Sorrow and Joy
Chapter Two
Disclaimers: No, their still not mine. I asked for Elrond very nicely, but no luck.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I'm sorry that the update took such a long time.
Now, on with the story…
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Amid all the hurried preparations for departure; Elrond's frantic search for a book, finally found under the bed; and Elladan's feigned innocence over the loss of his best tunic, Elrohir slipped away into the woods. Treading softly, he made for the glade which had been his alone, where he had felt entirely safe from his tormentor. He breathed a happy sigh as he heard the faint burbling of the brook between grassy banks. Many an afternoon he had spent on a rock in the middle of the current, his feet in the water and his head lost in dreams. He quickened his pace as he rounded the bend and burst into the clearing. He stopped dead. Haldir stood by the stream with his back to the path, affecting the casual arrogance of the march-wardens.
Elrohir tried to shuffle backwards, to escape before he was noticed, but Haldir had heard his precipitous entrance and spun round with a cruel smile on his face.
"Mae govannen, half-breed," he sneered, stalking forwards until he loomed over the other. "I see you are running away back to that orc-hole in the mountains. I confess I realise I should not be surprised, but I had not expected one who even claims to be an elf to be so craven."
Elrohir opened his mouth to speak but could produce no words.
*He is right… I m running from him like a coward…*
The blond elf circled round the elfling like some wild beast hunting, until Elrohir could feel the danger radiating from the tall body.
"You will always be useless." Haldir grabbed one braid, twisting it around his fingers until the child yelped in pain. "Many elves will perish because of you. Do you understand that?"
Releasing the lock of hair, he grabbed fistfuls of Elrohir's tunic and hoisted him from the ground. The dark-haired elf looked up at him with wide, pleading grey eyes, which only fuelled his fury. He brought the child's face towards his own, which was contorted with contempt, and hissed, "Do you know how much orcs like the flesh of the Peredhil? They say it is juicy and tender, with just enough of the rank odour of Man to satisfy their foul tastes. They love it so much that they will attack and eat any half-breed who comes near them. Do you think they will come for you as you cross the Misty Mountains?"
Elrohir whimpered in terror.
"N …no."
"Yes, I think they will." Haldir grinned maliciously. "But you are too bony, so they will not want you until there is no one else left. They will eat your foolish Ada first, and you will have to watch. But I do not think that Mandos will want his filthy Edain blood tainting the Halls of Awaiting, and so he will just die, and leave this world, and it will all be your fault because you are not brave enough to attack them … So watch out!"
He dropped Elrohir to the soft carpet of leaves with a dull thud and lashed out at the prone body. In the back of his mind he knew that he had gone too far, but angry tears sprang to his eyes at the thought if his dead father, and as he brushed them away he swept his regrets with them.
"What a baby!" he laughed between clenched teeth, and stormed away.
The Peredhel lay crumpled on the ground, sobbing quietly, but with a start he saw that the sun was climbing in the sky and they would soon leave Lothlórien. He scrambled up and sprinted back to the city with a leaden heart.
Elrond noticed the scuff marks and rumpled braids in an instant. His hand went instinctively to the sword-hilt on his hip, but Celebrían shot him a warning look, and instead he extended it to smooth the dark hair of his youngest son.
"Are you ready to leave, pen-nîn tithen?"
Elrohir nodded eagerly despite his worries.
"Yes, Ada. I want to see Imladris again and play in the Bruinen with 'ladan and Aelingalen."
The older elf's heart was somewhat eased by the mention of the elfling who was so alike in temperament to Elrohir, quiet and serious, yet possessing an unexpected wild streak. It was good to know that in the valley the child was not unhappy.
Elrohir accepted his grandmother's gentle embrace.
*Do not fear, little one* he heard the serene voice in his mind. *For all will be well*
He dared not ask what she meant, and although he heard a ripple of laughter behind her words, his spirits were not much lifted.
"Namarie, daernaneth."
Elrohir began to turn to his grandfather, but at that moment his twin barreled into view, leaves tangled in his hair, and kissed Galadriel before flinging himself into Celeborn's arms. Despite the damage to his pristine silver robes, the normally austere and reserved elf chuckled, hugging Elladan close with one arm, while wrapping the other around Elrohir. Curtained by silver hair, bright in the sunlight, the elflings whispered their farewells.
