Title: Enchain

Author: Pentangle

Warning: Child abuse. Torture (later chapters).

Characters: Everybody in the Happy Valley but no Legolas

Italics: flashbacks

Then Elladan

Two weeks after Glorfindel's attack, two nearly identical elves led their horses from the stable in the misty pre-dawn darkness. They had a task to perform and were pleased to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the house and from endless questions that seemed to have no answers. Glorfindel was healing quickly and well, and Erestor had been able to speak, if hoarsely, the day before so their hearts were lighter than they had been for long days.

An intermittent low-lying fog hugged the valley but if one looked straight up, Ithil and the stars were clearly visible. The wispy fog appeared luminescent in their light. It was a beautiful sight and the elven hearts sang with joy. The ordinary chore of riding with messages to the border outposts became a delight as the two riders cantered into and out of gossamer cloudlings. Moisture gathered on dark eyelashes and weighed down the hair that hung down their backs. After they had ridden a few miles, one hesitant ray of the rising Arnor touched the far side of the valley.

Gradually, as often happens with brothers, one speeded up a little, and then the other speeded up a tiny bit more. Soon the tuppity-tuppity of a slow canter turned to the kalunkit-kalunkit of a hand gallop. And shortly after that there was heard the chaotic drumming of two horses running in earnest. The morning was too heart-breakingly beautiful, though, for serious competition and when Elladan had pulled only a half-length ahead, he raised his arms up, over his head and to the sides, stretching his fingers as though trying to catch the first rays of sunlight. He threw his head back and his faer nearly burst from his body in ecstasy. Like a centaur from old tales he and his horse flew along and behind him Elrohir's heart swelled with love for his brother and his valley. The joy could not be contained and the younger twin's throat opened in song as Elladan disappeared into yet another patch of mist. Elrohir closed his eyes, the better to feel the tiny droplets and was struck from his horse by the hurtling body of his brother.

Elrohir slammed into the ground on his back, the impact so great that he lost consciousness momentarily. When he opened his eyes seconds later, Elladan lay atop him, groaning. Elrohir feverishly worked himself from under his brother, trying to move him no more than he could help.

"'Dan! 'Dan! Are you all right!" Seeing no arrows or other obvious wounds, Elrohir quickly and expertly worked his way along the long limbs, gently felt the skull, and tested the ribs. He heaved a sigh of relief at finding no breaks. Elladan opened his eyes and Elrohir held him down with one hand placed on his chest. He spoke quietly and compellingly, "'Dan, move your fingers. Good. Now your feet. Very good! How many fingers do you see?"

"Two….You always hold up two."

Elrohir sat back weakly on his heels, resting his hands on his knees and hanging his head while he caught his breath. It was several moments before he could demand, "Elladan, what happened?"

"One second I was well; the next some giant hit me in the chest and I flew backwards! Thank you for cushioning my fall, brother dear."

Elrohir was still too worried to reply in kind. He saw Elladan's hand move up to his neck and looked closer at his tunic. A long, narrow stain was spreading side to side. Elrohir gently unfastened the tunic and saw more blood on the shirt beneath. He ripped it so that he could see the skin below.

"'Ro! I just had that made!"

"Be still…What the—what on Arda is that?"

"What? What is what?"

"'Dan, you have a gash running right across your collarbone from one side to the other…" His voice trailed off as he thought of ways to create such a wound. Then the blood drained from his face. 'Dan, you were corded! If you had not been stretched up like that it would have taken you in the throat!" Then another incredible aspect of the event occurred to him. "You were corded not five miles from the house!" Looking around nervously, he whistled for their horses. "Can you ride?" The wound bled but sluggishly and Elrohir thought it best they move on at once. Both horses came back to their riders, snorting and sidling at the strange happenings.

Elladan began to slowly get to his feet. "I think so. What about you?"

Elrohir was not interested in small talk. He moved quickly to his brother's horse. "Give me your foot," he ordered, bending and lacing his fingers together. Elladan stepped onto the cradle of his brother's hands and Elrohir tossed him up. Elrohir limped to his own horse and mounted, scrambling up without grace. They rode soberly and very carefully home, eyes peering every which way through the dissolving fog.

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That night five elves met in the stone vault of the wine cellar; they did not want to be overheard. Elladan leaned against the wall and kept overly-concerned elders and brothers at bay with crossed arms. His wound was thin and shallow and really did not need the disinfectant his father had dabbed him with. Elrohir paced, muttering darkly, and Elrond tried to keep the meeting orderly and on track. He was concerned that Glorfindel was present and had removed his bandages. The warrior's face looked like a patchwork quilt; one made by a careful and expert seamstress. When Elrond began to remonstrate with him he made an impatient gesture.

"I know you tried to shield me from the curious but since they will gossip anyway I might as well give them something to talk about. No, Elrond, enough! I am well! I am your seneschal; I will fulfill my charge. So far we have been very fortunate, but any of these events could easily have killed. We must assume the next one will kill. I went to the place where Elladan was brought down and found this." From under his tunic he pulled a coil of treated flax thread. He tossed it to Elrond who caught it deftly out of the air one-handed. The dark-haired lord looked at Glorfindel.

"Bowstrings?"

