Chapter 7

Elrond, Lord of Imladris, knew all was lost.

Though he still clutched the hand of his son with all his might, he knew that this time, this time he would not be able to keep him here.
Through the hand he held almost tightly enough to break bones, the elvenlord felt the coldness of death taking over his son's body.

"No… Elladan, no…" He whispered, knowing his son would not hear him, knowing only a miracle could save them now. "Please, little one, don't give up. Don't leave me…" It felt as if his throat was ripped open by the words he spoke, as if he was bleeding from it, as if his words had been swords that had hurt him when they had come out.
"Don't you leave me too."

But Elladan was not moved by his father's desperate pleading. He was as motionless as he had ever been, ever since he had brought his brother's broken body home so many years ago.

The image of his son standing on the doorway, his face pale and without expression, his clothes covered in blood was etched on Elrond's mind forever. At first he had though Elladan was wounded, but then his eyes had fallen on the limp form in his son's arms.
While he had clutched his brother's body Elladan had spoken only three words in a voice that Elrond had never heard before, lifeless and beaten.

"Arathorn is dead."

He did not speak of Elrohir, not a single word, but when Elrond tried to get the body out of Elladan's hands he refused to let go, he refused to move and did not speak again.

Elrond later heard from one of the other warriors that his son had died protecting Arathorn's child, that his little Ro had sacrificed himself for an even smaller human boy; now last of Isildur's bloodline. And he had felt no other choice but to take the boy into his house, raise him, make sure the sacrifice of his beautiful child would not be in vain.

And he had had to wait. He had to wait until his eldest son had weakened himself so much by not eating and not sleeping that he could no longer put up much of a fight when his father finally forced the body of his twin out of his arms. He had had to rob his son of his brother, just to be able to hold his own dead son in his arms. Just to be able to give Elrohir a proper funeral.

Elladan had not moved again.

The elven lord had placed his only remaining son on a chair looking out of the window, so he would be able to see how they placed Elrohir's body on a small ship of the river Loudwater in the direction of the sea.

Elrond had seen how Dan had followed the ship with his eyes, until it could no longer be seen, and longer than that even. He had seen how Elladan's eyes had remained on the place he had last seen his brother, unblinkingly for minutes, for days, for years.

Elladan had not moved again.

"Please, Danny. Don't leave me… stay"

But Elrond knew all was lost.

Estel did not know what to say and so he just nodded.

He did not understand why the stone elf was so surprised. Of course Elrond was his Ada. Everyone knew that. And Estel was sure Ada had told the stone elf. After all, Ada had always told the stone elf everything.

"So, Elrond is your Ada." The stone elf still sounded as if he did not believe, as if his mind had trouble accepting the fact.
Estel nodded again.
"Alright... Well… in that case…" The stone elf said with a sigh, the tone of his voice suggested that he was expecting the boy to jump up and say 'fooled you!' any minute now. 'I think we have something in common. Elrond is my Ada too."
"I know. You're Elladan." Estel said with a smile, proud that he had remembered such a difficult name.

It was as if Estel had spoken some magic words. The face of the stone elf lit up and a smile split his face nearly in two. It was as if something fell back into place, as if the stone elf had returned where he belonged.
"No, you silly." He spoke, beaming. "I'm Elrohir."

Estel blushed. He had been sure he had remembered the name correctly and he did not understand why his mistake could make Elrohir so happy.

"I'm sorry." He whispered softly. "I thought Glorfindel called you 'Elladan' when you were still dying back home. "

The first few moments Elrohir felt he was unable to move, unable to think, unable to act. He felt as if the words the small boy had spoken were a second sword that had penetrated his body.

He had been so happy when the boy had called him 'Elladan.' It had been strange really. Before the 'accident with the orc-blade' he had always hated it if people could not even tell the difference between him and Dan. But now, now they had been separated this long, it had just felt as if he was home again.
If people thought he was Dan, it could only mean Dan was close and Elrohir had been ready to dance.

But not anymore.

Dan was dying.

Suddenly he felt like he could not move fast enough.
Dan was dying.
Why was he still here? Why was he not trying to reach him, to safe him to pull him back?
Why was he bounded by this little boy that claimed to be his brother too?

Dan was dying.

"Little one. " he could even hear himself how his voice had changed. "We have to go. Now. Can you walk?"

He did not want to walk. He did not want to carry the boy. He wanted to run, run as fast as he could, or faster than that, until he could close his arms around his brother, and tell him that Valinor was overrated, and it was best to just stay here.
He did not wait for the boy's answer; he just lifted him carefully off the ground and started running.
He did not notice the woods that he had played in as a child were welcoming him back.
He did not stop and enjoy the first sight of his home in many years.

Dan was dying.