"Look up. Now!"
Elrond heard the harsh voice, it registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite understand what was being asked of him. He shook his head and turned away, biting back a cry as his jaw was seized and his mouth forced open. A scalding infusion of herbs was forced over his tongue, hard fingers massaging his neck to make him swallow. He did so and was allowed a few seconds of respite.
"Herdir, he will not eat! I have tried!"
"He will," the healer promised, "If he wants to escape the pain of his present existence then he will eat. I will not let him die."
"iel nin..."
The expressionless face broke into a twisted mask of surprise as the elf began to struggle to sit up. He was too big to accomplish it without help but he seemed to try anyway.
"iel nin..."
Somewhere in Elrond's mind, he knew he had been chained in the back of this wagon for three months. It had been three months too long for him. Brief glimpses of the sun and the sky... the stars had been a moot point as far as he was concerned; he hadn't been allowed them. The air was musty and dry, parching his throat with a cruel hand. He had faith in only one thing left to him.
"Your child is safe," Herdir said abruptly, "But you need to eat."
Elrond raised his head and swallowed whatever it was that was pushed into his mouth. It could have been a scorpion and still tasted of sawdust. And it did absolutely nothing to replenish his strength; he could feel it ebbing away day by day.
A hard slap to the face got him to open his eyes. He blinked slowly a few times, shivering in the winter cold that was the only part of nature that still infiltrated the muggy depths of the wagon.
The feeding process was long and not terribly pleasant for any of the participants. Herdir was getting the distinct feeling that something drastic was needed to bring the elf out of his depression. For the Elf Lord had been a personable, presentable slave when first captured. And now he looked too thin for his height in spite of being only two weeks away from his due date. The bones of his face were angled so sharp that were the King to set eyes on him as he was, it was likely he would demand his money back before he cut his hands open touching his new slave! And as for the dark hair! The men had all agreed that singed rope looked better.
"There is no potion, Herdir?"
He looked to the green eyes currently staring at him, wondering coldly at the glint of caring in those eyes. But an idea was sparking in his brain, an idea that might involve more money for him. Perhaps with two slaves for a slightly higher price?
"There is no potion," the healer confirmed slowly, "He is dying."
The man started back as if struck, wide eyes turning to the wagon half- hidden in the foliage where it had been concealed for almost a month. He didn't notice the icy look from cold eyes.
"But King Gorrofer!"
"I will keep him alive until the birth," Herdir shrugged, "after that he will die with the strain. Perhaps I can offer the child in the elf's stead. She will be beautiful if Aurief was right. The Prince of Mirkwood is famed for his beauty and the slave is handsome enough. And it is said that the Lord of Imladris has the ability to foretell the future. She will be a prized possession."
The man calmed down reluctantly, except there was still a glimmer of worry. "And there is nothing we can do for the elf?"
"There might be a chance," the healer admitted slowly, "He has given up all hope; if he were to regain it, he might return to health."
He said nothing more and lay down in his bedding by the fire to rest. Keeping their captive concealed for three months had been no joke, but the slave's condition was so delicate that the journey to the docks might have killed him well before he was even put on the ship. Knowingly he kept his eyes open and watched the dark shadow that crept to the wagon and climbed in. Only then did he smile beneath his covering and let sleep take him.
"Slave?"
There was a voice calling his name. Or what passed for his name these days. The half-elf found he had to constantly remind himself that he was Elrond son of Earendil every time he woke up, otherwise he tended to forget it. He opened his eyes and blinked short-sightedly at the face bent anxiously over his.
"What... is something wrong?"
"You're dying." The words seemed to whisper out from the human's mouth, gusting in warm breath over his face.
Elrond considered that fact with the last bit of lucidity that was left to him. "I know," he answered quietly, "Leave me be."
But hands grabbed his arm, shaking the bones slightly and rousing him from his apathy enough to concentrate. "You must wake! There may be a way for you to survive this," green eyes pleaded with him to listen and from long habit he made the effort, "You must return to your senses."
Elrond smiled, a mirthless smile of hysteria. "How?" he questioned, "I have nothing to live for."
"You have your child!" The words were no longer whispered and the voice was no longer soft. There was sneering derision and something else. It took him a moment to recognize anger. "If you die she will be given in your stead. The King requires a mate; how long do you think he will wait to use her?"