"Not yet, but that is what it was intended for. Although it has been waxed to a greater thickness and hardness than can be used with any bow I know of. It was lying by the tree that the villain used to stretch the cord across the path. There is a groove in the bark at exactly the height I would expect. I believe he was there. He did not tie to the other tree but wrapped the cord around it and held it in his hand. He knew the twins would be traveling that way and he wanted to see his plan work. He wanted to see the rider brought down. It was easy enough—all know they take the dispatches each week if they are home."

"Bring me down, you mean," put in Elladan.

Erestor, sitting on an oaken barrel, spoke hoarsely, "Perhaps. But how many who do not sit at the high table can tell you apart? He wanted one of the sons of Elrond; I doubt it mattered which. I agree with Glorfindel that the striking thing about these assaults is that although each could have killed, that outcome was hardly guaranteed as we have seen. That means –"

Glorfindel spun around as the door to the cellar hit the wall with a crash. It was a measure of the tenseness of the situation that his sword, rarely carried in the house, sang as it was jerked from its scabbard. The intruder found himself looking at the deadliest blade in Imladris. It did not faze him in the least and he brushed past the edge as he stormed down the long vaulted room to stand before his father.

Elrond found himself reminded of Elros as he calmly gazed at the jutting chin and the thunderous brow. "Yes, my son? Did you wish to speak with me?"

"I have wanted to speak with you these two hours past, Adar, but strangely I have been unable to find you! Why have I had to hunt my father like a fox in a hole? It seems I have interrupted a family meeting of some sort. One to which I was not invited!"

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other and their eyebrows climbed in identical arches; Elrond was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner by his sons. But the lord of Imladris saw fear as well as anger in the grey eyes that met his and so he tempered his response.

"I am sorry I did not tell you that we intended to meet here. With all that has happened I can understand that you were upset when you could not find us. Nonetheless, you will lower your hackles when you speak to me, Estel!"

For just a moment the issue trembled in doubt on the disturbed air, then Estel dropped his chin a trifle and took an easing breath.

"I am sorry, Ada. But this is about us, is it not? My family. No one else has been threatened." He became belligerent again, "I have a right to be here!"

The elf lord's brows first soared then crashed together at the word 'right.' He opened his mouth to deliver a crushing retort as Estel roughly brushed his ever unruly hair from his eyes.

But before Elrond could speak, the torchlight flickered and played up the fine white lines on his son's hand. He had performed two operations on the boy after his harrowing experience months before. Over time, he had tried to reduce scarring and return full use and strength to damaged tendons. He had succeeded well at the latter and to some extent with the former, but some scars would always remain. They reminded him that his son had been tried by fire and not found wanting. He relaxed and came forward to put an arm around the rigid shoulders.

"You must have patience with me, Estel. It is hard for me to remember that you are no longer a child. Come, let us begin again. You are correct. We should have included you from the beginning. If only because you may be in danger as well."

"Then there is someone who wants to harm us."

"Apparently, although it is hard to imagine one motive that would involve everyone attacked so far. But you are right, Estel, in that we must assume none of us is safe at the moment. I think we should ensure we go nowhere alone. We must also leave the house as little as possible. Elladan and Elrohir were not alone so that is obviously not sufficient in and of itself."

Elrond went carefully over every detail of each attack and the reports of all who had been interviewed. Added all together, there was still almost nothing to go on. Estel began to postulate Valendil as the assailant again, but the others turned on him in exasperation.

Estel broke through their expostulations. "Ada, listen to me! I have been following him –" Elrond's eyebrows went up again. "- and he looks at you in a very strange way!"

"No doubt wondering why I do not curb my son's poor manners! Estel! Following him?"

"But Ada – "

"Enough. I want the three of you to sleep in the same room from now on. Erestor and Glorfindel, you should share as well."

Estel was momentarily sidetracked. "What about you, Ada? I think my brothers and I should stay with you so you will be safe."

"All of you in my rooms? Amazingly, I do not agree! Although, I do think it might be best if you stayed in my rooms, Estel. That way Valendil might get a good night's sleep. He certainly looks like he could use one. Oh, and Estel? Do not ever brush by a blade like that again. Luckily for you, Glorfindel has lightning reflexes."

The resultant discussion of reflexes, who had them, whose were fastest, and the proper way to storm angrily past an armed elf took another half an hour.

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He watched from across the clearing as the two whelps that had been brought to camp only a month ago were gathered into his arms. The one who had protected him; had kept the heavy hand at bay much of the time. The one who brought food and bandages, who railed at his brother and demanded a little care for a youth who had already learned that the world was hard and cruel and held no peace. The hand that had gentled his hurts now caressed their hair. He was already well acquainted with hate. Now he simply added two names to the list of those he would kill if he should ever have the power.

The figure sitting at his desk moaned and rocked rhythmically. Elladan had escaped with barely a scratch. The need—the burning need—that had been appeased a little by the near death of Erestor and the mutilation of Glorfindel, now would admit of no more delay. He had originally planned to harm everyone close to him but it was taking too long. There had been enough preliminaries; it was time. The quill moved quickly and the writing was illegible. But he knew what was written there and he murmured over and over again the charm that gradually soothed him enough that he was able to take a little rest.

You will moan and you will scream,
And kneeling, mercy beg.
Sweet music calls me back to life,
My soul revived through vengeance fed.

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End Chapter 4 of 9