FIVE

Elrondion

Fire separates us, I cannot see

The boundary between thee and me

Lost I am, not quickly found,

I fear my heart so tightly bound

Cannot speak, or warn or teach

Wandered far, beyond your reach

The darkness takes me, now shuts the door

I shall still remember thee forevermore

Estel's desperate shout for Legolas was enough to tear at Elrond's heart, but he kept his hands steady at his mortal son's shoulders, a point of contact and anchor. Eventually the restless human calmed beneath the Elf Lord's touch and sagged back against the pillows. Shaking his head slightly in anxious concern, Elrond smoothed a palm along the pale face, felt the feverish trembling. A soft moan and several weak swallows indicated another bout of nausea and Elrond quickly and soothingly tended to his son, as Estel was sick. There was little left to lose, producing shuddering heaves and Elrond simply steadied him over the basin. One hand rubbed soothingly along Estel's trembling shoulders, and eventually the bout of sickness passed.

"Ai…ion nin…" Elrond murmured softly, holding the young ranger as only a father could, supporting Estel in his arms as the dark head fell against his shoulder. "What is happening to you?" He did not yet release his mortal son, simply cradling him against his chest protectively. There was no response from Estel; the human was rapidly weakening under the illness' relentless assault. Aside from feverish shivering, his foster son made no movement and spoke no word. The sharp cry for Legolas had carried such a desperate note in it…

"Ada?" Elrond looked up to see Elrohir slipping into the room still clad in nightclothes, a tired cast to his youthful features. At the sight of his brother lying limply in his father's embrace, the younger twin's breath hitched in his throat. "He's not…Estel isn't…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'dead'.

"Fear not, Estel is still with us." Elrond replied softly, gently shifting the suffering ranger back down to the comfort of his bed. As if to confirm that assessment, Estel moaned aloud, and Elrond again touched his face compassionately. "The pain he suffers is growing, not just in body but in his mind as well." Elrohir could not miss the ache in his father's voice and he quickly entered the room fully, coming to Elrond's side and kneeling down before him at Estel's side.

"Ada…you know Legolas and Glorfindel will do everything they can to keep Estel on this side of the Halls." Elrohir's voice was soft but underpinned with confidence in the two companions. Elrond smiled warmly at his son's attempt to bolster his spirits.

"I know, Elrohir." The Elf Lord replied just as softly, his hand leaving Estel's cheek and coming to rest atop the crown of the younger twin's head affectionately. "Legolas would go to the Halls himself and fight for Estel if it were possible." Elrond shook his head slightly. "He is as stubborn as his father, although neither one would admit to it." Elrohir was hard pressed not to chuckle at his father's assessment of the similarity between the King of Mirkwood and his son.

"With Estel for company, perhaps such stubbornness is necessary." Elrohir said lightly, and that drew another wan smile from his father. "Valinor knows the trouble they drag each other into."

"And back out of." Elrond agreed.

The younger twin reached over as Elrond had and stroked his hand over his foster brother's brow. "Ada, you haven't slept all night. Let me stay with Estel awhile." Elrohir's silver-grey eyes looked up again at Elrond, a light of concern in them. Despite the truth of his son's words—Elrond hadn't slept a minute—he still hesitated. Something evil was smothering his Estel; he knew it. He could feel it in his heart, threatening to snuff out the noble soul that he had come to love as dearly as his own flesh and blood. "Ada?"

Fire…ice…pain. It was an endless litany, hot and cold as his body burned feverishly and yet shook with chills…and pain…the pain ever driving him to seek relief but there was none as his head ached mercilessly.

The images seared into him almost as hotly as the fever itself as if somehow they were intertwined…and perhaps they were; he couldn't seem to make himself remember a time when they didn't exist. When they didn't press on his consciousness like the talons of a falcon grasping its prey.

Most of them centered on Legolas, although a few of the disturbing images revolved around his foster elven family as well. Aragorn was helpless against the dreams, the visions, watching over and over again in tormented fear as the archer suffered at the hands of an unseen enemy.

Yet he could not speak it, could not seem to rouse himself past the confines of his prison, his mind held captive by the seductive, silken yet strong and cruel voice of the Star. The same whisper that had allowed him to sleep these past few hours now told him there was no escape from the disaster soon coming on the houses of Thranduil and Elrond, a promise of death. As if to confirm that promise, a terrifying sight was shown him, a raging river sweeping the Prince of Mirkwood from the back of a horse, dragged beneath the rushing waters and carried away. Aragorn was helpless to aid his friend as the elf was taken away, and the only thing he could do was cry out.

