Chapter 13
Remember Who You Are?
Like a phantom, he pulled himself forward in a hunchback form. One arm was wrapped around the gold and black of an arrow shaft sticking out of his side, a wound that was going to take the last of his strength and life in minutes. Only the endurance of his race had kept him alive this long. Mayroniel struggled forward, a maddening rage in his eyes. In his hands he held Legolas' bow and quiver, taken from the cave to serve his last desire.
He was going to find that human, and kill him. Shoot him down with his own friend's weapon. The satisfaction and irony the situation would give him gave the mad elf the desire to try. He would hunt that whelp of a ranger down and throttle the last of the life out of his pathetic body.
His mind gave no room for any logic. For all he knew, the man he knew only as Strider was miles away, far from his reach. But Mayroniel didn't care. He staggered out of the cave, literally breathing like a dragon and sounded little better. He was a dark assassin, and right now he wanted blood.
Far-seeing, blood-curdling eyes found a source of contention outside of the cave, some distance away. Whether it was an illusion created from his mind or the real thing, Mayroniel pulled out an arrow and prepared to notch it, rushing toward his make-believe reality with the last of his strength. Two beings and two horses stood quietly underneath the distant trees, probably planning some attack.
There was the human. Still down, still defenseless. The dark assassin relished in the thought of the ranger's dying scream. There was another being, one Mayroniel recognized all too well. That liar and deceiver Arahil was here too. He rushed as fast as he could, clumsily sighting in on the arrow with wavering eyesight, releasing the arrow.
He watched Arahil's eyes grow wide as he realized where the arrow was headed. With a speed only an elf could possess he raced forward and covered the man's prone body against Mayroniel with his own, taking the arrow himself. Since Mayroniel no longer had the strength nor the accuracy of a healthy, strong elf, his power and aim had suffered, but not enough. The arrow slammed into Arwen's lower shoulder, knocking her off balance. She fell heavily on the ground, cracking her head on a rock and succumbing to unwanted darkness.
'Fool,' he thought, glaring at the girl. 'Arahil's really a woman. He told me, he told me his real name.'
"Filth," he hissed at Arwen's unmoving form before turning his attention to the man on the ground, looking up at him with a gaze of unmasked terror. The fear fed his rage. Dropping the bow next to the man, Mayroniel prepared to lay out all the fury he could bear on the man, offering no release or mercy, and the ranger could offer no real resistance even if it meant his life.
His hands closed around the helpless ranger's throat, forcing his thumbs into the man's windpipe. Strider was struggling madly against him, chocking from lack of air. Mayroniel's eyes were incensed and deadly maddening. Forget the bow. He was going to cut the man of life itself, by slowly feeling the man's spirit leave him. He bore down harder, watching the face in front of him color blue, starved already for oxygen.
But before his revenge was complete, the earth began to rumble. Blood-crazed as he was, Mayroniel didn't notice it until it was too late. Nor did he notice another threat that came after him much faster.
Sharp hooves slammed into his head, throwing the unsuspecting elf back three feet, releasing his hold on the injured ranger. Mayroniel's vision swam, and his hearing wavered. He barely made out the high-pitched scream of a horse, and a flash of whitish-grey passed before his eyes. A deep, guttural rumbling from one animal warned him of the beast's terrifying anger.
Then, his world went black. His skull was crushed, only moments of life were left. Caught in the beginning of a growing earthquake, Mayroniel could feel the earth toss and churn like a wave on the sea, over and over. In seconds the ground underneath his broken body fell away and took him down into nothingness, landing sharply farther down the mountain. Something heavy landed on top of him, then rolled off and away. The haze in his mind was almost complete, until something large and crushingly heavy landed on him, cutting not only his comprehension of what was happening but his life. The dark assassin, who had been Ralorn's most trusted companion and the harshest tormenter of Aragorn was gone.
