Chapter Eleven: Entering Confusion and Loss
He knew the voice that was softly whispering into his ear, the strong arms that supported him. His head ached at the mere thought of opening his eyes to glance at the figure and verify that it was indeed him who carried him. Elrohir groaned against the pain that seemed to overwhelm his entire body. Through his scattered thoughts, he heard the voice command to stop, and more whispering into his ear.
"Wake young one." The voice whispered.
Elrohir groaned again, slightly shaking his head.
"Open your eyes so I can see their light once again." The voice pressed.
He wanted to growl at the voice to leave him alone, but he couldn't find the strength to. Elrohir licked his lips instead. Even that small task seemed to drain what strength he did have left. Words formed on his lips, but no sounds came out of his mouth. Water was the first and foremost thing on his mind at the moment.
That lone figure that held him so protectively seemed to know exactly what he wanted for something touched his parched lips, and cool, delicious liquid past his lips and a soft hand rubbed his throat helping him swallow the water.
Elrohir sniffed, and tried to say his thanks, but still no sound escaped his mouth. Slowly and with great effort, he felt his eyes flutter open and refuse to focus on the face that lingered above his. He closed his eyes and groaned against the sick feeling that rose in his throat.
"Shh. Elrohir. We are almost home. Your father will be glad to see you alive." The voice murmured. "Stay with us, and let me sing a song to you as we travel the last few miles."
Elrohir nodded and attempted a smile, but to the figure that carried him it was a grimace. "Do you wish to hear a song of hope?" The voice asked. "Or a story instead?"
'Song.' Elrohir's mind and mouth worked out.
A soft song began and Elrohir felt himself drift off into a peaceful sleep filled with dreams, and free from sorrow.
Hands reached out for him, and he screamed into the darkness. Torturous hands that ripped at his clothes, abused his body. He was unsure as to whether this was a dream, or reality. His mind would not allow him to shake the feeling of fear nor the feeling of helplessness. Fists of steal slammed into his midsection. Booted feet kicked at his unprotected head. Sharp nails scrapped along his skin tearing it away and leaving trails of blood in their wake.
He screamed into the air, a loud piercing scream that reached even the farthest reaches of the world. Raising his hands to protect his face, he cried out into the darkness for help, but none found him. Rope whirled around him, binding his hands and feet. A large wooden block was brought and placed between his feet. Kicking with his bound feet, he tried to dislodge the tortuous device, but a heavy body pinned him down. Opening his eyes slowly, he regretted doing so the moment he saw the large smithing hammer. Letting out a startled cry, which soon turned to a cry of despair, the hammer slammed down and crashed into his foot. Tears ran down his face, and pain exploded in his brain. There was no way this was a dream.
Elrohir felt his body stiffen before the pain erupted through his body. Unprepared for the startling intensity of it, he sat upright and cried out. He opened his eyes and glanced around him fearfully. Strong hands braced him and eased him back into a lying position.
"Easy, my son. Deep breaths." A soft voice murmured.
He knew that voice. Shaking his head from side to side, he moaned.
"Easy. You are not fully recovered. You need to rest." The soft voice whispered. It was a claming feeling that swept through him at the sound of that voice. He struggled to sit up.
"ADA!" He cried out opening his eyes wide.
"Yes it is I." Elrond hushed.
"ELLA! Where is he?" Elrohir struggled to focus his eyes on his father's face, but his father moved around too much.
"Hush now. Drink this." A cup was placed at his lips, but taking a sniff first he turned his head away in disgust.
"No! I do not want it!" He forcefully shoved the cup aside spilling most of the contents on the bed and floor.
"You must drink it, Elrohir. You need to recover your strength."
Shaking his head hard, he glared at his father's blurry face. "Where is Elladan?" He hissed.
"We are looking for him." Elrond sighed, taking the cup away and placing it on the night table. "Tell me what happened, seeing as you refuse my help."
Elrohir closed his eyes and thought back to the events of the past few weeks, recalling every small detail for his father, in soft whispered words. The tale drained him more then he knew, and before he realized what had happened, his father had poured the contents of the cup down his throat. Coughing and sputtering angrily, Elrohir felt his eyes slowly close and drifted off into sleep.
Elrond stood beside his son's bed sadly. He knew his son would be angry with him once he woke, but his son needed rest. Shaking his head slowly, he walked out the door, and was met by a dozen faces filled with concern. Taking a deep breath he nodded.
"He will recover. It will be difficult, and draining for him. Any news on Elladan?" He asked softly.
Erestor shook his head. "There has been no news from Figwit, Glorfindel, or Galathil."
Elrond nodded slowly. Glancing back at the door once again, he walked down the halls, leaving behind everyone who had waited impatiently for news on his youngest. He locked himself in his study, and looked out the window. The day was drawing to a close, and still after three days of searching there was nothing of his oldest son. Three mornings ago, Elrohir had been raced into the courtyard in his friend's arms. Close to dying, and muttering incomprehensible words, Elrond had been able to distinguish one word alone. 'Elladan.'
Pushing away from the windowsill angrily, Elrond flopped into his chair ungracefully. How he had wanted to be out searching for his son, however fate and circumstance, did not allow it. His son, Elrohir was wracked with fever, infection, and forest rot to the foot and shoulder. Poison had spread through his body at an alarming rate. The connection his son had with the world was fading. To make matters worse, his son was filled with grief and worry for his brother, his twin.
"Not a good mix to aid in healing." Elrond scoffed to himself. A knock at the door caused Elrond's head to turn surprised. Anxiously standing and racing to the door, he was greeted by the most unlikely person imaginable. Sighing, slightly disappointed, Elrond stood aside and waved the young elf into his study. Curious, and angry at the same time, Elrond sat back down into his chair and waited for the youth to speak.
"I come with urgent pleas, milord." The elf began.
Elrond nodded for the elf to continue, waving to the chair beside the tall youth.
"My brother is dying, and my father has sent me with hopes of finding aid."
Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go on."
"My father begs for you to come to Mirkwood to help my brother, Erysyn."