Author's note: This chapter would have been up sooner, but the computer started messing around and deleted the first attempt just as I'd almost finished it. Still, exams are almost over so I should be able to devote more time to my writing.
Elladan had noticed the exchange between Elrohir and Aragorn, but had been too busy trying to keep the few remaining orcs away to hear the words. The hunters finished their task quickly though and in moments the final orcs were dead. It was time to burn the carcasses and check on the wounded. Elladan assessed the situation with a practised glance. It didn't look as though any elves had been killed and the injuries were such that, if they made it back to the healers, they should recover well enough. There wasn't one of them too badly hurt to ride back.
Apart from Elrohir.
He was already unconscious by the time Elladan was there, kneeling by his side, Aragorn doing his best to stop heavy bleeding. Elladan watched as Aragorn efficiently turn a torn tunic into a neat bandage. It seemed as though he could have been watching his father's hands at work. However Aragorn might deny his family, he was still the little boy who had watched his father at healing in an eager desire to learn.
"He'll recover?" Elladan asked, half-enquiring, half-praying.
"The sword was poisoned," Aragorn answered, "but if we return him to Lord Elrond quickly enough he should do. He needs something to counteract the poison as quickly as possible, and I don't have the right herbs here." He spoke swiftly but calmly as he finished tying the temporary bandage over the wound. Elladan quickly checked on Elrohir's horse, but there was no way it would be able to carry any weight but it's own and even that would be a struggle. Elladan was no expert, but he doubted the horse would ever carry a rider again. Instead, Elladan lifted his brother onto his own horse and mounted behind him.
The hunters were setting light to the pile of orc bodies. The smoke would linger unpleasantly and the shed blood would make this area of the wood foul for several years, but leaving the bodies untouched would be far worse. Many of the others were helping the injured mount or mounting themselves. Aragorn had swiftly sheathed the hilt shard of a sword.
"I could lend you another sword," Elladan offered, "while you have that one mended."
Aragorn gave a half smile, "No," he said, "that won't be necessary."
"If the orcs return, you'll need more than half a sword."
"When the time comes," Aragorn said, "the sword will be made new."
"When what time comes?"
Aragorn didn't answer. He just mounted his horse and joined the general movement back the way they had come. Legolas was soon beside them, having been collecting his stray arrows.
"He was this evasive about questions," Legolas told Elladan, "all the time I was travelling with him." Assuming that was the best he was going to get, Elladan urged his horse faster. He quickly left the others behind, knowing that Legolas and Aragorn could protect them if there was any more trouble, and rode hard and fast towards his home and his father's medicines.
Arwen watched the girl squirming, fighting for breath beneath the pillow, drowning in a sea of feathers. The satisfaction bloomed for a moment but withered swiftly. Murder. A single word came into her mind and she knew what she was doing.
The pressure eased slightly and she heard the gasping as the girl managed to suck a few feeble breaths into her lungs. Arwen stared down. The girl was so fragile and weak, already half-dead from fighting orcs. This was no noble battle, no glorious victory. This was petty vengeance and it would not make things right. Perhaps Aragorn no longer loved her, but he would hate her if she did this. She could not live with that.
Tears were flowing down Arwen's cheeks unstoppably. She sobbed, her whole body shaking until the pillow slipped from her grip. She didn't even notice as the girl's face was revealed, looking up in shock from the surface of the bed. For a moment, Arwen had almost given into the worst instincts that lurk inside every living being. Aragorn had destroyed her life and she had almost destroyed her soul.
"Who . . . who are you?" the girl asked, looking now at Arwen with a combination of pity and fear. Arwen couldn't answer, couldn't gather her senses and voice enough to speak. Fortunately, there was another to answer for her.
"Arwen?" her father came swiftly into the room, "Arwen, what are you doing here? What's wrong?"
Arwen flung her arms around him, buried her face in his chest. Her tears were spoiling his fine robes, but she doubted he cared about that. She clung to him, feeling like an infant lost in a world to big for her, filled with monsters everywhere. Even inside herself.