§§§
Aragorn was fully awake when Mayroniel attacked them. He watched the cold assassin shoot Arwen down and then come after him, coming within half a second of making the man black out entirely. If it had not been for Asfaloth's valiant rescue, he wouldn't have made it. Mayroniel would have killed him.
He had remained lucid during the beginning of the earthquake, felt the earth roll and rumble like some angry beast below the surface was punching the top, trying to fight his way out. He felt the time when the ground beneath him fell away, freefalling for several feet in a breath and landing hard on Mayroniel's lifeless body, rolling away under the inertia he had built up during the fall.
As soon as he stopped rolling, he looked back. Aragorn watched the large, heavy tree trunk fall right onto Mayroniel's defenseless body, crushing him. The assassin was dead.
The world stilled after that. Once again the ground ceased all movement, the danger passing. But the damage was catastrophic.
Aragorn, Arwen, Asfaloth, and Silme had been so blessed – they had been close enough to the cave and the majority of the trees were now behind them. Any farther into the forest would have meant death. Few trees stood now. Most had been cracked and shattered, falling to the ground and mixing with tossed earth. Dust and debris filled the air.
Asfaloth and Silme had managed not to fall when a section of the earth broke away, instead making slow, tedious tracks to more open ground. Celebnar stayed with them. Both Aragorn and Arwen however, had not been so lucky. Stuck on the shifting ground, neither of them could react when the earth broke away. They had both fallen several feet down to a lower natural shelf on the mountain side, unable to make it back up without help. They were trapped.
The ranger rolled over onto his back, staring up into the sky and attempting not to breathe in too deeply, for too much dust would certainly choke him. Surprisingly, he was almost unharmed from the earthquake. Mayroniel had broken his fall, saving him from much worse damage. Other than a few new bruises and minor cuts, his shaken up body had little to really account for. Now much stronger than the previous night when even twitching had ached, Aragorn was healing quite well given the circumstances. The fire of his torn shoulder muscles had calmed under the herbs Arwen had given him consistently and he could now move his arms. He couldn't raise his arms very far over his head - the splints restrained him from going too far - but he could slowly complete small actions with his hands. He could even go as far as pulling himself along with his arms, though not far. His legs and tailbone had not healed enough to help him crawl along, much less walk. Judging by the severity of his wounds, Aragorn guessed he wouldn't be able to support his own weight for almost a week, and the thought frustrated him.
It did however, hurt to breathe. The filth in the air burned his lungs. Slowly, the ranger pulled up the hem of his tunic and tore a piece of it away, placing the fabric over his mouth and nose. After a few moments and several breaths later, he could breathe easier.
Holding the cloth over the lower half of his face, Aragorn sat up a little and looked around, trying to register and assess where he was. He was stuck on a low, natural mountain shelf about fifteen feet long and seven feet wide from the side of the mountain. He had been saved by a small rocky lip over his head of any falling trees and rocks. Two feet away was a huge tree trunk, broken up and ground deeply into the ground. Underneath it, the ranger could barely make out one arm and one leg. It took him a moment to realize who it was, and relief flowed through him when he knew the truth. Mayroniel was finally gone; he could hurt no one any longer. Aragorn avoided looking at the assassin's body for long. The memories were just too strong.
Looking in the other direction did not bring the relief Aragorn would have hoped for. A short distance away Aragorn discovered another unmoving body. He froze.
It was Arwen.
When Mayroniel had shot his bow, Arwen had been knocked backwards and slammed her head into the rocks. She was unconscious. Sometime in the fall or the earthquake the arrow had broken in half – the arrow tip still driven four inches into her shoulder, the other half no where to be seen. She lay, doubled up and still, almost ten feet away from where Aragorn had stopped moving.
Aragorn rushed in her direction almost immediately. He pulled his body forward with his arms, ignoring the burning fire that spread from his shoulders. Still unable to use his knees much – his tailbone prevented that as of yet – he could not crawl. By the time he reached the elf-maiden's side he was almost out of breath, clutching his torn piece of fabric to his mouth painfully for a few moments until he had again regained control.
