Author's note: Sorry for the delay: a two week holiday in California doesn't make it easy to update. Hopefully you won't have to wait nearly so long for the next chapter.
As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Please keep your comments coming. Additionally, is anyone interested in doing a lot of reading? I'm getting somewhere near the end of my novel and would welcome detailed feedback. If you'd like to, give me your email address and I'll send you the first chapter. You only have to do as much as you feel like and if you decide you're too busy or you just don't like the story, that's fine, but any help you can give would be appreciated.
Anyway, on with the story.
Aragorn dismounted almost before his horse had stopped. Trusting the grooms to tend the animal, he raced inside the house and up the stairs to the healing wing. Along the route, elves leapt out of his way rather than be mown down. Legolas was behind him a few paces, but his need to reach Elrohir was not so desperate.
Aragorn only slowed his pace when he reached the open door and saw Lord Elrond beyond it, spreading a paste of herbs onto the wound. The room's fire was burning and above it a steaming pot was spreading a wholesome scent, covering the stench of blood and death. Elladan was beside the bed, his clothes still covered by the wreck of battle and, in a shadowed corner, Arwen was watching the proceedings with a look of fear and dismay on her face.
Their eyes met briefly, sharing a look of fear for their brother and grief for all that had happened. The anger was still there, but more important things had overwhelmed it. Tears were drying on her cheeks as she watched her life fall apart around her. Aragorn gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Too much had happened to her in such a short time.
Just then Elrohir cried out and began to thrash, struggling somewhere between the conscious world and the death that lay so close to him. His shouts were wordless, senseless, but they were full of pain. The spectators all moved closer to the bed, as though their presence could help him somehow.
Elladan grabbed his twin's arms to hold him on the bed while Elrond worked. Elrohir looked so fragile, straining against identical hands as a war for survival raged inside him.
"Bring me the pot!" Elrond ordered, not even looking to see if he was obeyed. Aragorn seized a cloth and used it to pull the pot off the fire, not caring about the burning heat that was coming through the material onto his hands. He set the pot on the table beside Elrond, watching as the healer dipped a cloth in it to spread over the wound.
"A cup!" Aragorn filled the cup and tipped up Elrohir's head to make him drink, trying not to let the liquid slop too much as Elrohir thrashed. He understood what was happening. The poison had spread too far from the wound and now the antidote needed to be inside him as much as possible.
Aragorn stood back again after making sure Elrohir had drunk the greater portion of two cups. The pale forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat. The thrashing had stilled somewhat, but whether that meant he was winning or loosing this deadly battle, Aragorn couldn't tell.
It might have been hours they stood there together, it might have been days. They followed any orders they were given instantly, never taking their eyes off the figure on the bed in case it was the last sight they would get. Sometime during the struggle, Aragorn's fingers had found Arwen's and intertwined. He didn't even realise until Elrohir stilled on the bed, his breathing stilling into slumber, and Elrond sat back, relief shining from his face.
"If he survives the rest of the night," Elrond stated, "he will live. I will stay and watch over him. You should go and rest."
"Take care of him, Father," Elladan said softly. It was the first time any of them had spoken since this began.
"You need to take care of him," Arwen said, "you have already lost two of your children." Two? The unspoken question rested on everyone's lips. "When Elrohir recovers," Arwen went on, "I will be leaving. Don't expect to see me again."
She left. Aragorn was the first to recover from the shock, since he at least knew some of what was going on. He hurried after her. If she knew what Elrond had done, then undoubtedly she knew that Aragorn still loved her. There was no sense in lying to her any more, nothing to be gained.
"Arwen," he called out to her. She had stopped, leaning against the wall to hold herself up. He couldn't bear the sight of the pain on her face and the knowledge that he had some part in causing it.
"He had no right to judge us," she said.
"I know," Aragorn pulled her into his arms, holding her close, "but none of us can change what happened. I wasted ten years hating him."
"He told me he didn't know where you went, didn't know why you went," she sobbed,
"He lied to me."
"He was afraid of loosing you," Aragorn told her, "He knew that if you gave yourself to me then you would die. How can I hate him for wanting you to live?" He brushed away the tears from her face with a gentle touch, letting his presence be a comfort to her.
"Even when then grief of losing you almost killed me?"
"We have each other again now, we have a lifetime to make up for the time we have lost."
"But that can't bring back what was taken from us. Our child died, Aragorn, died because my body was so weak I could barely survive myself. Our child died because I thought I had lost you. Our child died because Father sent you away."
Aragorn's breath froze for a moment. Elrond hadn't foreseen the cause of the child's death, only its occurrence. He had never considered that he might be the one to blame. He was the murderer Aragorn had thought him, but he had been such unknowing. Unwittingly, he had stolen an innocent life along with his daughter's hopes of happiness.