"He loved me," she cried, words almost unintelligible, "he loved me."
"Come, child," her father guided her from the room. She had to lean on him for support, unable to hold herself upright without him. Her legs were trembling and uncertain, partly due to the shock of what she had almost done partly because of a weakness that was steadily growing within her, spreading outwards from her heart. Fortunately, she did not have to walk far. Her father led her to an empty bedroom in the healing wing, only a few doors down from the girl. She sat gratefully on the bed while her father sat beside her, an arm remaining about her shoulders. Her tears had stopped now, simply because there were none left inside her to cry. They had done nothing to drown her raging grief.
"What happened?" he asked gently. Arwen considered not answering, but she would have to face it eventually. She needed to admit, to him and to herself, what it was she had almost done. What she had almost become.
"I almost killed her," Arwen admitted in a barely audible whisper. She kept her eyes fixed on some insignificant mark on the wall. She just couldn't bear the thought of turning and seeing hate in her father's eyes. For what else could there be? He was a healer, sworn to protect and defend life. The girl she had almost murdered was his patient, one who was depending on him. Aragorn had already cast her aside, and now her father would too. The aching emptiness inside Arwen was growing.
"Why?" her father asked. Arwen turned to look at him then, hearing nothing but confusion and pity in his voice. The same emotions were glowing in his eyes along with another: love.
"Estel loved me," Arwen confessed, "He abandoned me, for her."
"You would have killed a young girl over your feelings for Estel?" There was the grief Arwen had expected to hear, mixed with a tinge of fear.
"I couldn't," Arwen answered, "I wanted to but I couldn't."
"Why did you want to?" His question was gentle and it reached inside her and tore out the truth. She confessed to him her love of Estel, a love she had kept hidden for ten years, how his going had almost destroyed her, how his abandoning of her now was finishing the task, her jealousy and anger towards the girl. Her father listened in silence, letting the words spill out without hindrance. All the while, his arm held her close to him. At last she could say no more and a silence fell over the room. When he spoke, it was in a strained tone, holding a deep pain.
"I never knew your feelings for him were so great," he said.
"I love him," she said, "I love him with all my heart and soul. And he no longer loves me."
"He does love you," her father said with complete certainty, "you need not doubt it. That girl is his student and his friend, no more. Be assured that his heart belongs to you and no other."
"Then why . . . why deny it?" Arwen stammered.
"Because he fears for you. He fears that if you surrender your heart to him, it will cost you your life." A trickle of understanding began to flow into Arwen's mind, filtering through the haze and confusion of emotions.
"You knew," she said, "you knew he loved me." It wasn't a question.
"I didn't know how much," her father said, "and I didn't know how deeply you returned the feelings. I thought it nothing more than an infatuation that would swiftly pass."
"You sent him away." A pain of betrayal cut into Arwen's heart, as painful as Estel's had been and in some ways worse. Her father had been the one she had turned to for support all her life. Now it seemed he was responsible for her worst sufferings. He never got the chance to answer, but Arwen didn't need to hear a reply to know that what she had said was true.
"Ada! Ada!" A frantic voice called, one which both Arwen and her father recognised instantly. Even Arwen managed to forget her troubles momentarily at the fear in that voice.
Her father was on his feet and in the corridor before Elladan had finished shouting. Quickly, he urged his son in and had him lay down his burden on the bed. Arwen gave a small gasp, half in shock, half in fear. Elrohir lay, deathly pale, blood seeping through a rough bandage.
"Elladan," their father instructed, "go and fetch my things." Elladan ran, his gaze clinging to his brother even as he left the room. Arwen stood in the corner, temporarily forgotten, as her brother teetered on the edge of death. She had thought herself incapable of more tears, but they began to flow again anyway.
Elrohir couldn't die. He couldn't. She'd lost Estel and their child and barely survived that. Now she had learned that her father had been the one to destroy her hopes. If Elrohir died so soon, there was no way she could survive the compound grief.