"When you come back, Elladan, you will be big enough to best me with a sword," the Lord of Lothlórien said with a rare grin. "And to you, Elrohir, I shall tell tales of Doriath. Would that please the pair of you?'
The twins smiled in agreement and only pulled away slowly.
Mounting their sturdy ponies, they rode out of the city, surrounded by their parents and both members of the Imladris Guard, who had accompanied them, and march-wardens who would see them to the borders of the land.
When at length the riders had passed from sight among the slender mallorns, Celeborn turned to his wife with a concerned frown marring his ageless features.
"Why did you not help him more? Why did you forbid me to do so?" he asked. "He is in great pain, and that can only increase."
Galadriel regarded him intently, drawing one of his hands to her lips and kissing it.
"We must stand by, for from great sorrow, greater joy will spring."
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It was drawing close to dusk, and the air at these latitudes would be more than chilly when full night fell, even in the height of summer.
"Elladan, Elrohir!" their father called. The twins lifted their identical heads from their conversation. "See if you can find some firewood, but do not stray too far."
The children scampered off, their dark hair flying out behind them.
Celebrían moved closer to her husband.
"You fear for him," she stated, noticing the worried lines which spread around his stormy eyes. Elrond sat back on his heels, abandoning his task.
"He does not eat," he whispered agitatedly. "He broods and his dreams are disturbed. You must have seen."
"Aye, I have. He rather reminds me of another Peredhel I know…"
Elrond pretended to be affronted.
"Surely you do not tell me that I brood?"
"Indeed I do." She leaned over and pulled him gently towards herself until his head was resting in her lap. Bending down so that her hair caressed his face, she murmured, "You know we cannot do anything yet. Whenever one of us attempts to broach the subject he retreats into himself."
"Aye, I know, but my fear does not diminish for that." He captured a silvery strand and pressed it to his lips, inhaling her scent.
"Nor mine, melethron-nîn, nor mine."
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Elrohir lay on his stomach on the forest floor, contentedly poking at an old bird's nest with one finger. Creeping stealthily towards him, Elladan pounced, landing on his twin's back. The younger flipped over and began to thrash his arms wildly, landing a solid punch to his brother's jaw.
Elladan stumbled back, clutching his injured face, tears of hurt in his eyes.
"Why did you do that?" he demanded petulantly "I was only playing."
Elrohir began to cry as well.
"I'm … I'm sorry, 'ladan … I did not think it was you," he sobbed.
"Who else would it be?"
But his brother buried his face in the soft leaf-mulch and refused to answer. Elladan edged nearer and nearer, until he could lay one childish hand on the shaking shoulder.
"What is it, 'rohir?"
The question only elicited a series of loud sniff.
"What is it, 'rohir?"
Silence.
"What is it?"
Still the younger would not reply, and a sudden light flickered in Elladan's young eyes.
"Who is it? Who are you afraid of?"
Elrohir sat bolt upright, prepared to refute all allegations, but he had never been able to lie outright to his twin.
"'Tis … 'twas … Haldir."
"That blonde idiot?" the elder snorted. "What did he say?"
"He said … he said that I am pathetic, because I am only half an elf and like books. He insulted Ada and he hurt me."
Elladan brandished a thick twig like a sword, waving it to and fro.
"I will cut his heart out and make him eat it … I will stick his head on a pole … I will let daernaneth drown him in her mirror…" He danced around the clearing, thrusting and parrying with the dead wood, and despite himself Elrohir laughed.
"I do not think that daernaneth drowns people."
Flinging himself across the intervening space, Elladan hugged his brother tightly.
"See. I will protect you, and so will Ada and Ammë and Glorfi."
"Promise you will not tell them though?" Elrohir asked anxiously.
"I promise."
The younger twin grinned uncertainly as they resumed their quest for dried wood. Although it was a relief to tell his brother, he could not disclose the other burden weighing upon him.
*What if the orcs come tonight and eat Ada?*
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The boy leaned against the tent-pole, alert for any sign of danger, refusing to let his eyelids droop. At the faintest rustling of leaves he gripped his father's sword, drawing the blade close to himself.
"I shall kill you first, yrch. You will not eat my Ada, nor Elladan," he promised vehemently.
Elrond, drifting in and out of sleep, his body warmed by Celebrían beside him, heard his son's voice, but did not perceive the meaning of his words.
