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Healings

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Only coincidence caused Glorfindel to look up when Estel placed the dagger's point against Valendil's throat. He called out desperately, "Estel, no!"

Elrond jerked his head around at the cry and his blood froze. His son—his healer son, for the boy had the gift—knelt with a dagger to his tormentor's neck. A hundred thoughts flashed through Elrond's mind, the main one being that his son must not kill; not like this, not now. The day would come, and soon, when he would take lives other than the ones all hunters take to feed their people. But he was not yet fully prepared for battle, let alone taking the life of a helpless elf whose spirit was so badly maimed.

Elrond spoke urgently, "Estel, stop. You must not!" The boy looked at his father but though he heard his words, what he saw was a mighty elf lord, nearly infallible in his eyes, half lying in Erestor's hold. He saw the myriad red and purple welts that left almost no skin its normal ivory color. He heard again the whistle and felt the shudder through his own body as a blow landed on his father. Now he had an even greater appreciation of his father's sufferings since he had had a taste himself. He slowly pressed and the dagger's point pierced the skin and a thread of blood ran down to drip to the floor.

Elrond forced himself from Erestor's comforting hold and crawled on all fours to Estel's side. The boy looked at him pleadingly but the knife slid a bit deeper into Valendil's throat. Elrond slowly reached out and clasped Estel's wrist. The arm jerked in his hold and the trickle became a small stream.

Elrond knew he could pull his son's hand away, but that was not what he wanted. He said softly, "No, my son. This is not you. This elf who you have good reason to hate is no true enemy, not now that he is powerless and in our hands. You cannot take his life so dishonorably; you do not have it in you to kill someone so defenseless. That is not my Estel. That is not my dear son." His voice was compelling and slowly Estel raised his head and met his eyes. Elrond uncurled his fingers from Estel's wrist by infinitesimal degrees and sat back a little. He held his breath. Estel's hand shook and the knife sank a little deeper. Then the boy looked back to the elf on the floor beside him; a small pathetic excuse for an elf. He looked at his father who had loved him for as long as he could remember. He raised his gaze higher to see Glorfindel's eyes also begging him to stop, while Erestor gazed at him with sorrowful eyes that held the kind of knowledge that Estel was on the verge of gaining for himself.

Estel reached out his other hand and drew his fingertips across some of the welts on his father's chest. Elrond spoke persuasively, "I will heal, Estel, as will you. And we will have, as we have had all through this ordeal, our love for each other. Do not take the life of one who has had so very little of warmth or joy. We will heal and laugh again, much sooner than you can imagine at this moment. He will never heal from the hurt that matters, even if I can heal his body, which is very much in doubt."

The boy turned his eyes to his shaking hand and the dagger it held. He slowly pulled it back and Elrond was now the one trembling in reaction. The dagger clattered on the stone and Estel slumped exhaustedly. Elrond called to Glorfindel, "Come and tend him. Erestor, I need you to help with Valendil. It is doubtful I can save him but I must try. I owe him that much for what I took from him, all unknowing."

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Glorfindel settled the question of what to do with Estel by simply scooping him into his arms and carrying him from the springhouse. It would be best to get him completely away from Valendil and would give the twins something to do, for they were sure to be angry that they had missed all the excitement. He came to the still barely open door and shouted, "Do not shoot me unless you are willing to face the consequences or kill me outright!"

The twins laughed, one releasing his bowstring and the other sheathing his sword, and pushed the door wide open. Glorfindel always said outrageous things when the field was won and all was well. Or perhaps not all was well as they took in the sight of their little brother. Elladan received him into his arms and the three retreated a way into the forest. Glorfindel watched a moment as the twins began to soothe a now sobbing Estel. They understood the strange ways a release from danger could affect one, especially one yet so young as their brother. The old warrior smiled at the touching scene but then turned abruptly back to the springhouse. Elrond notwithstanding, he would feel better if Valendil was securely housed in the Halls of Waiting. He could not help hoping Elrond's efforts would be unsuccessful.

Elladan had stashed a small pack of medical supplies close to the springhouse and began to gently cleanse the welts on his brother's back. Elrohir held him against his chest and gentled his head into his shoulder. The cleanser Elladan used stung, but the touch held much of love and Estel relaxed and took deep, shuddering breaths. The twins' eyes met and exchanged looks of fierce protectiveness. When a little time had gone by, Elrohir asked quietly, "Ada?" and regretted it as Estel stiffened and moaned. Elladan spoke quickly, "Glorfindel does not make jests unless all is well. Perhaps Ada is a little worn and tired, but he will be fine, Estel."

"No, you do not know, he beat him—beat him with a chain!"

Elladan said tightly, "Is that what made these? I wondered; I have not seen such raised yet narrow welts before. It does not matter, Estel. You will both be sore for days but you will heal –"

"You do not know! He barely touched me compared to Ada!"