"Legolas!"

Aragorn thrashed against the vision holding him in such torment but he could not be certain if his efforts were an actual physical struggle, or if it was merely a battle within to free his voice to warn his father, warn his brothers…warn Legolas. The fight drained out of him as it sapped his energy, made him ache, filled his stomach with a hot nausea. He vaguely felt hands lifting him, holding him as he emptied his stomach, thought he could hear his father's voice but he couldn't respond.

There was no more strength after that, and Aragorn fell back against the arms that held him, too exhausted to care if it was friend or foe in his feverish captivity. 'Ro…he realized suddenly as another voice entered his vague consciousness and he knew his brother was close by. He could feel the fear Elrohir carried for him and by the Valar! He ached to speak to him.

I cannot allow that, Elrondion.

That soft yet cold voice, whispering his doom, holding him fast, driving him slowly insane. Aragorn felt his breathing pick up anxiously and his stomach tightened in anticipation of fresh pain, further fears. Somewhere beyond his imprisoned conscious thoughts, he was aware of a hand resting against his face, and he wondered vaguely if it was Elrohir, whose voice he could still hear but could not distinguish the words.

"Who are you?" Aragorn demanded, again uncertain if he was speaking aloud or if his words merely echoed throughout his tortured mind.

That is of no concern to you, adan.

"You have made it my concern." Aragorn fought to put some strength to his defiance; he would not give in. "The moment you threatened my family, my friends…you made it my concern."

All you need to know is that I have bound you to me for…a purpose. A searing pain sliced through Aragorn's consciousness and it was all he could do not to cry out. I hold your fragile world in the palm of my hand…you are bound to me, the Black Star, and you are mine until my purpose is complete.

Aragorn simply concentrated on breathing. That moment of pain had been enough to make him see stars, similar to a sharp blow to the head, and he felt sick. The moment slowly faded away and Aragorn dared to take a deeper breath. His prison cell might consist of his own mind, but he would fight to the bitter end for his family…for Legolas, his sworn friend.

"Death." Aragorn understood its meaning. "You intend to kill."

Yes… The voice whispered silkily. Death. We have an understanding now, you and I. I will kill them…kill them all.

The noon hour had arrived before anyone could convince Elrond to leave the healing room for any appreciable amount of time; it took both the twins and Erestor to talk him into getting some rest after the overnight vigil at Estel's side. Yet there was the inescapable fact that his heart was bound to Isildur's heir as any father to a son, and he felt himself wither a little further the longer Estel suffered.

Even as he paused in the doorway, looking back as Elladan and Elrohir took up station at either side of their human brother's bed, a misty sort of look crossed the Elf Lord's features and he had a hard time tearing himself away.

"Adar!"

The shout from the courtyard below drew Elrond's attention instantly, papers and quill scattered uncharacteristically as he rushed out onto the balcony first; the voice had been Elrohir's—and it had been urgent, prompting the Elf Lord to fear the worst. Once he saw with his own eyes that both his sons had returned well and unharmed, he turned at a more sedate pace to proceed down and out to the courtyard to greet properly the returning warrior party.

By the time he reached the courtyard, Elrohir had already dismounted from his horse but Elladan had not, the elder twin wrapped in his cloak. Elrond's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as it was rather unlike either twin to be so reserved upon returning home. He glanced at one son, and then the other, recognizing the mirrored expressions of seriousness.

"What is it?" Elrond demanded immediately. "And do not hold back from me, Elladan. Are you unhurt?"

"I am well, Ada." Elladan replied immediately. "Although I am none too certain about the young one." With that, his eldest son drew back his cloak, revealing to Elrond the small, curled up sleeping child tucked within his arm—a human boy. Elrond's brows drew down into a deep frown.

"Tell me, what happened?" The healer in Elrond was concerned for the welfare of any who suffered, and he reached for the curly-headed adan hên within his son's grasp. Without waking, the exhausted child fairly tumbled into Elrond's arms, and yet only stirred slightly, burying his face into the Elf Lord's tunic.