When he could find the strength to use his hands again, the man quickly assessed the injuries Arwen had taken. The arrow had not been shot properly – Mayroniel's madness had altered the skill and strength it took to drive an arrow in deadly and deep. It had pierced no vital organs, touched little bone. It was bleeding though, it needed to be staunched and cared for properly as quickly as possible.
Quickly and carefully, Aragorn checked the elf maiden's vitals. Her eyes were dilated. She had landed on her right arm in the fall, the broken bone nearly breaking the skin. Her ribcage was badly bruised, though there were no broken bones. She had more bruises on her legs from the landing, but other than that she had no more serious injuries. The bump on the head caused Aragorn more concern than the rest though. If it wasn't taken care of quickly, it could turn deadly. Slowly and carefully, he shifted Arwen's body into a more comfortable position, one in which she could breathe easier.
Aragorn looked up through the broken rubble of the mountain side, searching. The earthquake had destroyed so much. It was a miracle they had even survived, even if they had been harmed.
Arwen had still not yet woken. If she stayed unconscious too long, she could slip into a coma and die.
Aragorn wished for the strength to pull the arrow out of her, but he couldn't. As he lay on the ground the ranger cursed his unbearable weakness. Giving in to the will of his body, Aragorn again lay down on the ground next to Arwen's unconscious form and again checked her vitals. She was breathing easier and her pulse had calmed, but her eyes were still a little dilated and she gave no sign that she was going to wake. Nothing the man did had any effect on her. To do anything more drastic would require strength Aragorn just didn't have.
Placing one arm over Arwen's back to better monitor her breathing, Aragorn again took a glance around. Mayroniel's motionless form remained trapped underneath the tree close by. Aragorn winced at the sight of the body of his tormentor, his heart warring within him. He turned away from Mayroniel. He looked for anything else around, but could find nothing amiss. No sound came from above or below, but that could have been due to his weakened state.
Wearily, his head sunk to the ground.
§§§
Legolas tore into the wall with a vengeance, throwing aside the wooden planks he had removed and exposing the escape route he and Aragorn had used. Once the pathway had been revealed, he turned to the others. Elladan and Elrohir looked impressed, Ralorn looked surprised.
"Come quickly!" Legolas motioned the twins through first. The earth was twisting violently beneath their feet and the cave was collapsing. If they didn't get out in about ten seconds there would be no getting out. "Hurry!"
Elrohir lead his twin forward and let Elladan go first. Much stronger and far better off than Aragorn had been, Elladan struggled through the man-hole quickly and broke through to the outside, Elrohir right at his heels. They were safe.
Before following them, Legolas looked briefly at Ralorn. "I'm going through first. Follow if you wish." And he too was gone, disappearing into the makeshift pathway to the sunlight outside.
Surprisingly, Ralorn did not hesitate. He too crawled head first into the small tunnel. He, like the others, barely fit through. But they were safe on the other side. The ground behind them was churning madly, the instability of the cave's tunnels giving in to the stronger force of Mother Nature. The ground collapsed, much off the side of the mountain falling in on itself. The elves jumped away from the falling earth as it caved in, narrowly avoiding being pulled in as well.
As the rumbling began to fade, so did the earthquake. Even though it hadn't even lasted a minute, it felt like forever. Fresh cascades of dust filled the air as the world stilled once more. For several moments the sky was thick and heavy with debris. Legolas, Elrohir, and Elladan covered their noses and mouths with their sleeves, trying to avoid breathing in too much.
It was then that Ralorn tried to escape them.
Backing away slowly, Ralorn darted back to where the cave had once stood, hidden and secluded in this part of Middle Earth. The ground shifted uneasily under his feet, still so unstable even under his light tread. Some twenty feet away from where the others were, Ralorn fell to his knees.
All his men, the ever loyal and strong members of the guard that had followed him for countless years, were gone. Dead. Left to rot underneath the surface until the end of time, buried by the earth itself. They had trusted him, helped him, and supported his deepest desires without hesitation. And now they were gone.
