just our being here is a challenge to the darkness, Magolhith. The Darkness would be content if we left Middle Earth, but even happier if it had a part in prolonging our misery before we did so. I cannot say what else will be required of me in the future. Besides, I did succeed in what I wished to do." There was a hint of something in his tone, and Magolhith crept a little to the side to better see his expression from where she was behind him. Yes, she thought she caught the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, and it made her smile too. This was her High King, she thought, and pride swelled in her own heart.
"Mmm hmm.yes, you saved us all that time, and I will tactfully not bring up the fact that you died in order to do it. Oops.sorry." She could not resist teasing him about it a little.
There was a long pause, during which Elrond said nothing, only glancing off into the gloom of the fire-lit room towards the windows shadowed in the night. Magolhith began mentally castigating herself again, wondering if she had hurt his feelings in some unknowable way, and moved closer to him.
"Elrond?" she inquired softly, and he blinked. Facing her with an absent smile, he shook his head.
"What is it," she asked as he still said nothing.
"Just.dreams."
"What dreams Elrond?"
"I'll explain later. Let us go and find the healers."
"Hmm.very well, if you truly insist."
They left the room quietly closing the door behind them and made their way down the stairs, supporting each other like drunken Corsairs as their injuries weakened their sense of balance. Arwen, they discovered, had departed on some mission of her own just before they arrived. Ruefully Elrond thought she probably had gone back to his rooms to fetch something from the store of medicines there and smiled to himself at the idea that they had only just missed her. The healers also confirmed that none would be able to read his directions, but the mention of letters seemed to give them pride as they told him that King Theoden knew how to read. He had spent his youth in Gondor.
After checking some of the wounded personally, they made their way back up the long stairs to search out the King in his chambers. They encountered no-one on their way, as all were either in preparation for the next battle or recovering from wounds.
King Theoden was quite surprised to see him. He was even more surprised when the newly-made High-King of Elves in Middle Earth fainted away in a dead sleep on the doorstep of his rooms. As Magolhith caught him against her bad side, both their knees buckled, but she managed to support them both enough so the swooning Elven-Lord didn't bang his head on the floor.
The scroll he had come there to give the King rolled out of his hand and onto the floor. It was somewhat ignored in the ensuing chaos.