When he awoke in the morning it was to find the boy in a deep slumber, his thin arms clasped around the sword. When he moved to disentangle the weapon, Elrohir's grey eyes became suddenly alert.
"Ada! You are safe!"
"Indeed I am, little swordsman. Will you give my sword to me?" He pressed a kiss to the pallid brow.
"I relinquish your sword to you," Elrohir said with unwonted sobriety, "my liege-lord."
Elrond hunkered down by the balled figure.
"I am not your liege-lord. I am your father," he assured the boy, not knowing what had precipitated such an odd turn of phrase. "And would my brave little warrior like some breakfast?"
Concealing how he had flinched at the undeserved epithet, Elrohir nodded.
Flat mushrooms still sizzling from the pan, redolent with herbs, were ladled onto plates. The elder twin tucked into his with gusto, but the younger merely picked at his, feeling nauseous with dread.
Celebrían, her eyes still blurry with sleep, nevertheless noticed his actions.
"What ails you, sweeting?"
"Nothing!" he riposted sharply. "I am not hungry, Ammë."
"But please eat something, my child," she coaxed him. "Do you wish Glorfindel to see you wasted away?"
Reluctantly, Elrohir took a few mouthfuls, but the image of orcs gorging on his beloved father's body flooded his mind.
"I cannot eat this! I will not eat in this place!" he yelled, dropping his fork to the ground and shooting up. Surreptitiously Elladan reached for the discarded mushrooms.
Celebrían stood , the skirts of her blue-grey riding dress whispering across the sparse grass, and gathered the trembling frame of her youngest son close.
"I shall not make you eat, faeg hên, if you do not wish to. But will you eat when we reach Imladris?"
Visions of home assailed Elrohir's mind … his own room, warm and safe … the green grass climbing the steep crags … the waterfalls where laughter sung in the water … sitting on his father's knee in the Hall of Fire, listening to his mother singing…
"I promise, Ammë," he said softly. "But can we get there quickly?"
Elrond, standing nearby in a simple tunic and breeches of moss-green which made him seem even younger, replied, "Yes, my son. Soon you will be home."
He cast his cloak over his shoulders and moved to tell the soldiers to break camp.
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The days drew on and Elrohir slept little. His eyes darted from side to side as they crossed the Redhorn Pass, fixed first on the snow-tipped peaks then on the dark caves which yawned on either side. Great ravines, so deep that they seemed to lead to the void beyond the world, fell away by the path, yet no incident befell the travellers. Despite this, the child became haggard, his face grey and his eyes wide with fear, all colour swallowed by the blackness of the pupils. Even when they began their descent he did not rest, waking from nightmares in which faceless monsters ripped the flesh from his bones. Each night Elrond would wake to watch his son's fitful slumber, terror and memories of terror in his heart.
*Once I slept like this … when Gildon swore that Gil-galad did not love me and was planning to leave me in the wilds for warg bait. He poisoned my mind and I could not rest in ease … I pray to Elbereth that whatever burden is laid upon my son be lifted. I would not forsake him, as Ereinion Gil-galad did not forsake me, but he is obstinately silent, and I cannot soothe him…*
But he did not realise that which tormented his son, for it was beyond his noble heart to conceive that even the cruellest of children would tell such a tale.
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They were in sight of the valley now. The elf-lord looked over to his sons. Elladan pranced on his pony, rising in the saddle for the first glimpse of the roofs of the house, but Elrohir was soundly asleep. Hours before, Elrond had noticed the limpness of his hands on the beast's neck and the droop of his eyelids, and the child had been lifted from his mount and placed in the care of a young guard. The elf held the small body in front of him with one hand, the other lightly entangled in the horse's mane.
As they drew into the courtyard, Elrond sprang lightly to the ground, and moved to retrieve his son.
"Wake up now, sleepy. We are in Imladris," he murmured as he took the slight form from the soldier. There was no answer, and he repeated the entreaty. When Elrohir was still unresponsive, he shook him lightly. "Wake up, Elrohir."
Placing the back of one hand on his son's forehead, he realised that it was cold and clammy, while the pulse was slow and faint. Elrond cursed vividly in the Common Tongue. "He is unconscious. Why did I not see this? Why did you not see this?" The guardsman backed away, muttering apologies, but his lord was not listening, his long strides carrying him into the house.