Ralorn shook his head miserably. It should have been him. He should have died too. Why had he not died too? He should have. He could not live knowing that he had failed, and that the lives of four elves and five horses on his head because of it. He should have died with them, fighting. But he had not. He had stood there, let it happen. He didn't even know why he had allowed himself to be caught. He had just stood there... and let the immortal lives die.
Defeated, he buried his hands into the soil and crushed the clumps in his grip. Anger and despair filled his entire being. He had lost everything that had ever meant anything to him... all because of a stupid mistake on a dark night in Rivendell. His life, along with so many others, had been destroyed.
A strong hand suddenly wrapped itself around his arm, pulling him to his feet. Ralorn did not turn, did not react. He knew who it was. Like a man before his execution, he just stood there feeling as though there was nothing left, not in this world or the next.
"Come," a voice said, belonging to the one who held him firm. "We must return quickly to find the others."
Grey clouds misted around him, slowly, gently, thinning away to nothing. And carried in the invisible trails were the final traces of his resistance, of his instinct for survival. He let the others lead him away. The hate, the fierceness, the desire to gain all he had ever cared about had died.
He didn't care anymore.
§§§
The man had no idea how much time had passed before he was roughly jerked awake. Arwen shifted under his arm. She was finally waking up.
"Arwen?" Aragorn watched her twist away from him, but she looked awake and alive. Wincing, she quickly stopped moving.
"Estel?" she whispered, reaching one hand toward the arrow shaft in her back, her vision wavering slightly. "What happened?"
Aragorn slumped back to the ground, shaking his head. "Don't ask."
The air was thick with a strange, dust filled fog. Gentle mountain winds carried the wide obstruction, but as of yet it was too full to see through properly. Occasionally Aragorn could catch snatches of the mountainside, both above and below, but often he could only make out the ledge they were trapped on and Arwen's injured form next to him. Struggling to ignore the biting pain of his wounds, Aragorn carefully rolled the elf maiden on her side where she would be more comfortable. She hissed and cried out as her ribcage and broken arm were jostled.
"Arwen, what is wrong?" Aragorn pressed his palm to her forehead in search of fever signs and locked his eyes with her. She was favoring one arm and had curled the other around one side.
"Ribs," she whispered harshly, struggling to control the spasms in her jarred bones. "Arm."
"It's all right, you bruised some of the ribs on your side and your arm is broken..." Aragorn reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. Arwen's eyes were filled with pain, but her eyes were no longer dilated and the ranger took that as a good sign. "It's the bump on your head that concerns me more. Just lie still and it'll be all right."
Arwen clutched her wounded shoulder with her good hand, the bite of the arrow and the fractured bones making her face clench and twist painfully. Aragorn kept up a steady flow of conversation with his hands on her head, distracting her in the only way he could until she stilled.
"I wish I could help you..." he said at one point, hurting that she was hurting.
Arwen would have none of it, despite the fact that she was in a lot of pain. "You already are. Here, help me sit up and keep talking."
When she was upright on her knees, Arwen brushed her hair back more with her good hand, sucking in her breath at the warnings of her body. Aragorn made it about half way before he had to stop, leaning heavily over his knees.
"What a sight we make," Arwen whispered with no hint of sarcasm. She was smiling a little though. Through the foggy air, she thought she heard a small cry from above their heads and glanced up. It did no good though. She could see more than the ranger could, but her senses were still catching up with her body and she could find nothing amiss. "But we made it. We're alive."
"I don't know about you, but my body's completely comatose." Aragorn leaned his head into one hand. "All that could wake it up now would be-"
"ESTEL!"
A familiar voice came floating down from higher up on the mountain. Both Arwen and Aragorn jumped and looked up at the faint outlines of their intruder, just distinguishable several feet over their heads through the debris.
