Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters
and/or places thereof
*****
"Sweet Eru," Elladan gasped. "Oh, lady." He dropped to the ground beside her, his knee catching what his eye did not. "You used this, my Lady?" he asked, hardly wincing as he drew the dagger from beneath his knee. The blood on the blade was not Orcish, but Elladan did not worry: it likely was his own. Yet no Orcs lay nearby. . ."Lady?" he asked urgently. She was looking faint.
"Lord Elladan. . ." her voice trailed off, and with the same vague qualities her hand trailed to her dress, where she brushed aside folds of fabric to reveal a bloody stain. The material too was torn here, though Elladan felt not guilty for looking upon her bare skin under such circumstances.
"Just wait, Lady Gilraen, please. My brother is the healer, not I." He cursed himself for never learning more of healing. Rarely would it be that Elladan needed tend any wounds on a lady's abdomen, and so it was that he knew little of this area. "Please, I will be just one moment."
Elladan left Lady Gilraen and turned, ran a few paces and stopped. Where was Elrohir? Elladan panicked. "Elrohir!" he shouted, his voice carrying well across the settlement. "Elrohir!" His second cry was shrill and did not carry so far, and for a moment Elladan worried that his brother was not coming. "What am I going to do?" he asked himself. "What shall I do?"
He sky had turned now from grey to pink to blue, and at last morning was under way. The niceties of day were perversion then: birdcalls, blue sky unbroken, all of it sickening. So many had been lost, the thought of taking pleasure in beauty simply disgusted. How long had Gilraen lasted, lying in the dirt? What would happen if her incision had become infected?
"Elladan, what is it?"
"Elrohir! Oh, thank Elbereth for you, Elrohir. Lady Gilraen is over here. . .she is hurt, Elrohir, she needs your help," Elladan managed, a gush of words amidst his worry.
Elrohir nodded, not needing to ask what had happened, for something had disturbed Elladan. This, of course, was not Gilraen's blood, but simply his panic, the sudden jolt of realizing that she indeed might die. "Where is she?"
The twins returned together to the place where Gilraen lay, and as outsiders they observed the scene, and both knew at once from where and whom her injury had come.
*****
"My Lady?"
Many hours had passed. Gilraen had recovered well from her surgery, which had indeed been necessary, and now rested, looking haunted, a blanket resting over her shoulders. For the most part, Gilraen was left alone, her sorrow apparent. As someone addressed her, she turned her face toward the speaker.
"My Lady, your son. . ."
She had been prepared for the death of young Aragorn. What she had not been prepared for was his survival. Seeing one of the Elven twins--she could not tell one from the other, but had earlier guessed which had found her-- holding her child out to her shocked her. He had died, of this her certainties had been secure. Seeing him now alive sunk her, and she sobbed, hiding her face in her arms.
"He has some instinct for survival, it seems, or a great luck," Elrohir said, hoping to comfort the lady. He expected her to be pleased that her son lived, that the terrors of the night had passed and that despite her losses, for Arathorn's death was well known, her child lived on.
Then Elrohir understood. Surely the lady had known when she made that incision exactly what she would do. Though her claim was that she would not have her child fall to the hands of the Orcs, Elrohir understood that this was not so. Gilraen's attempt to remove her child from her womb had been selfish. She grasped at an opportunity. Sick of duty, of acting as a leader, or as a wife, or as mother to this ill young boy, or another post Elrohir knew not of, when she suspected (or had she seen?) her lord dead, suspected Aragorn dead, she had taken the chance to rid herself of Isildur's second heir.
Elrohir thought he would be sick. Gilraen had succeeded, but not by her hand--by Elrohir's. For Gilraen's survival, and because the child would have died no matter what, Elrohir had given the woman the quickest anesthetic possible: he asked Elladan to hit her over the head to knock her unconscious. Then Elrohir had taken a dagger, rubbed it with spirits and heated it over a fire, then cut further into the woman. . .he had removed her unborn child. He hated himself for it, but he had done what was necessary. He thought her injury had been sustained in some noble fashion, thought himself only a healer. Did this make him a murderer?
Aragorn reached for his mother and whimpered. The Elf was strange, and even Mama hardly seemed like Mama. . .and his fear had not left. "Lady, will you not take your child?" Elrohir asked. No response came. "Gilraen!" Elrohir barked, surprising the woman and himself. "Aragorn cries for you, will you not comfort him?"