"And Ada will heal faster than you, Estel. Remember?" He had Estel's attention now and teased him just a bit. "Another reason for you to complain about not being an elf!" Estel could not help smiling a little for it was true; his Adar would heal quickly. At that moment Glorfindel came jogging over and pulled Elladan away from his brothers.

"Is Estel well enough for you to leave him?"

"Yes, if he stays with Elrohir."

"Then your father asks you to run for aid. We need stretchers and bearers. Also some clothes for your father."

"For Ada? A stretcher for Ada?" Elladan's voice rose and Glorfindel hushed him while darting a glance at Estel.

"No, not Elrond. Valendil. He lives."

Elladan said dryly, "You must be slipping."

"I was not first in the room. But do not blame Erestor; he made a good throw in the circumstances. Elrond is bent on saving Valendil if he can, though what we are to do with him is more than I can fathom. Now go." Elladan nodded and turned away. Glorfindel went back, yet again, to the springhouse.

After another half an hour Elrohir asked his brother if he felt he could start for home. The elf was concerned as he had no cloak for the boy. He had given him his tunic, but tremors still shook Estel's body. Whether from shock or cold, it did not matter; he needed to be home. Elrohir helped Estel to his feet and kept an arm around him, though he tried to avoid the worst of the welts. Murmuring encouragement, he led Estel away through the trees to meet with those who would come with aid for them.

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Elrond slowly lifted his hands from Valendil's back. He was completely drained of energy and Power, but it was now possible Valendil would live. Erestor, knowing how thin was the fabric that separated the white-haired elf from the Halls, sternly resisted the urge to tear it and shove the elf through. He pulled Elrond back against him and supported his friend, offering water from Valendil's cup. Elrond was in far worse shape than his son. The final barrage of blows had split the outraged skin and the elf lord had bled profusely until Erestor had staunched it with the herbs and bandages Glorfindel had brought back with him from his meeting with Elladan. That, coupled with Elrond's stubborn insistence on using his healing power on Valendil had left him closer to the veil himself than Erestor cared to think upon.

Erestor offered a sip of miruvor from the flask he carried and Elrond swallowed convulsively, tasting bile in the back of his throat. "Come Elrond, try to get it down. You know it will help." His friend and liege opened his mouth obediently and did swallow a small amount. A few minutes later he took another sip and then another. He felt a small shiver as a very little energy flowed through his veins. He straightened just a bit; it was undignified for the ruler of Imladris to lounge in his counselor's arms like this. Erestor smiled; Elrond was feeling better if he could mind his dignity.

"When they come, you will ride a stretcher, my lord."

Elrond struggled to sit yet straighter. "Do not be absurd. I am perfectly capable –"

"Of being placed on the stretcher by force." There was an undercurrent of seriousness in the councilor's voice.

Elrond turned to look at Erestor's face. He noted for the first time the other elf's appearance. "Well, well, this is a sight I have not seen for a long time. You told me those days were over for you. That you would never venture forth so again."

Erestor returned look for look. "My lord was in danger. My meldir and his young son were taken by madness. I could not stay coolly in the library giving advice." He paused, then continued with difficulty, "'Fin and I have not known such fear since the Dark Days, when death snapped at all our heels daily…" he trailed off.

Elrond grasped his friend's hand and they stayed so for a time, each knowing the other's heart even if they did not speak the words.

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One week later, Estel was having a surprisingly enjoyable convalescence. He and his father shared a room under the healers' care. Elrond had healed quickly, just as Elladan had said he would. The two were now at nearly the same stage: their welts were fading although the damaged nerves continued to smart and burn. Nonetheless, they were enjoying their time together with long leisurely conversations, games of chess, and visitors who brought sweetmeats and other small gifts. For Elrond, this was an ideal arrangement in another way. He was at hand when his son had the inevitable nightmares, and he could ensure that the discussions that needed to occur did so on his terms and in the way that would best help Estel. As soon as Elrond could leave his bed he tended Estel's hurts himself. He carefully led his son along paths of emotional healing in the same way that he tended the boy's body: ensuring no infection lingered beneath the surface that might return and plague him later.

One afternoon he gently worked a soothing ointment into the boy's welts as Estel lay face down on his bed. His fingertips circled slowly and gently, deliberately soothing and lulling his son into a state of bliss. Elrond waited to speak until Estel was on the verge of either melting into the bed linens altogether or falling asleep. "Ion nin?"

"Mmmmm?"

"What should happen to Valendil?"

The muscles beneath the stroking fingers stiffened and Estel drew a hissing breath. The fingers circled on and Elrond said nothing more. Soon Estel began to relax again; it was hard to resist the hypnotic touch of a master healer. He thought for a time and then answered his father.

"Will you be angry if I say I want him to die?"

"No, Estel. He hurt you badly. It is natural to be angry with him."