Grey eyes snapped open with a fire that sent the human stumbling back. Had Glorfindel or Erestor seen it, they would have recognized that look. Only in selected times had Elrond ever looked like that, and only when the well- being of his children were threatened. The shivering bundle of skin and bone grasped at the chain and hauled itself upright in a burst of energy.
"Harm my child and my family will not rest until she is revenged," the elven warrior snarled, "Lay one hand on her now and I will kill you myself."
"How? You almost fall where you sit. You cannot think straight and your body is so weak that it will likely break should you fall."
"And what else would you expect from me?" Elrond demanded, hysterical and half-demented as hormones and fear worked equally to screech over his tormented nerves, "I have not seen the sun for nigh on three months! I have smelt no fresh air and the stars no longer shine down at me! I cannot see my father..." his voice broke though he hastily shook his head and dared the human to pity him.
Clearly the man did not understand the reference to Earendil, but the general gist was enough to pierce his understanding. He cast a cautious look behind him to where the rest of the small camp was sleeping and then nodded to himself. "I can take you outside," he sighed reluctantly, "But only for a few minutes. Do not make a sound or you will regret it. Herdir is not forgiving."
"The healer," Elrond said quelling, "Is an idiot! He should have seen this before!" He kept his arms as still as he could while his hands were released. He was not surprised when the manacles were not removed; it would have been foolhardy for the man to be so trusting. "I call no man 'master', human. Do not refer to him as such in my presence."
Weak as he was and shivering uncontrollably, the haughtiness and authority in that silken voice made the man smile in relief, for it was the voice of an Elf Lord who brooked no argument. "Yes."
Carefully he helped the slight figure to rise, feeling the male sway precariously on his feet with light-headedness and awkward balance. Elrond had grown big enough that he was forced to over-compensate for the expanse of his stomach to lean backwards. In a covered wagon, it was an impossible position to keep.
The human ended the short tussle between elf and gravity by carrying him out. He was just questioning the wisdom of his actions when they emerged into the cold freshness of a winter's night.
Elrond gasped quietly and hid his face in the human's shoulder. After months of being trapped in that small space and the pains of his pregnancy, it felt like the release of death to breath fresh air again. He peeped up and saw the stars smile down at him, glittering in the purple-black sky like the rarest of jewels. And there- the brightest star of all! He barely noticed that he was crying, only that the human placed him gently on the ground.
There was snow beneath him and he felt the wet coldness seep into his clothes, but oh, it was the most invigorating feeling he had ever been blessed with! The shaded boughs of evergreens ringed his line of vision, framing the sky with a painting-like quality. And unerringly he did what he had been prevented from doing for three long months.
His hand found the swollen mound under which his child lay and he whispered soft assurances in elvish for her ears alone. His heart soared as he felt her tiny kick shudder beneath his palm and then lay back, uncaring of what would follow as he found pleasure in nature once more.
The stars shone and twinkled as if for him alone.
And on the borders of Mirkwood, a golden haired archer was staring up at them with tears in his eyes. Standing on an outcrop of rock and staring up at the stars that refused to guide him to the two people that he believed he had failed.
Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir stared at his silhouette as if he might disappear if they looked away.
"Do you think he will ever forget?" the ranger whispered.
Elladan shook his head, forgetting his own heartache for a moment. His face was drawn and pinched, deep circles beneath his dulled eyes. Aragorn was torn between worrying about Legolas and his twin foster brothers. Both parties looked like they were about to collapse from pain and exhaustion.
"I think we should speak to him," Elrohir said, moving towards the golden figure glowing in the moonlight.
Two pairs of hands pulled him back urgently and two voices hissed at him to stay where he was. "The last time Glorfindel tried to speak to the Prince, Legolas disappeared for three days into the forest in self-reproach," Aragorn reminded Elrohir.
Elrohir subsided with bad grace. He was distracted enough by the pain he and his brother felt without having to succumb to another's. Having lost their mother had been bad enough- to be told that their mother had never loved them and finding that their new-found father had just betrayed their Ada for cancellation of his gambling debts had been too much.
But he could understand a bit of what Legolas felt. The blond had become a tormented soul for the past three months, flitting from search troop to search troop like a restless spirit. For the tale Aurief told was a dismal one.
"Do not watch me so closely." The voice startled the three of them out of their respective reveries. Legolas dropped down beside them with a tense jaw and pain-filled eyes. "Have the elves of Imladris no manners?" he asked, the black humour falling flat in the darkness.
Elrohir gave up. "We worry for you. You blame yourself for what was not your fault and that is not healthy. Should Ada be found, he will be most distressed to see you now."
