Author's note: well…here we go again…
Disclaimer: I own the unconscious elf. And that's about it for now.
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Too Much
By eck
Elrond sighed deeply as he tried to still his shaking hands but it was no use. Blood was splattered across his robes and dripped from his finger tips. He raised one hand to wipe his brow but ended up smearing blood in a line across his forehead that ended beyond his hairline.
The airy healer's room was softly glowing as the sun rose to greet the new day and the curtains were slightly ruffled at the cool breeze.
Tiredly, Elrond allowed his eyes to rest on Glorfindel.
The blonde elf was sprawled across a nearby sleep couch in a very un-elvish manner. Glazed blue eyes stared in the direction of the sunrise and soft puffs of air escaped the rosy lips on regular intervals. Blood was also splattered across his robes and there also some in his hair.
I wish I could sleep. It's been a long night…too long…Elrond sighed and turned to look at the elf that had occupied his attentions all night.
Crisp white bandages were wrapped around what had been a mass of blood and flesh. How the elf had managed to run almost to the very gates of Rivendell surpassed Elrond's comprehension.
Elrond estimated the elf to be in his third millennia and a warrior. Lean muscles decorated the white arms and what one could see of the chest. Dark hair, almost black, was swept back in a hasty ponytail that one of the healers had fashioned to keep it out of the way. The most interesting feature of the elf, Elrond thought, was the thin scar that began at the elf's mouth and stretched to his left ear.
Moving with the grace of his people, Elrond touched the elf's forehead and grimaced when he felt the warmness of the fever signifying infection. He reached to the side and grabbed a damp cloth which he laid over the warm forehead. That would suffice for now.
"Glorfindel?"
The said elf's eyes snapped into focus to stare at the Lord of Rivendell. "Mhm?" he murmured through sleep heavy lips.
Elrond smiled wearily. "Could you tell the cook I am ready for a little meal and to bring some water for the injured one? I am afraid he has developed something of a fever."
Glorfindell grumbled lightly. "As soon as I can convince my legs to move I will be happy to fulfill your requests."
Slowly, Elrond lowered himself into a soft chair beside the injured elf's side. "Do not make it too long, nin mellon. I am not sure how long my stomach can wait."
With a grunt of chagrinned assent, Glorfindel rose to his feet and silently moved from the room. "Be back soon."
Elrond watched him go and then turned back to the dark haired elf. "What caused you to be running through my forests at such an hour, astalder nin? And with such an injury?" Nimble hands checked the bandages. "I only wish I could guarantee your survival."
There was no response from the still elf.
Elrond looked back down at his blood y hands, testament of the battle he had fought with death the night before. "I should go wash," he murmured to himself. "In just a moment I will."
When Glorfindel returned a few moments later, he found the Lord of the Last Homely House fast asleep.
Four horses clattered into the courtyard of Rivendell. The first one had barely reached the stone steps before he half dismounted, half tumbled from his horse and commenced to retching on the cool marble.
The second rider was only a moment behind. He gracefully dismounted and fell beside his friend, supporting his back through the heaves. His face was clearly distressed and an unreadable emotion shone in the deep blue eyes. His blonde hair was in the traditional braids of a warrior, but at the moment, was extremely disheveled.
The last two also dismounted and knelt besides the first two offering soothing words. Their identical hair and faces set them apart as twins.
Finally emptying the contents of his stomach, the dark haired man turned to the blonde supporting to him. "Why, Legolas, why did…?" his sentenced trailed off as he once again began to heave.
Legolas made no response but stared up at the bright sky with his jaw working fiercely.
Elrohir watched his adopted brother and dear friend comfort each other and then turned to his twin. " 'Dan?" he murmured.
Turning to look at him, Elladan's eyes clearly showed the horror of what he had just seen. The wide eyes shut briefly and Elladan found his vision filled with dead elves, mothers, fathers, elfilings not even to their majority, lovers, maidens, warriors: all dead, with identical looks of horror on their faces. And the blood… he forced his thoughts to stop there, blocking out the rest of the ghastly images. "I don't know, 'Roh," he whispered. "I just don't know."
A commotion sounded from within Elrond's palace as the elves became alert to their return. Tumultuous voices shouted instructions and feet pounded towards their position.
Making a noticeable effort to pull himself together, Aragorn managed to make it to his feet, leaning heavily on Legolas' lithe frame.
Elrohir noted wryly that the Prince of Mirkwood looked no better than his little brother. He reached out a hand to steady the swaying prince. "Let's get inside before we all collapse."
Woozily, Aragorn looked up at the entrance to the palace, for the first time aware of the murmuring servants gathered among the decorative pillars. "Elladan," he muttered, "they didn't know…"
Legolas hushed him gently.
Suddenly, the murmuring of the servants ceased as Lord Elrond, followed by Glorfindel, swept through their midst and down the steps to greet his sons. His gaze landed on Aragorn and his eyes clouded over with worry. "Come in."
Legolas helped the trembling Aragorn into the house with the twins following close behind to make sure he didn't fall.
Elrond led them into the kitchen while Glorfindel ran on ahead to order one of the servants to prepare hot drinks for all of them.
When Lord Elrond was content that all of them were drinking the liquid, he asked the burning question.
"What happened?" Worry lines creased Lord's brow.
When it became apparent that no one was going to answer, Elladan took charge. "We tracked the elf's footsteps and it led us to an elven camp." He swallowed hard. "Except all the elves were dead." Blood flashed through his vision as well as horror filled eyes and vital organs strewn over the forest floor. "It was…horrific…there had been some evil magic at work. I could feel it in the air."
Legolas nodded his agreement. "There were well over two hundred elves, all ages and sex. They had all brutally slaughtered. Apparently the one running towards our gates last night was the only one who escaped. For…" his voice broke for a moment, "we found none others in the carnage though we did our best to look."
Elrond's eyes rested on his adopted son. "I had feared…I did not know it would be that bad."
"How is he?"
"The elf? A the moment, he is resting. I cannot say if he will survive much longer or not." Elrond sighed heavily, the weight of what had happened resting on him like a heavy stone. "He has withdrawn deep within his own mind, it seems as though he witnessed something horrific. I can imagine that he must have witnessed the slaughter."
The foursome looked sick at his words.
Elrond continued, "If he does not awake soon, I believe he will die. His mind is not in this fight and he needs it to be desperately."
A silence descended over the room, only broken by Aragorn's quite sobs.
"They were all dead, Ada," he whispered. "many of them didn't even have a chance to draw their weapons. Who would kill like that in such cold blood?" his voice trailed off and he leaned more heavily against Legolas.
Glorfindel spoke up, "I think we should all take some rest before we return to the…place and discover what has befallen these elves."
Elrond nodded. "I will send word to Lothlorien as soon as possible. The Lady will surely help us." He looked to his twin sons and made a subtle motion to get Aragorn and Legolas to bed. "Rest all of you, we will see what the rest of the day brings."
//Author's note: not enough action…owell…the action will soon be coming, I just have to build to it a little. Read and review//