"I want naught to do with him," Gilraen stated, her eyes frozen. "I am no- one's mother."
"It is shock that causes you to say such things!" Elrohir chided as he held the squirming child tighter. It would not do for him to slip from Elrohir's hold and break his neck--mortal children were so fragile!
"Elrohir," Elladan said, appearing suddenly at his twin's elbow. "Let me hold him a moment." Elrohir handed the two-year-old to Elladan without a second thought. Elladan folded himself to the ground and held the boy upright against his chest, rocking him gently. "Hush now, shh, it is all right," he soothed gently, surprising Gilraen and Elrohir, who turned to stare at him. Aragorn continued to cry, but without his earlier dedication to the task. "There, shh." Folding strands of dark hair behind the child's ear, Elladan whispered a song for Aragorn only to hear. In moments his whimpers ceased, and though he clung to Elladan and sucked his thumb, Aragorn slipped into sleep.
"His mind is underdeveloped," Elladan stated in a quiet voice. "It is just like calming a horse. What do you mean to do with him, Gilraen? Aragorn is in grave danger, and needs protecting."
"Where can I send him to safety?" Gilraen asked, transfixed.
"Imladris," Elladan answered at once, earning him a harsh look from Elrohir. "There is no safer place."
"Elladan," Elrohir warned in Elvish, "you know how Father feels--"
"I am extending this invitation to the Lady and her child," Elladan returned. "What is your decision, Lady Gilraen?"
*****
"I cannot believe you, Elladan! What will Father say?" Elrohir asked, as the twins prepared their horses. Elladan tightened up his cinch, neither answering nor ignoring Elrohir. "What state are you in to raise a child, especially one you expect to die? Oh!" Elrohir gasped. "So that is your plan! You expect him to die! What shall you do if he does not?"
Elladan tugged his saddle a little towards him, then answered, "I will hope, my dear brother. I will hope." In his fury, Elrohir did not ask what Elladan would be hoping for.
*****
To be continued
One more chapter, I think
Author's note: I feel the need to apologize for this chapter. It was written over the course of a week, a bit every morning, so if it's a little choppy. . .that's why. Anyway, better than nothing.
*****
"Sweet Eru," Elladan gasped. "Oh, lady." He dropped to the ground beside her, his knee catching what his eye did not. "You used this, my Lady?" he asked, hardly wincing as he drew the dagger from beneath his knee. The blood on the blade was not Orcish, but Elladan did not worry: it likely was his own. Yet no Orcs lay nearby. . ."Lady?" he asked urgently. She was looking faint.
"Lord Elladan. . ." her voice trailed off, and with the same vague qualities her hand trailed to her dress, where she brushed aside folds of fabric to reveal a bloody stain. The material too was torn here, though Elladan felt not guilty for looking upon her bare skin under such circumstances.
"Just wait, Lady Gilraen, please. My brother is the healer, not I." He cursed himself for never learning more of healing. Rarely would it be that Elladan needed tend any wounds on a lady's abdomen, and so it was that he knew little of this area. "Please, I will be just one moment."
Elladan left Lady Gilraen and turned, ran a few paces and stopped. Where was Elrohir? Elladan panicked. "Elrohir!" he shouted, his voice carrying well across the settlement. "Elrohir!" His second cry was shrill and did not carry so far, and for a moment Elladan worried that his brother was not coming. "What am I going to do?" he asked himself. "What shall I do?"
He sky had turned now from grey to pink to blue, and at last morning was under way. The niceties of day were perversion then: birdcalls, blue sky unbroken, all of it sickening. So many had been lost, the thought of taking pleasure in beauty simply disgusted. How long had Gilraen lasted, lying in the dirt? What would happen if her incision had become infected?
"Elladan, what is it?"
"Elrohir! Oh, thank Elbereth for you, Elrohir. Lady Gilraen is over here. . .she is hurt, Elrohir, she needs your help," Elladan managed, a gush of words amidst his worry.
Elrohir nodded, not needing to ask what had happened, for something had disturbed Elladan. This, of course, was not Gilraen's blood, but simply his panic, the sudden jolt of realizing that she indeed might die. "Where is she?"
The twins returned together to the place where Gilraen lay, and as outsiders they observed the scene, and both knew at once from where and whom her injury had come.
*****
"My Lady?"