"It was Orcs, Ada, in the northlands…"

"…burning villages and attacking the Dúnedain…"

"…his father was killed and his mother…"

"…charged us to bring him here." Elladan finished as he dismounted lightly beside his father. "Look upon his chest, Ada."

Elrond did as he was bid, quickly, expecting to find a wound, but instead found a simple chain bearing a ring much too large for the small fingers to wear.

"Barahir..." Elrond gasped, startled. His head jerked up and he fixed his gaze on Elladan, who nodded. "Gilraen…is she…?"

"His mother lives, aye." Elrohir answered quickly to ease his father's concerns. "She felt this attack was directed by the hand of the enemy and that her son would be safest here in Imladris."

"She is traveling northward with the rest of her kin." Elladan added. He paused a moment before continuing. "It is not the first time Imladris has offered refuge to an heir of Isildur."

Elrond recognized the persuasive tone in his son's voice and he simply raised an eyebrow at his eldest before glancing down at the little boy in his arms. Beneath the mop of curly, tangled hair, the child bore a resemblance to his father Arathorn. Sighing softly, he knew what such a guardianship would mean. Elladan promised to take the child as his own responsibility if that were necessary, but Elrond simply shook his head.

"By what is he called?" He simply asked, and Elrohir responded now.

"Aragorn."

Elrond shook himself from his reverie and watched a moment longer as Elrohir gently sponged down Estel's feverish face, and Elladan whispered soothing words to his mortal brother. At last, he left the doorway and proceeded to his own chambers, but instead of to his bed and rest, the Elf Lord sat at the wide window that overlooked the gardens Celebrian had so loved. As he gazed out at the fading blooms of early fall, he considered his three sons, two of his blood and one of his soul.

From the day they had brought Estel home as a child to this moment, the twins had been fiercely loyal, coming to love the human as their kin. He felt a fatherly pride in his sons knowing that even now they did what they could to ease Estel's pain, which prompted other memories.

Elladan gathering Estel into his arms when the other elven children had been cruel. Elrohir spending perfectly good days indoors telling Estel stories when the little boy had fallen sick with a bad cold and couldn't go outside to play. The twins playing hide-and-seek with a laughing, mischievous Estel, which somehow always ended up in a pile of two elves and one adan battling it out in an all-out tickling match. Even now, Elrond's expression softened into a slight smile as he recalled the shrieking laughter of the small boy and the endless amusement of his older—much older—foster brothers.

As Estel had grown, it was Elladan and Elrohir who took it upon themselves to teach the slender youth in the ways of the sword and the bow, practicing and tutoring, demonstrating and correcting. When Estel's skill had grown in proportion to his lessons, they began to take him on hunts, ever protective, as there was still evil that would seek to take the life of Isildur's heir.

It was the twins who escorted Estel to the northern border of Rivendell that fateful day, along with Legolas, when after learning his true heritage and the path placed before him that he chose to join the Dúnedain for a time. There had been both pride and sorrow that day in Elrond's heart; pride that the boy he had fostered as his own had become a man of honor, one who would fight alongside his fellow Rangers to protect the land from the growing press of evil. Sorrow that his youngest was no longer a little one to protect and nurture; those days had fled faster than the swiftest river. Sorrow that Estel still so doubted his own course in the world, doubted his ability to become the King had been born to be.

In truth, Estel had loved his foster family deeply in return. As a small boy, there had been no shortage of childish gifts created from whatever materials he could talk Glorfindel into letting him have. Stories from his own imagination, tales of dragons and brave elven warriors and songs were just as likely gifts, performed with all the energy only a child could have. His human heritage in the small circle of elves occasionally caused him childhood pains but Estel knew he was loved without question in Imladris, and he loved without question in response.

As a young man, he learned to be healer, friend and Ranger to his family as well. On one occasion, he had stayed at Elrohir's side for weeks when 'Ro had taken an injury severe enough to fall into a coma. It was Estel who had taken the time as well to soothe Elladan's guilty conscience, mending the emotional wound caused by Elrohir's coma, sharing the joy when Elrohir finally awakened. At another time, Estel had been the one to find the twins when they had gone missing and been trapped in a cave-in, and once when a plot against his foster father had been uncovered, it was Estel who had quite literally saved Elrond's life.