"-my brothers..." the ranger's voice trailed off as he finished his sentence. "Elladan?" he called back up softly, not sure he should believe.
Both Elladan and Elrohir were staring down at them. "Arwen!" they called, their identical voices quite literally the sweetest thing they had heard all day. "Estel!"
"Elrohir! Elladan!" Arwen called up to them, attempting to rise to her knees but failing, ignoring her injuries though they gave her great trouble and pain. "We're down here!"
"Hang on! We'll get you back up, just hang on!" both twins disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a length of rope between them, throwing it down. "Here! Use this one at a time and we'll pull you up!"
Arwen caught the rope as it slammed into the mountain wall over her head. It was long enough, with plenty of give left to harness a body securely. "Come on, Estel," she said gently, helping the man come closer. She winced and moaned gently, holding her ribcage, but refused any attempt of help Aragorn made. "You first."
She effectively harnessed the man one handed despite her bruised ribcage and broken arm and the twins pulled him up. In reality they had only fallen about fifteen feet in the earthquake, but in the current situation with them both injured, no one was taking any chances. Aragorn groaned as the rope tightened around his legs and back, chaffing his wounds. Gritting his teeth and gripping the rope in both hands, he held his breath until the twins had gotten him to the top.
As soon as he was within reach, Elrohir reached forward and caught the man by his tunic, then his waist. Unsure of what injuries the man had taken, the younger twin wasn't going to cause the ranger any more pain then was necessary. When he was safe though, both the twins took the moment to embrace him at once.
The ranger could feel their restrained sobs as they held him, voices whispering barely understood apologies. He shushed them gently, directing Elladan back to his sister but he could not get rid of Elrohir. Nor did he want to. The younger twin pulled the ranger into his arms, burying his face in the man's long, unkempt hair.
"Estel, I feared you had died... forgive me please..." caught in the sudden memory of Estel's broken, beaten body in the cave, Elrohir couldn't let it go.
"Shh, Elrohir. Be at ease; you did no wrong." Aragorn leaned lightly into his older brother's embrace, tense with pain and even a bit of fear and doubt but he wanted so much to be held. Elrohir continued to rock him softly. Leaning on his side with his head against Elrohir's shoulder, Aragorn shut his eyes and his mind slowly faded. Overwrought with so many emotions and the sudden relief of being safe again, Aragorn found he could finally let go. Secure in Elrohir's embrace, the man fell into a deep sleep.
Aragorn clutched something tightly in both hands. He could see nothing, the air around him thick with darkness – chilly, dark, and cold. If not for the small treasure in his hands he would have given into despair.
When he was certain he was alone, the ranger carefully opened his hands and let a bright light emit from his palms. It was a star. The light that came from it was so bright and pure that it broke through the darkness that threatened, bringing to life a beautiful world around him. The ranger finally smiled, and holding the little star close began walking.
Several times, he met up with dark voids on his path. Some threatened more than others, attempting to take away his beautiful light. Always he fought the voids, fearful to loose that which was most precious to him. Sometimes he won, sometimes he failed. When he could not fight the void alone, the light would fail and would be lost, and he was left in darkness and in doubt. The ranger would search desperately, needing the star as his hold to life itself.
But somehow, he always found it again. Whether on his own or through the actions of another, he would find the star. And every time he and the light reunited, the star was different – changed. The hue may have taken another color of the sky, or it would sparkle instead of shimmer. But when the star was back in the hands of its owner, it would brighten and shine forth more, as though happy to be back in the hands of the ranger... where it belonged. Renewed, it would blaze, its light more dazzling than before.
Yet now the light of his world had faded. Something had happened to the star. And though the ranger could sense he was surrounded by those who truly cared, by family, he could not find it. His own light. In the battle he had fought, it again had been lost. Only this time, Estel could not find it, and no other knew where to look, hardly even realizing that it was gone...
"Please," Aragorn whispered in his half-asleep stupor, unseeing eyes opening to look up at the sky. "Where is it? Where is it now?"