"What is wrong with him?" Elladan asked his mother, tugging at her sleeve. Celebrían looked down at him distractedly.
"I do not know. Let us follow your father."
They found Elrond bent over a bed in the Halls of Healing, his countenance as wan as that of the sick boy. They stood in the doorway, watching as he listened to Elrohir's breathing and examined his body with nimble fingers. A small sigh escaped him and he bent his head until his forehead touched the frail chest for an instant before rising and beginning to collect medicinal herbs.
"Do you know why he sickens?" Celebrían moved to her husband's side, laying one hand on his shoulder.
"Aye. 'Tis no as grievous as I feared, and I should have realised what was happening. He is exhausted and weak from lack of food." He pinched the bridge of his nose in a characteristic gesture. "He must rest, and I shall prepare a healing draft. I pray that things will go better with him now we are home, or nothing will appease my wrath."
Glorfindel appeared in the doorway, his ethereal face concerned as his gaze alighted on Elrohir's prone form. He opened his mouth to speak, but the lady of the house explained the situation to him in a low voice, before depositing the squirming elder twin in his arms and shooing him from the room.
She began to assist her husband, falling into the practiced rhythm of those perfectly in tune with one another. Once the medicine had been poured down the child's unresisting throat, Elrond collapsed into a chair. Noticing the defeated slump of his shoulders, Celebrían sat on the chair-arm, running her long fingers through his hair.
He glanced up at her, his grey eyes brimming with tears.
"We must find out why he would neither sleep nor eat. I am afraid of what will happen if we do not."
"Indeed we must. My heart tells me that something in the mountains frightened him," her voice was calm, for she knew that she had to soothe not only her son when he awoke, but also her terrified husband. "There is none in Arda more able to heal him of his fears than you, meleth-nîn."
Elrond was not reassured.
"My skill – such as it is – lies with bodies, no souls," he rasped.
Celebrían slipped into his lap, and he huddled close to her familiar warmth as she pressed a kiss to his furrowed forehead.
"You do yourself an injustice, my lord. You have healed as many souls as bodies. Glorfindel would not live so easily in this world without the care you gave him when he returned from the Halls. Have faith."
"You are my faith, celeb loth-nîn." He held here tightly, and they watched Elrohir sleep.
Dawn's first light streamed through the window, and the younger Peredhel stirred.
Elrond carefully raised himself from the chair, trying not to disturb his wife's slumber, and moved to the bedside.
"Ada?" Elrohir blinked up at him.
"Yes, I am here, my son," he said, perching on the side of the bed. "And we are home."
"Good… Now we are away from them…"
"Please, Elrohir, tell me who 'they' are. I promise that I will not be cross."
The boy considered lying, but the resolute set of his father's face dissuaded him.
"I was so afraid they would eat you, because we are Peredhil, and they like to eat us above all else."
"Who?" Elrond was confused.
"The… the orcs. He said that they like to eat the half-elven and would come after us."
Quelling the urge to ask who 'he' was because he perceived that it would be useless, Elrond smiled gently.
"Indeed, the orcs are evil, but they are no more fond of the Peredhil than of any others. I faced them for many years on the Dagor Dagorlad, and, see, I have no bite-marks," he joked, rolling up one sleeve to show his unbitten forearm.
"Really?"
"Really," Elrond affirmed.
"Will you tell me about the Last Alliance?"
The elf launched into the heroic tale, omitting its more gory details.
"Ada?" Elrohir interjected suddenly.
"Yes?"
"Can I have some food? I am very hungry, but I did not want to eat near the orcs." The child's face was hopeful, and Elrond exhaled in relief.
"Yes, you may. I think that the kitchens have cooked some soup you may have."
Elrohir's face contorted in disappointment at such lacklustre fare, but he was too hungry to complain.
The child slurped up the last of the warming broth, and settled back into the pillows.
"Ada?" He opened one eye sleepily.
"Yes, Elrohir?"
"I would have fought the evil orcs. I would have killed them."
"I know you would have, Elrohir," the elf responded. "You would have done so with great skill and valor."
And while the boy slept soundly, his parents kept a vigilant watch.
TBC
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Translations:
Mae govannen – well met.
pen-nîn tithen – my little one.
Namarie – farewell.
Daernaneth – grandmother.
melethron-nîn – my lover (male).
faeg hên – poor child.
celeb loth-nîn – my silver flower.