Legolas stood with Elladan at the doorway of Elrohir's room, watching as Arwen and Aragorn spoke a short distance away. They couldn't hear the words, but they could see the tender way they held each other. Their feelings were obvious in the gentle touch of Aragorn's fingers across Arwen's cheeks.
"What did she mean, Father?" Elladan asked as Aragorn led Arwen away. But Lord Elrond had not moved. He stayed sitting beside Elrohir's bed, staring into nothingness. He didn't seem aware that the others were even there.
"Aragorn told me," Legolas said, "that he lost the one he loved because of someone he thought he could trust. Someone he couldn't name because of the further destruction that it would cause." He spoke quietly, with no accusation in his tone, but Elladan understood nonetheless.
"You sent Estel away?" he asked his father, "You sent him away for loving Arwen?"
"She would have chosen mortality," Elrond said, his voice distant and sad, "she would have died for him. I thought only to save her life."
"Instead you gave her a half-life," Elladan told him, "filled with grief where she should have known love. She has never once smiled since Estel left, never once touched happiness. Surely living with such sadness, such betrayal, is worse than death."
"You would wish your sister dead," Elrond demanded, "when your twin lies so close to that fate?"
"I would wish her happy. I would wish her able to make her own choices in what would make her so." He looked at Elrohir, pale and weak on the sheets. "You'd best see that he lives," he said, "soon he will be the only one willing to call you 'father'."
Elladan stormed out, but Legolas stood a little while longer. Elrond wept beside the bed of his remaining child, a figure of infinite sadness. Legolas found, standing on the outside of the situation, that he could understand each of them. Elrond had thought to protect his child and the others saw only the consequences and not the motive behind them.
"Do you hate me also?" Elrond asked.
"I pity you," Legolas replied, finding that he meant it. "Perhaps when he has had a chance to calm, Elladan will do the same."
"He hates me. They all hate me."
"Let them think for a while. Anger makes everyone say things that they don't mean at times. I'm sure that Elladan will remember his love for you once he has had time to understand your purpose."
"All I wanted was to protect her," Elrond said, "and instead I have destroyed my family." He reached out to take Elrohir's hand, holding it close to him. Perhaps he feared that he would lose this child too, either to death or to hate.
Legolas watched for a moment then left the room, hoping to find Elladan and make sure that he had a chance to think before acting rashly. Legolas felt as though he was in the middle of a whirlwind, trying to hold it still with his bare hands, as all around him destruction raged and those he cared about had the very things they held certain torn from them in the blast.
As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Please keep your comments coming. Additionally, is anyone interested in doing a lot of reading? I'm getting somewhere near the end of my novel and would welcome detailed feedback. If you'd like to, give me your email address and I'll send you the first chapter. You only have to do as much as you feel like and if you decide you're too busy or you just don't like the story, that's fine, but any help you can give would be appreciated.
Anyway, on with the story.
Aragorn dismounted almost before his horse had stopped. Trusting the grooms to tend the animal, he raced inside the house and up the stairs to the healing wing. Along the route, elves leapt out of his way rather than be mown down. Legolas was behind him a few paces, but his need to reach Elrohir was not so desperate.
Aragorn only slowed his pace when he reached the open door and saw Lord Elrond beyond it, spreading a paste of herbs onto the wound. The room's fire was burning and above it a steaming pot was spreading a wholesome scent, covering the stench of blood and death. Elladan was beside the bed, his clothes still covered by the wreck of battle and, in a shadowed corner, Arwen was watching the proceedings with a look of fear and dismay on her face.
Their eyes met briefly, sharing a look of fear for their brother and grief for all that had happened. The anger was still there, but more important things had overwhelmed it. Tears were drying on her cheeks as she watched her life fall apart around her. Aragorn gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Too much had happened to her in such a short time.
Just then Elrohir cried out and began to thrash, struggling somewhere between the conscious world and the death that lay so close to him. His shouts were wordless, senseless, but they were full of pain. The spectators all moved closer to the bed, as though their presence could help him somehow.
Elladan grabbed his twin's arms to hold him on the bed while Elrond worked. Elrohir looked so fragile, straining against identical hands as a war for survival raged inside him.
"Bring me the pot!" Elrond ordered, not even looking to see if he was obeyed. Aragorn seized a cloth and used it to pull the pot off the fire, not caring about the burning heat that was coming through the material onto his hands. He set the pot on the table beside Elrond, watching as the healer dipped a cloth in it to spread over the wound.
"A cup!" Aragorn filled the cup and tipped up Elrohir's head to make him drink, trying not to let the liquid slop too much as Elrohir thrashed. He understood what was happening. The poison had spread too far from the wound and now the antidote needed to be inside him as much as possible.
Aragorn stood back again after making sure Elrohir had drunk the greater portion of two cups. The pale forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat. The thrashing had stilled somewhat, but whether that meant he was winning or loosing this deadly battle, Aragorn couldn't tell.