Elrohir knelt next to his side and placed one hand on the ranger's forehead, speaking gently to the man still caught in his dream. "Where is what, Estel? What are you looking for?"
"It is gone," the ranger said in a hushed, heavy breath; his eyes growing glassy in mourning. "I cannot find it. It is gone."
§§§
Anyone who looked at the elf lord could tell he was distracted. He had been staring at the same page in his book for over twenty minutes, read the same page over ten times. His mind was so far away.
Every night he dreamed of his missing sons. Every time he saw them they were hurting. He didn't know if they were really real or awakenings of his worst fears of seeing his children in pain, but it mattered not. Of one thing he was certain. They were in trouble and he could not reach them.
Understandably when a servant entered the room five minutes later and addressed the elf lord, Elrond jumped about five feet.
"Forgive me, my lord Elrond," the servant apologized as Elrond regained his composure and his pulse. "I did not mean to frighten you."
"Worry not," Elrond breathed, running a hand through his loose hair and pushing it back. "I'm just not paying attention today."
Who was he kidding? He hadn't been paying attention to anything since Elladan and Elrohir had left with the strict instruction that their father was not to follow or send anyone unless they called for it themselves. The restriction was playing on his nerves more than he wanted to admit.
Elrond brushed a hand over his face. "Do you come with a specific purpose?" he asked wearily.
"Ai, my lord. I bring you news – word of your sons."
"My sons?" Elrond turned sharply in his chair, fully facing the younger elf as he shoved his book aside and stood. "Speak on, and with haste!"
"A day past the warriors on the northern borders came across a young human boy riding a large copper colored stallion. Both were injured and quite worn, but the watchmen helped them. The boy... he has word of a man named Strider and he is searching for you. He was brought to the palace just now, I was sent to find you."
"Where is he?" Elrond swiftly followed the servant at the young elf retreated from the room.
"He has been taken to the healing wing under the instruction of the captain who found him," the elf continued as they walked down the hallway toward the wing reserved for the sick and afflicted. "The stallion is young Estel's horse, Tole, though we do not understand how or why the two became traveling companions. We can discover nothing else from him other than what I have told you, more information will require your presence."
"Thank you," Elrond thanked the servant and bid the elf farewell when they reached the appropriate door. The young elf bowed respectively and left.
Elrond entered the room and discovered it to be filled with four beings, one of whom he did not recognize. Two healers and a warrior stood around a bed that was now occupied by a very ill looking and injured young boy. Barely fifteen by the look of him, Elrond decided, and obviously quite scared.
The warrior turned around and greeted Elrond first as the elf lord stepped through the door. "My lord."
"Glorfindel!" Elrond walked up next to the elf he knew as a warrior and a friend. "What has happened?"
"Only you can answer that." Glorfindel gestured toward the young man, still a child in many ways, who lay on the bed. The young one's eyes were moving almost franticly as he listened to yet another new elvish voice. "He is insistent to speak to you. He will have no other carry the knowledge he has. He knows about young Estel."
"Thank you, mellon nìn, for bringing him to me."
"Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but I must return. I only desired to make sure he reached you safely."
"Yes, please, don't let me hold you back. Do not fear any longer, I will care for him."
Glorfindel bowed quickly and left the room. Elrond turned to the healers. "What are his ailments?"
"He suffers from more injury that illness, Lord Elrond. Beaten by the sharpness of the marks, and his left knee has been badly dislocated just recently, though he said it was cared for early after the fact. Aside from the perhaps rather ill from the elements, very malnourished and dehydrated, but he'll live with proper care."
"Thank you, I can take over from here." The healers nodded, gathered up their belongings and left the room as well, leaving Elrond alone with the boy.
Elrond sat down at the edge of the bed and didn't speak for a moment, watching the boy closely. The teenager was clearly frightened and his eyes weren't focusing on anything in the room, although they remained in the direction of the elf lord closely.