"Should?" Legolas's hand was a blur of movement as he punched Elrohir hard in the face. The twin went sprawling into Aragorn's arms, startled and pained by such unexplained treatment. But Legolas' mood had already changed and he bent hurriedly over his victim. "Elrohir! Elrohir, mellon nin, forgive me! I- I did not mean..."
"No," Elrohir snapped, gingerly touching his bruised jaw, "No, you did not but you did! You are not the only one who suffers, Prince of Mirkwood. I am his son and I have no other parent! Think you I feel no pain at this?"
"I love him."
Now that took everyone wholly by surprise. Indeed, Legolas himself went slack-jawed at the realization. But then a moment later he stood straighter, a new light in his eyes as if daring anyone to protest.
"Well, that is news," Aragorn commented, wracking his brains to find the words, "And sudden. I did not know you felt that way."
"How did you think I felt? Indifferent? He carries my heart as well as my child and I have lost them both."
The rocky ground offered no protection against the winter's wind that whipped through their hair and blew around their figures, drawing them closer to each other in an effort to keep warm. And all around the snow stretched its cold fingers nearer and ever nearer underfoot.
"Elladan, Elrohir, I..." Legolas hesitated, a hand out as if to ask for something, "I do not know what this means, but I am sorry. I did not protect them as I should have."
Elladan sighed and wrapped his friend in a one-armed embrace. "You could have done no more than you did. It is all right. Come! If we will not sleep tonight then it is better if we travel until we are tired. Those travellers spoke of a small group of men in the forests. We are three days' journey from there."
They nodded to each other and shouldered their packs. The small pocket of wooded area for which they were headed was not the most friendly of places. It lay on the far borders of Mirkwood and King Thranduil had been most reluctant to let them go without proper armed guards. But as it had taken him two days to believe the incredulous tale brought to him by his son, the small group had not bothered to wait but ridden off as quickly as they could go.
By the time the frigid winter's sun rose once more, Elrond was back in his wagon with hints of colour draining back into his grey skin, eyes shining with a determination to life that had been absent from them for too many weeks to count.
His sons and his lover drew ever closer to him, though he did not know it. Not that he would have cared either way. For by the next night, a shocking state of affairs occurred- he went into labour.
Elrond heard the harsh voice, it registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite understand what was being asked of him. He shook his head and turned away, biting back a cry as his jaw was seized and his mouth forced open. A scalding infusion of herbs was forced over his tongue, hard fingers massaging his neck to make him swallow. He did so and was allowed a few seconds of respite.
"Herdir, he will not eat! I have tried!"
"He will," the healer promised, "If he wants to escape the pain of his present existence then he will eat. I will not let him die."
"iel nin..."
The expressionless face broke into a twisted mask of surprise as the elf began to struggle to sit up. He was too big to accomplish it without help but he seemed to try anyway.
"iel nin..."
Somewhere in Elrond's mind, he knew he had been chained in the back of this wagon for three months. It had been three months too long for him. Brief glimpses of the sun and the sky... the stars had been a moot point as far as he was concerned; he hadn't been allowed them. The air was musty and dry, parching his throat with a cruel hand. He had faith in only one thing left to him.
"Your child is safe," Herdir said abruptly, "But you need to eat."
Elrond raised his head and swallowed whatever it was that was pushed into his mouth. It could have been a scorpion and still tasted of sawdust. And it did absolutely nothing to replenish his strength; he could feel it ebbing away day by day.
A hard slap to the face got him to open his eyes. He blinked slowly a few times, shivering in the winter cold that was the only part of nature that still infiltrated the muggy depths of the wagon.
The feeding process was long and not terribly pleasant for any of the participants. Herdir was getting the distinct feeling that something drastic was needed to bring the elf out of his depression. For the Elf Lord had been a personable, presentable slave when first captured. And now he looked too thin for his height in spite of being only two weeks away from his due date. The bones of his face were angled so sharp that were the King to set eyes on him as he was, it was likely he would demand his money back before he cut his hands open touching his new slave! And as for the dark hair! The men had all agreed that singed rope looked better.
"There is no potion, Herdir?"
He looked to the green eyes currently staring at him, wondering coldly at the glint of caring in those eyes. But an idea was sparking in his brain, an idea that might involve more money for him. Perhaps with two slaves for a slightly higher price?
"There is no potion," the healer confirmed slowly, "He is dying."