Elladan had noticed the exchange between Elrohir and Aragorn, but had been too busy trying to keep the few remaining orcs away to hear the words. The hunters finished their task quickly though and in moments the final orcs were dead. It was time to burn the carcasses and check on the wounded. Elladan assessed the situation with a practised glance. It didn't look as though any elves had been killed and the injuries were such that, if they made it back to the healers, they should recover well enough. There wasn't one of them too badly hurt to ride back.
Apart from Elrohir.
He was already unconscious by the time Elladan was there, kneeling by his side, Aragorn doing his best to stop heavy bleeding. Elladan watched as Aragorn efficiently turn a torn tunic into a neat bandage. It seemed as though he could have been watching his father's hands at work. However Aragorn might deny his family, he was still the little boy who had watched his father at healing in an eager desire to learn.
"He'll recover?" Elladan asked, half-enquiring, half-praying.
"The sword was poisoned," Aragorn answered, "but if we return him to Lord Elrond quickly enough he should do. He needs something to counteract the poison as quickly as possible, and I don't have the right herbs here." He spoke swiftly but calmly as he finished tying the temporary bandage over the wound. Elladan quickly checked on Elrohir's horse, but there was no way it would be able to carry any weight but it's own and even that would be a struggle. Elladan was no expert, but he doubted the horse would ever carry a rider again. Instead, Elladan lifted his brother onto his own horse and mounted behind him.
The hunters were setting light to the pile of orc bodies. The smoke would linger unpleasantly and the shed blood would make this area of the wood foul for several years, but leaving the bodies untouched would be far worse. Many of the others were helping the injured mount or mounting themselves. Aragorn had swiftly sheathed the hilt shard of a sword.
"I could lend you another sword," Elladan offered, "while you have that one mended."
Aragorn gave a half smile, "No," he said, "that won't be necessary."
"If the orcs return, you'll need more than half a sword."
"When the time comes," Aragorn said, "the sword will be made new."
"When what time comes?"
Aragorn didn't answer. He just mounted his horse and joined the general movement back the way they had come. Legolas was soon beside them, having been collecting his stray arrows.
"He was this evasive about questions," Legolas told Elladan, "all the time I was travelling with him." Assuming that was the best he was going to get, Elladan urged his horse faster. He quickly left the others behind, knowing that Legolas and Aragorn could protect them if there was any more trouble, and rode hard and fast towards his home and his father's medicines.
Arwen watched the girl squirming, fighting for breath beneath the pillow, drowning in a sea of feathers. The satisfaction bloomed for a moment but withered swiftly. Murder. A single word came into her mind and she knew what she was doing.
The pressure eased slightly and she heard the gasping as the girl managed to suck a few feeble breaths into her lungs. Arwen stared down. The girl was so fragile and weak, already half-dead from fighting orcs. This was no noble battle, no glorious victory. This was petty vengeance and it would not make things right. Perhaps Aragorn no longer loved her, but he would hate her if she did this. She could not live with that.
Tears were flowing down Arwen's cheeks unstoppably. She sobbed, her whole body shaking until the pillow slipped from her grip. She didn't even notice as the girl's face was revealed, looking up in shock from the surface of the bed. For a moment, Arwen had almost given into the worst instincts that lurk inside every living being. Aragorn had destroyed her life and she had almost destroyed her soul.
"Who . . . who are you?" the girl asked, looking now at Arwen with a combination of pity and fear. Arwen couldn't answer, couldn't gather her senses and voice enough to speak. Fortunately, there was another to answer for her.
"Arwen?" her father came swiftly into the room, "Arwen, what are you doing here? What's wrong?"
Arwen flung her arms around him, buried her face in his chest. Her tears were spoiling his fine robes, but she doubted he cared about that. She clung to him, feeling like an infant lost in a world to big for her, filled with monsters everywhere. Even inside herself.