"What is your name?" Elrond asked gently, trying to coax the boy into talking and to put him at ease.
"Gowen," the boy said after a moment, his voice shaking but clear.
"Gowen," Elrond repeated, still watching the boy.
"Are you Lord Elrond?" the teenager was still not focusing on the other's face, but he seemed to lock onto the Eldar's voice as if it were the only connection he had to the other. Then it dawned on Elrond - the boy was blind.
"Yes," Elrond said slowly. "I am he. What is it that you wish to tell me, young one? Do not be afraid of me, I want to help you."
"Strider sent me to you," the boy fumbled with a leather thong around his neck as he spoke, his voice ceasing to quiver. "He told me to give you this."
He pulled the leather string over his head with the ring threading it and held it out to the elf lord. A flicker of a memory came to him, one of his own silver-lined walnut shell his father had made for him, now stolen by the guards. Choking back the lump in his throat at the thought, he contented with the thought of being able to keep this keepsake safe for a time. It was worth it when he heard Elrond's surprise at seeing the ring, as clear as Legolas' had been.
"Estel," Elrond whispered, taking the ring and gazing at it in wonder and horror as it glinted in his hand, reflecting his elvish glow gently.
"I think he wanted you to keep it safe for him, since he felt he could not any longer. He called it Bar-... Bara-"
"The ring of Barahir," Elrond said quietly, his hand closing about the ring protectively. "It is an heirloom of his family, and it is precious indeed."
"Will you listen to my story?" Gowen asked hesitantly.
"Yes, I am more than willing. Tell me please, where is my son?"
"I fear it is quite a long tale." Gowen warned wearily. There was much to this story and Gowen wasn't willing to tell it if the elf lord would tire of it too quickly. He needn't have feared any such behavior; the Eldar relieved him of his doubts easily.
Elrond gave the boy a soft smile the lad could not see, but could hear in the other's voice. "Young one, you are talking to an elf. I love long stories."
And so Gowen told him. From the moment he and Strider had met in the wilderness to the time of their separation in front of the cave, the teenager left nothing out. Comforted by the thought of sharing all with Strider's father and the concern he could feel radiating from the elf lord, he could withhold nothing. He told Elrond of Ralorn and his men, of the slave town, Valan, Arahil, the travel through the mountains, the cave and its darkness, all the actions and conversations that he could remember transpiring that involved Elrond's youngest. For nearly two and a half hours Gowen spoke more that he literally had ever spoken in his entire life. Entwined in his story was the voice of his own doubts, fears, and hopes, and from the elf lord he could hear the tremor of reflection that radiated to him as Elrond's own unspoken thoughts.
Elrond was distressed and angered by the story, caught up in the thought of his son, of anyone enduring such pointless suffering. Relieved that Estel was alive but now fearing for his life more fiercely as Gowen told him more and more of Ralorn, he could not admit to nor deny what he felt. The worst of it was that he could do nothing to help. Any service he could have provided would come far too late. Estel's life was now out of his hands and in the capable ones of Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas. They were his only hope, and he prayed desperately to the Valar that they would all make it through.
"Have you heard nothing of my sons, Elladan and Elrohir?" Elrond asked as Gowen drew to a close of his story. The boy had spoken of meeting Legolas, but the fact that the prince and the twins had been separated somehow disturbed him, and Gowen could not answer that question though he wanted to.
"No, I have not. What I heard of them is only found in the stories that Strider told me. Though Legolas mentioned them, I did not meet them on the road." Gowen shook his head. "I had hoped to. I loved Strider's stories of them and I wanted to meet them, but Tole and I did not come within a trace."
Elrond nodded wearily. His heart warred within him, still filled with ache from many long days of waiting, but somehow he was now filled with a calm assurance. "That is ill news, but I no longer feel the desire to worry for them. They know the lands of Rivendell and of the Misty Mountains as well as a favorite book, and I feel strongly that they are alive." Elrond hesitated, but could not deny any of what he felt. "...I know they will be all right."