The man started back as if struck, wide eyes turning to the wagon half- hidden in the foliage where it had been concealed for almost a month. He didn't notice the icy look from cold eyes.
"But King Gorrofer!"
"I will keep him alive until the birth," Herdir shrugged, "after that he will die with the strain. Perhaps I can offer the child in the elf's stead. She will be beautiful if Aurief was right. The Prince of Mirkwood is famed for his beauty and the slave is handsome enough. And it is said that the Lord of Imladris has the ability to foretell the future. She will be a prized possession."
The man calmed down reluctantly, except there was still a glimmer of worry. "And there is nothing we can do for the elf?"
"There might be a chance," the healer admitted slowly, "He has given up all hope; if he were to regain it, he might return to health."
He said nothing more and lay down in his bedding by the fire to rest. Keeping their captive concealed for three months had been no joke, but the slave's condition was so delicate that the journey to the docks might have killed him well before he was even put on the ship. Knowingly he kept his eyes open and watched the dark shadow that crept to the wagon and climbed in. Only then did he smile beneath his covering and let sleep take him.
"Slave?"
There was a voice calling his name. Or what passed for his name these days. The half-elf found he had to constantly remind himself that he was Elrond son of Earendil every time he woke up, otherwise he tended to forget it. He opened his eyes and blinked short-sightedly at the face bent anxiously over his.
"What... is something wrong?"
"You're dying." The words seemed to whisper out from the human's mouth, gusting in warm breath over his face.
Elrond considered that fact with the last bit of lucidity that was left to him. "I know," he answered quietly, "Leave me be."
But hands grabbed his arm, shaking the bones slightly and rousing him from his apathy enough to concentrate. "You must wake! There may be a way for you to survive this," green eyes pleaded with him to listen and from long habit he made the effort, "You must return to your senses."
Elrond smiled, a mirthless smile of hysteria. "How?" he questioned, "I have nothing to live for."
"You have your child!" The words were no longer whispered and the voice was no longer soft. There was sneering derision and something else. It took him a moment to recognize anger. "If you die she will be given in your stead. The King requires a mate; how long do you think he will wait to use her?"
Grey eyes snapped open with a fire that sent the human stumbling back. Had Glorfindel or Erestor seen it, they would have recognized that look. Only in selected times had Elrond ever looked like that, and only when the well- being of his children were threatened. The shivering bundle of skin and bone grasped at the chain and hauled itself upright in a burst of energy.
"Harm my child and my family will not rest until she is revenged," the elven warrior snarled, "Lay one hand on her now and I will kill you myself."
"How? You almost fall where you sit. You cannot think straight and your body is so weak that it will likely break should you fall."
"And what else would you expect from me?" Elrond demanded, hysterical and half-demented as hormones and fear worked equally to screech over his tormented nerves, "I have not seen the sun for nigh on three months! I have smelt no fresh air and the stars no longer shine down at me! I cannot see my father..." his voice broke though he hastily shook his head and dared the human to pity him.
Clearly the man did not understand the reference to Earendil, but the general gist was enough to pierce his understanding. He cast a cautious look behind him to where the rest of the small camp was sleeping and then nodded to himself. "I can take you outside," he sighed reluctantly, "But only for a few minutes. Do not make a sound or you will regret it. Herdir is not forgiving."
"The healer," Elrond said quelling, "Is an idiot! He should have seen this before!" He kept his arms as still as he could while his hands were released. He was not surprised when the manacles were not removed; it would have been foolhardy for the man to be so trusting. "I call no man 'master', human. Do not refer to him as such in my presence."
Weak as he was and shivering uncontrollably, the haughtiness and authority in that silken voice made the man smile in relief, for it was the voice of an Elf Lord who brooked no argument. "Yes."
Carefully he helped the slight figure to rise, feeling the male sway precariously on his feet with light-headedness and awkward balance. Elrond had grown big enough that he was forced to over-compensate for the expanse of his stomach to lean backwards. In a covered wagon, it was an impossible position to keep.
The human ended the short tussle between elf and gravity by carrying him out. He was just questioning the wisdom of his actions when they emerged into the cold freshness of a winter's night.
Elrond gasped quietly and hid his face in the human's shoulder. After months of being trapped in that small space and the pains of his pregnancy, it felt like the release of death to breath fresh air again. He peeped up and saw the stars smile down at him, glittering in the purple-black sky like the rarest of jewels. And there- the brightest star of all! He barely noticed that he was crying, only that the human placed him gently on the ground.