"I do not care about that. Or not very much. You were right, Ada, we did laugh again soon, and I am almost well." His tone hardened. "But I can never forgive what he did to you." He turned a little, rising up on one elbow. "Do you forgive him? You can forgive him for – ?" he broke off and laid back down under the insistent pressure of the still circling fingers.

Ah, now here was a danger point. "You wonder how I can forgive him for hurting my son."

"Yes…"

"To be truthful, I shall hear the sound of that chain striking you an Age from now. I may forgive, but I will never forget."

Obscurely comforted, Estel again relaxed, and the muscles beneath the fingers softened.

Elrond continued. "Estel, it is one thing to stop someone like Valendil. That must happen. There were four elves that love you outside the springhouse to ensure he was stopped. And if that had necessitated his death, then so it should be. But he was not killed and now we must deal with him, both he himself and in our minds. I ask again, what should we do with him?"

"I need not forgive him?"

"Not if you do not want to."

Estel was quiet for another long minute before he asked, "He never knew a moment like this, did he? He never felt cared for as I do."

"No, I do not think he ever knew a moment like this. If Maglor did show him some kindness, it was not…it was not anything like what we share here and now, ion nin. The sons of Feanor -" Elrond sighed deeply. "They were, in some ways, magnificent beyond imagining. But all were marred by their father…and still more by the doom that ever shadowed them. Even Elros and I found Maglor more austerely kind than loving. And it appears we had the best of him. Valendil lost the little that had been given him."

"Can I be sorry for him and still not forgive him?"

"I imagine you can." Elrond hesitated and then asked the question. "Are you sorry you did not kill him?" The boy stiffened again but the fingers kept smoothing and stroking, circling and gentling. "Need I take care that you have no dagger while he is in my house?" Now the muscles were hard as stone. Still the hands circled without a change in rhythm or pressure.

"I wanted to kill him. I did want to! I would have if you had not stopped me!" The muscles now quivered but the hands never paused.

"Do you wish I had not?"

This time the silence went on and on before Estel finally said softly, "No. I wanted to kill him but I am glad that you stopped me. I am thankful my hands are not stained with the blood of one both physically helpless and sick in spirit."

Elrond closed his eyes in relief; one bridge safely crossed. Estel continued. "He does not need me to punish him, for he lives in Angband every day, does he not?"

"You are very perceptive, Estel. I believe you have the right of it. There, I think those welts will do for this afternoon. Do you know what is going to happen now?"

Resigned, the boy answered as an aromatic hand gently pressed on his eyelids. "Yes, you are going to make me sleep…"

Smiling, Elrond whispered, "You need very little 'making', my dear son."

And Elrond spoke true for the breath of the young man under his hands had already evened out. The elf lord stood tiredly, wincing a little at the pain that remained from his own ordeal. He drew the covers carefully up and over Estel's marked shoulders, and returned to his own bed. He had been worried, but the healer's heart in his son had been true to its calling. They would have more talks of importance, but Elrond slept well that long afternoon.

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Valendil was in another wing of the house altogether, at Erestor's and Glorfindel's orders. He was also healing well, although it would be long before a trial could be held. Both advisors visited daily to ensure that he was securely held. He had returned to consciousness but would not speak nor meet the gaze of any. He allowed himself to be tended without complaint or gratitude and seemed to exist in a grey world without emotion. He spent long hours with his eyes closed. Erestor watched him intently and spoke quite audibly to Glorfindel "I believe I will begin spending some mornings in the training yard. When last I ventured, my aim was true."

Glorfindel reassured the dark-haired elf. "It was a good throw; I have told you so before. You had to take care not to hit Elrond. I could not have bettered it in the light there."

"I do not care about the poor showing you would have made; I was always better than you with a knife."

As the two discussed their disappointment with the results of Erestor's attack, they watched Valendil keenly. He never moved or showed by any sign that he heard. Finally, the two advisors nodded to the guard in the room as they left and then spoke to the two guards outside, ensuring their vigilance.

The two old friends continued together toward the healing wing. Glorfindel said, choosing his words with unusual care for one so out-spoken, "I think I lived my entire life over again waiting for Estel to drop that dagger."

"It was a very tense moment, I agree. I was terrified for both him and Elrond."

"What about you? Have the dreams started again? The situation was very similar to -"

Erestor said with finality, "The only dreams I have had are of the four of us failing to arrive in time. Those are bad enough." He changed the subject. "How have your talks with Elrond gone?"

"About as you would expect. He says he needs no attention; that the guilt he feels about Estel's ordeal pales beside what he dealt with at the death of Gil-Galad. He says he can cope just fine without the prodding and probing of an over-the-hill Gondolindrim who spends several days each year wallowing in his own guilt."

Erestor gave a bark of laughter. "That's our lord! You will not listen to him, will you?"

"Of course not. The peredhil are stubborn but I think I have the edge in that regard. And when he is finally ready to face it, I will still be prodding and probing."

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End Chapter 7 of 8