Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien, the only people I own are Alenor Talagand, Bréil, Sebastian and Victoria.
REVISED and EDITED Fate's Paths-Chap14-The Weaving of the Threads-
Morning found Elrond kneeling at his son's side. Sleep, though restless, had long since claimed his grieving mind. His hand was still clamped upon Elladan's, his knuckles white, as if he was hoping that by some sheer will power he could bring him back to life.
It was midmorning when the Healers finally stumbled upon the truth. When the Lord of Elrond had not showed up for an important meeting they had braved his anger and entered the forbidden room. When they saw him, understanding and sorrow graced their faces. They didn't even have to look at each other before, as one unit, they left. Though the Healers could not fully comprehend the loss, they all understand that not only had their Lord lost his wife to the Undying Lands, but now, his son lay dead in his arms.
XxXxXxX
Elrohir knelt down, brushing his fingers along the wildflower that rested on a hastily constructed rock cairn It was a pitiful tribute to his brother's death, but there was nothing more that he could do. "I will find Alenor," he whispered fiercely, clenching his fists. Tears dripped off his face and onto the flower's petals. He stood. "I will find her for you Elladan. I promise you that."
Booted feet, quietly shuffling, marked Estel's presence. The young Ranger was not trying to hide his coming. "What is the call Elrohir?" he asked, stopping three steps behind him. "Do we continue, or is it safe to say we go home?"
"You can go home Estel," Elrohir replied softly, but steel laced as an undertone through his voice. "But I'm going after Alenor. If I have to kill every Orc in Middle-Earth to find her, I will."
If Estel was shocked by Elrohir's vehement words he gave no sign of it. "If I go home brother…"
"I will not hold it against you," Elrohir completed the thought. "Adar's going to need all the support he can get. Tell him I'm alright and that Elladan is happy where he is. Tell him I'll be home soon." He turned around, and saw that Estel was still in a state of indecisiveness. Smiling kindly, he drew his younger brother closer, whispering in his ear. "That suicide attempt was nothing, you hear? Go home. Flirt with the ladies. Do what you do best."
"Get off!" Estel struggled away, punching Elrohir in the chest when the Elf failed to release him. "How dare you imply that!"
"And I shall name every son that comes from that flirting after me," Elrohir grinned, ruffling the other's hair as he walked by. Estel aimed another punch, but the agile Elf ducked the blow.
"Shut up Halbarad." Estel grumbled, turning his attention to the older Ranger, as the man broke out in guffaws.
Elrohir shot Halbarad a warming smile, and mounted his own horse. "Are you going with Estel?"
"Someone has to watch over the little kid," Halbarad answered, still laughing. "You take care of yourself. You hear? I don't want you going one-on-one with a couple hundred Orcs, even if you can take them all."
Elrohir turned his head to see Estel, his arms crossed, and glaring sourly at the two older men. He was not enjoying being at the wrong end of the jokes. "Cheer up," Elrohir encouraged. "One day you'll get me back."
"And you'll get me back worse," Estel predicted, but didn't push the argument further.
Elrohir grinned in agreement, pressing his heels in the horse's flanks, urging him into a trot. He swiftly left behind the two mortals.
XxXxXxX
"Eat."
There was something before her face. She looked away, disinterested.
"Alenor, listen to me."
His words forced her to obey and listlessly she looked back at him. Her torturer, her savior, the one who forced her tired mind to continue to live despite her desire to slip away into death.
"Alenor, don't drift. Open your mouth."
She didn't want to, but knew that if she didn't he would force it open for her and shove the vile stuff down her throat.
"Good girl. There we go. Swallow. Remember how."
His words were soothing, reaching through the frightened unrest of her mind. They almost brushed upon some hidden part of her that was untainted, but afraid she would pull away before those words ever reached that spot. There was only such things as peace when he was there, holding her, feeding her, tending to her. It was a dismal life, but since he would allow her no other, she coped.
"Can you see the colors today?"
Alenor looked around. "No." There were colors, but they smudged together in a swirling canopy of needlessness.
"Do you want me to tell you what the colors look like?"
Unfamiliar sounds reached her ears. To her mind it sounded like boots striking against the earth. Panic raced through her like lightening. Where once the world was dull, it jarred sharply into almost painful detail. She struggled to sit up, but someone was holding her. The unconscious parts of her mind raced back to the days of terror within the Orcs den, and screaming she struggled to get away. She couldn't allow them to hurt her again.
Alenor! Alenor calm down! It was a sound, nothing to be frightened of," Bréil said as gently as he could while struggling to hold her still.
It was his voice. Shuddering, Alenor reached out and grabbed his shirt, not aware that he was the same person that was holding her down. Above her, fall colored leaves swayed in a soothing breeze. She flinched away from it. Terror, it held her as his servant. But the voice was there again, soothing her fright away.
Eventually, the terror receded and world faded again into smudges. Tears trailed down her face, as she clutched the man's shirt. "Don't let them take me," she begged.
"They will never take you again," he promised fiercely. "You're safe."
Comforted by his words, she let her mind sink down into the black pit of sleep; she hoped the nightmares would not come.
Alone, the girl resting in his arms, Bréil closed his eyes and rocked her back and forth. He didn't want to see her pale and gaunt features. He didn't want to be reminded that for a time she had revived before once again the terrors of the past had claimed her. He didn't want to be reminded that Alenor was probably never going to fully recover. The damage done upon her was too much for her to handle.
XxXxXx
"You're wasting away."
"Erestor!" Elrond jumped, his hands flying out. Meticulously stacked papers scattered, and their sharp edges smartly nicked his hands. "What are you doing in here?" he glared further as Glorfindel slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. For a brief moment burning light filled the room, but soon enough darkness descended again. Except for one solitary and low-burning lantern, the room was dark.
"We're here," Glorfindel said very carefully, "To set you straight. You need to eat, get some sleep and some sunlight."
"I don't want any of that!" Elrond snarled, getting out of his chair, so he could search the floor on hands and knees for his missing papers. "I need to work. I need to forget."
"You're never going to forget," Erestor said softly. He came forward and kneeled before Elrond. His hands reached and covered his Lord's. "Let it go. He would hate to see you like this."
"Adar, he's happy where he is. There is no more suffering for him," a quiet voice whispered.
Elrond lifted his head, to see that Estel had slipped into the room. He was still covered in dust, his hair tousled from a long ride. He hadn't known he had returned. The tears and grief threatened to spill, but he swallowed them back. He would not grieve, could not.
"Let it go," Estel encouraged, walking over to tap Erestor's shoulder. The Elf moved over and let Elrond's adopted son kneel in his stead. "Adar, you do not grieve alone."
Elrond looked up, as Estel brought his hands to his heart. "Here," the younger son whispered. "He is still here. Where he will always be."
The tears thundered against the flood gates until they broke with a torrent. Reaching forward he pulled Estel closer and together they cried. Elrond did not need to ask where Elrohir was, he knew that he was still hunting the Orcs, knew he would never stop hunting them until he had found Alenor. Even if she was dead.
And somewhere in the Misty Mountains, Elrohir stood, a groveling Orc at his feet. He listened with disgust as the Orc let loose everything he and the others of his band had done to a mortal girl. When the Orc grew quiet, with a scream of rage, Elrohir loped off his head and turned in pursuit of the Messenger of Dol Goldur.