There was snow beneath him and he felt the wet coldness seep into his clothes, but oh, it was the most invigorating feeling he had ever been blessed with! The shaded boughs of evergreens ringed his line of vision, framing the sky with a painting-like quality. And unerringly he did what he had been prevented from doing for three long months.
His hand found the swollen mound under which his child lay and he whispered soft assurances in elvish for her ears alone. His heart soared as he felt her tiny kick shudder beneath his palm and then lay back, uncaring of what would follow as he found pleasure in nature once more.
The stars shone and twinkled as if for him alone.
And on the borders of Mirkwood, a golden haired archer was staring up at them with tears in his eyes. Standing on an outcrop of rock and staring up at the stars that refused to guide him to the two people that he believed he had failed.
Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir stared at his silhouette as if he might disappear if they looked away.
"Do you think he will ever forget?" the ranger whispered.
Elladan shook his head, forgetting his own heartache for a moment. His face was drawn and pinched, deep circles beneath his dulled eyes. Aragorn was torn between worrying about Legolas and his twin foster brothers. Both parties looked like they were about to collapse from pain and exhaustion.
"I think we should speak to him," Elrohir said, moving towards the golden figure glowing in the moonlight.
Two pairs of hands pulled him back urgently and two voices hissed at him to stay where he was. "The last time Glorfindel tried to speak to the Prince, Legolas disappeared for three days into the forest in self-reproach," Aragorn reminded Elrohir.
Elrohir subsided with bad grace. He was distracted enough by the pain he and his brother felt without having to succumb to another's. Having lost their mother had been bad enough- to be told that their mother had never loved them and finding that their new-found father had just betrayed their Ada for cancellation of his gambling debts had been too much.
But he could understand a bit of what Legolas felt. The blond had become a tormented soul for the past three months, flitting from search troop to search troop like a restless spirit. For the tale Aurief told was a dismal one.
"Do not watch me so closely." The voice startled the three of them out of their respective reveries. Legolas dropped down beside them with a tense jaw and pain-filled eyes. "Have the elves of Imladris no manners?" he asked, the black humour falling flat in the darkness.
Elrohir gave up. "We worry for you. You blame yourself for what was not your fault and that is not healthy. Should Ada be found, he will be most distressed to see you now."
"Should?" Legolas's hand was a blur of movement as he punched Elrohir hard in the face. The twin went sprawling into Aragorn's arms, startled and pained by such unexplained treatment. But Legolas' mood had already changed and he bent hurriedly over his victim. "Elrohir! Elrohir, mellon nin, forgive me! I- I did not mean..."
"No," Elrohir snapped, gingerly touching his bruised jaw, "No, you did not but you did! You are not the only one who suffers, Prince of Mirkwood. I am his son and I have no other parent! Think you I feel no pain at this?"
"I love him."
Now that took everyone wholly by surprise. Indeed, Legolas himself went slack-jawed at the realization. But then a moment later he stood straighter, a new light in his eyes as if daring anyone to protest.
"Well, that is news," Aragorn commented, wracking his brains to find the words, "And sudden. I did not know you felt that way."
"How did you think I felt? Indifferent? He carries my heart as well as my child and I have lost them both."
The rocky ground offered no protection against the winter's wind that whipped through their hair and blew around their figures, drawing them closer to each other in an effort to keep warm. And all around the snow stretched its cold fingers nearer and ever nearer underfoot.
"Elladan, Elrohir, I..." Legolas hesitated, a hand out as if to ask for something, "I do not know what this means, but I am sorry. I did not protect them as I should have."
Elladan sighed and wrapped his friend in a one-armed embrace. "You could have done no more than you did. It is all right. Come! If we will not sleep tonight then it is better if we travel until we are tired. Those travellers spoke of a small group of men in the forests. We are three days' journey from there."
They nodded to each other and shouldered their packs. The small pocket of wooded area for which they were headed was not the most friendly of places. It lay on the far borders of Mirkwood and King Thranduil had been most reluctant to let them go without proper armed guards. But as it had taken him two days to believe the incredulous tale brought to him by his son, the small group had not bothered to wait but ridden off as quickly as they could go.
By the time the frigid winter's sun rose once more, Elrond was back in his wagon with hints of colour draining back into his grey skin, eyes shining with a determination to life that had been absent from them for too many weeks to count.
His sons and his lover drew ever closer to him, though he did not know it. Not that he would have cared either way. For by the next night, a shocking state of affairs occurred- he went into labour.