Many hours had passed. Gilraen had recovered well from her surgery, which had indeed been necessary, and now rested, looking haunted, a blanket resting over her shoulders. For the most part, Gilraen was left alone, her sorrow apparent. As someone addressed her, she turned her face toward the speaker.
"My Lady, your son. . ."
She had been prepared for the death of young Aragorn. What she had not been prepared for was his survival. Seeing one of the Elven twins--she could not tell one from the other, but had earlier guessed which had found her-- holding her child out to her shocked her. He had died, of this her certainties had been secure. Seeing him now alive sunk her, and she sobbed, hiding her face in her arms.
"He has some instinct for survival, it seems, or a great luck," Elrohir said, hoping to comfort the lady. He expected her to be pleased that her son lived, that the terrors of the night had passed and that despite her losses, for Arathorn's death was well known, her child lived on.
Then Elrohir understood. Surely the lady had known when she made that incision exactly what she would do. Though her claim was that she would not have her child fall to the hands of the Orcs, Elrohir understood that this was not so. Gilraen's attempt to remove her child from her womb had been selfish. She grasped at an opportunity. Sick of duty, of acting as a leader, or as a wife, or as mother to this ill young boy, or another post Elrohir knew not of, when she suspected (or had she seen?) her lord dead, suspected Aragorn dead, she had taken the chance to rid herself of Isildur's second heir.
Elrohir thought he would be sick. Gilraen had succeeded, but not by her hand--by Elrohir's. For Gilraen's survival, and because the child would have died no matter what, Elrohir had given the woman the quickest anesthetic possible: he asked Elladan to hit her over the head to knock her unconscious. Then Elrohir had taken a dagger, rubbed it with spirits and heated it over a fire, then cut further into the woman. . .he had removed her unborn child. He hated himself for it, but he had done what was necessary. He thought her injury had been sustained in some noble fashion, thought himself only a healer. Did this make him a murderer?
Aragorn reached for his mother and whimpered. The Elf was strange, and even Mama hardly seemed like Mama. . .and his fear had not left. "Lady, will you not take your child?" Elrohir asked. No response came. "Gilraen!" Elrohir barked, surprising the woman and himself. "Aragorn cries for you, will you not comfort him?"
"I want naught to do with him," Gilraen stated, her eyes frozen. "I am no- one's mother."
"It is shock that causes you to say such things!" Elrohir chided as he held the squirming child tighter. It would not do for him to slip from Elrohir's hold and break his neck--mortal children were so fragile!
"Elrohir," Elladan said, appearing suddenly at his twin's elbow. "Let me hold him a moment." Elrohir handed the two-year-old to Elladan without a second thought. Elladan folded himself to the ground and held the boy upright against his chest, rocking him gently. "Hush now, shh, it is all right," he soothed gently, surprising Gilraen and Elrohir, who turned to stare at him. Aragorn continued to cry, but without his earlier dedication to the task. "There, shh." Folding strands of dark hair behind the child's ear, Elladan whispered a song for Aragorn only to hear. In moments his whimpers ceased, and though he clung to Elladan and sucked his thumb, Aragorn slipped into sleep.
"His mind is underdeveloped," Elladan stated in a quiet voice. "It is just like calming a horse. What do you mean to do with him, Gilraen? Aragorn is in grave danger, and needs protecting."
"Where can I send him to safety?" Gilraen asked, transfixed.
"Imladris," Elladan answered at once, earning him a harsh look from Elrohir. "There is no safer place."
"Elladan," Elrohir warned in Elvish, "you know how Father feels--"
"I am extending this invitation to the Lady and her child," Elladan returned. "What is your decision, Lady Gilraen?"
*****
"I cannot believe you, Elladan! What will Father say?" Elrohir asked, as the twins prepared their horses. Elladan tightened up his cinch, neither answering nor ignoring Elrohir. "What state are you in to raise a child, especially one you expect to die? Oh!" Elrohir gasped. "So that is your plan! You expect him to die! What shall you do if he does not?"
Elladan tugged his saddle a little towards him, then answered, "I will hope, my dear brother. I will hope." In his fury, Elrohir did not ask what Elladan would be hoping for.
*****
To be continued
One more chapter, I think
Author's note: I feel the need to apologize for this chapter. It was written over the course of a week, a bit every morning, so if it's a little choppy. . .that's why. Anyway, better than nothing.