"He loved me," she cried, words almost unintelligible, "he loved me."
"Come, child," her father guided her from the room. She had to lean on him for support, unable to hold herself upright without him. Her legs were trembling and uncertain, partly due to the shock of what she had almost done partly because of a weakness that was steadily growing within her, spreading outwards from her heart. Fortunately, she did not have to walk far. Her father led her to an empty bedroom in the healing wing, only a few doors down from the girl. She sat gratefully on the bed while her father sat beside her, an arm remaining about her shoulders. Her tears had stopped now, simply because there were none left inside her to cry. They had done nothing to drown her raging grief.
"What happened?" he asked gently. Arwen considered not answering, but she would have to face it eventually. She needed to admit, to him and to herself, what it was she had almost done. What she had almost become.
"I almost killed her," Arwen admitted in a barely audible whisper. She kept her eyes fixed on some insignificant mark on the wall. She just couldn't bear the thought of turning and seeing hate in her father's eyes. For what else could there be? He was a healer, sworn to protect and defend life. The girl she had almost murdered was his patient, one who was depending on him. Aragorn had already cast her aside, and now her father would too. The aching emptiness inside Arwen was growing.
"Why?" her father asked. Arwen turned to look at him then, hearing nothing but confusion and pity in his voice. The same emotions were glowing in his eyes along with another: love.
"Estel loved me," Arwen confessed, "He abandoned me, for her."
"You would have killed a young girl over your feelings for Estel?" There was the grief Arwen had expected to hear, mixed with a tinge of fear.
"I couldn't," Arwen answered, "I wanted to but I couldn't."
"Why did you want to?" His question was gentle and it reached inside her and tore out the truth. She confessed to him her love of Estel, a love she had kept hidden for ten years, how his going had almost destroyed her, how his abandoning of her now was finishing the task, her jealousy and anger towards the girl. Her father listened in silence, letting the words spill out without hindrance. All the while, his arm held her close to him. At last she could say no more and a silence fell over the room. When he spoke, it was in a strained tone, holding a deep pain.
"I never knew your feelings for him were so great," he said.
"I love him," she said, "I love him with all my heart and soul. And he no longer loves me."
"He does love you," her father said with complete certainty, "you need not doubt it. That girl is his student and his friend, no more. Be assured that his heart belongs to you and no other."
"Then why . . . why deny it?" Arwen stammered.
"Because he fears for you. He fears that if you surrender your heart to him, it will cost you your life." A trickle of understanding began to flow into Arwen's mind, filtering through the haze and confusion of emotions.
"You knew," she said, "you knew he loved me." It wasn't a question.
"I didn't know how much," her father said, "and I didn't know how deeply you returned the feelings. I thought it nothing more than an infatuation that would swiftly pass."
"You sent him away." A pain of betrayal cut into Arwen's heart, as painful as Estel's had been and in some ways worse. Her father had been the one she had turned to for support all her life. Now it seemed he was responsible for her worst sufferings. He never got the chance to answer, but Arwen didn't need to hear a reply to know that what she had said was true.
"Ada! Ada!" A frantic voice called, one which both Arwen and her father recognised instantly. Even Arwen managed to forget her troubles momentarily at the fear in that voice.
Her father was on his feet and in the corridor before Elladan had finished shouting. Quickly, he urged his son in and had him lay down his burden on the bed. Arwen gave a small gasp, half in shock, half in fear. Elrohir lay, deathly pale, blood seeping through a rough bandage.
"Elladan," their father instructed, "go and fetch my things." Elladan ran, his gaze clinging to his brother even as he left the room. Arwen stood in the corner, temporarily forgotten, as her brother teetered on the edge of death. She had thought herself incapable of more tears, but they began to flow again anyway.
Elrohir couldn't die. He couldn't. She'd lost Estel and their child and barely survived that. Now she had learned that her father had been the one to destroy her hopes. If Elrohir died so soon, there was no way she could survive the compound grief.