It might have been hours they stood there together, it might have been days. They followed any orders they were given instantly, never taking their eyes off the figure on the bed in case it was the last sight they would get. Sometime during the struggle, Aragorn's fingers had found Arwen's and intertwined. He didn't even realise until Elrohir stilled on the bed, his breathing stilling into slumber, and Elrond sat back, relief shining from his face.
"If he survives the rest of the night," Elrond stated, "he will live. I will stay and watch over him. You should go and rest."
"Take care of him, Father," Elladan said softly. It was the first time any of them had spoken since this began.
"You need to take care of him," Arwen said, "you have already lost two of your children." Two? The unspoken question rested on everyone's lips. "When Elrohir recovers," Arwen went on, "I will be leaving. Don't expect to see me again."
She left. Aragorn was the first to recover from the shock, since he at least knew some of what was going on. He hurried after her. If she knew what Elrond had done, then undoubtedly she knew that Aragorn still loved her. There was no sense in lying to her any more, nothing to be gained.
"Arwen," he called out to her. She had stopped, leaning against the wall to hold herself up. He couldn't bear the sight of the pain on her face and the knowledge that he had some part in causing it.
"He had no right to judge us," she said.
"I know," Aragorn pulled her into his arms, holding her close, "but none of us can change what happened. I wasted ten years hating him."
"He told me he didn't know where you went, didn't know why you went," she sobbed,
"He lied to me."
"He was afraid of loosing you," Aragorn told her, "He knew that if you gave yourself to me then you would die. How can I hate him for wanting you to live?" He brushed away the tears from her face with a gentle touch, letting his presence be a comfort to her.
"Even when then grief of losing you almost killed me?"
"We have each other again now, we have a lifetime to make up for the time we have lost."
"But that can't bring back what was taken from us. Our child died, Aragorn, died because my body was so weak I could barely survive myself. Our child died because I thought I had lost you. Our child died because Father sent you away."
Aragorn's breath froze for a moment. Elrond hadn't foreseen the cause of the child's death, only its occurrence. He had never considered that he might be the one to blame. He was the murderer Aragorn had thought him, but he had been such unknowing. Unwittingly, he had stolen an innocent life along with his daughter's hopes of happiness.
Legolas stood with Elladan at the doorway of Elrohir's room, watching as Arwen and Aragorn spoke a short distance away. They couldn't hear the words, but they could see the tender way they held each other. Their feelings were obvious in the gentle touch of Aragorn's fingers across Arwen's cheeks.
"What did she mean, Father?" Elladan asked as Aragorn led Arwen away. But Lord Elrond had not moved. He stayed sitting beside Elrohir's bed, staring into nothingness. He didn't seem aware that the others were even there.
"Aragorn told me," Legolas said, "that he lost the one he loved because of someone he thought he could trust. Someone he couldn't name because of the further destruction that it would cause." He spoke quietly, with no accusation in his tone, but Elladan understood nonetheless.
"You sent Estel away?" he asked his father, "You sent him away for loving Arwen?"
"She would have chosen mortality," Elrond said, his voice distant and sad, "she would have died for him. I thought only to save her life."
"Instead you gave her a half-life," Elladan told him, "filled with grief where she should have known love. She has never once smiled since Estel left, never once touched happiness. Surely living with such sadness, such betrayal, is worse than death."
"You would wish your sister dead," Elrond demanded, "when your twin lies so close to that fate?"
"I would wish her happy. I would wish her able to make her own choices in what would make her so." He looked at Elrohir, pale and weak on the sheets. "You'd best see that he lives," he said, "soon he will be the only one willing to call you 'father'."
Elladan stormed out, but Legolas stood a little while longer. Elrond wept beside the bed of his remaining child, a figure of infinite sadness. Legolas found, standing on the outside of the situation, that he could understand each of them. Elrond had thought to protect his child and the others saw only the consequences and not the motive behind them.
"Do you hate me also?" Elrond asked.
"I pity you," Legolas replied, finding that he meant it. "Perhaps when he has had a chance to calm, Elladan will do the same."
"He hates me. They all hate me."
"Let them think for a while. Anger makes everyone say things that they don't mean at times. I'm sure that Elladan will remember his love for you once he has had time to understand your purpose."
"All I wanted was to protect her," Elrond said, "and instead I have destroyed my family." He reached out to take Elrohir's hand, holding it close to him. Perhaps he feared that he would lose this child too, either to death or to hate.
Legolas watched for a moment then left the room, hoping to find Elladan and make sure that he had a chance to think before acting rashly. Legolas felt as though he was in the middle of a whirlwind, trying to hold it still with his bare hands, as all around him destruction raged and those he cared about had the very things they held certain torn from them in the blast.