It was more by far than a matter of proving his worth, but a matter of weaving hope into the hearts and souls of the Peredhil, for few there were beyond Imladris who knew Estel's true identity. In the process of weaving such hope, Estel himself had become part of the fabric of their souls, and it was this truth more than any other that made Elrond's despair all the greater.

For it was not for the Hope of Men that he now wept…

…but it was for the Hope of his heart and his home. None knew that much more than Isildur's betrayal had found some peace that day; for he had spoken of it to no one, not even Glorfindel but the wounds left behind by Celebrian's loss had been soothed as well. The small adan child had reawakened a place in Elrond's heart, shut away for too long, and Elrond had allowed himself to dream as a father dreams once again.

The dream was being crushed…Estel was being crushed before their eyes. Tears coursed silently down the Elf Lord's cheeks as he gazed upon the withering blooms of fall as he imagined the last ragged tatters of his heart failing with them.

"You'd better hurry up and get well." Elrohir said softly as he plied the cooling cloth along his mortal brother's face, keeping his tone light. "You know how 'Dan gets when he's worried about you." He looked up at Elladan, who was holding Estel's hand with a soft smile. "Like the time you fell down the old well and got stuck when you were small. Do you remember how upset he was? I swear he could not even think."

"Do not stay away too long, gwador nin." Elladan agreed, his grip tightening a bit on Estel's hand. "Else 'Ro will become totally dependent upon Glorfindel to play his pranks upon, and you know how unpleasant that would be." Elladan's voice was as gentle as Elrohir's, his eyes watching carefully for any movement, any sign of recognition.

Since Estel had collapsed in Elrond's arms earlier, he had been mostly unresponsive, aside from a few soft moans. His eyes had remained closed; his hands limp as if there was little strength left in them. Despite Estel's semi-conscious state, they had managed to coax more water into him, watching over him carefully as feverish thirst prompted him to instinctive, albeit weak swallows. So far none had come back up, which Elladan could only hope was a good sign.

However, the occasional wince in the pale mask told the twins that their work was far from done, that Estel suffered still and so they remained, tending to him gently, speaking to him comfortingly. Although, Elladan had to admit, he was uncertain whether they spoke more for Estel's comfort or their own.

"Besides, Estel we are due for a good hunt, the three of us and Legolas…" Elrohir began, and then faltered. Estel's terrors had centered upon the woodland elf; he did not wish to trigger another round of delirious dreams. However, there was no response from their mortal brother and he hesitantly continued. "The cellars need stocking anyway and it would give us all a chance to catch up with one another."

"Do you remember the last time we all went hunting, 'Ro?" Elladan murmured; a slight rising of his eyebrows.

"I'm sure Legolas has forgotten all about that." Elrohir replied quietly, turning to dip the cloth into the basin for another pass over Estel's fevered skin.

"Forgotten about being pushed into the lake?" Elladan retorted cheerfully. "Silvan or no, he'll live just as long as you do and I'm sure he remembers all about it. Including the fact that you, how did Ada say it, 'practically tried to drown the prince of Mirkwood'?"

"Drowning..."

The whispered word was the first indication of conscious thought from Estel in some hours, and Elrohir leaned in closely.

"Estel?" He murmured, holding the cool cloth to his brother's forehead, little droplets of cool water trickling along the pale temple. "Estel, do you hear me?" Beneath Elrohir's touch, the human's head turned just slightly, igniting some hope of returning lucidity. "Echuivo, gwador nin." Wake up, my brother. However, there was no further response from Estel, and Elladan released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I do not think he can, 'Ro." He finally said softly, a painful look in his eyes. Elrohir did not answer, his crestfallen look speaking for him as he silently glanced out the window, which afforded a view onto a beautiful day. A day that Estel could not enjoy with them, and a crystal tear slid along the younger twin's cheek.

"Except that he suffers mortal illness, it is though he fades as an elf." Elrohir murmured brokenly. Quietly he rose and wandered to that window, looking out as the sun filtered through the trees. There was no disguising the heaviness of heart; even if Elladan hadn't been close enough to see his twin or hear his voice, there was an echo of Elrohir's sorrow lodged in his own heart.

"Do not leave us so soon, gwador tithen." Elladan whispered now to Estel, clasping the hand he held in both of his own. "You are greatly missed." He hadn't thought of such a comparison before, but Estel did indeed bear the appearance of a fading elf whose spirit was too far gone to return. Swallowing tightly, the dark-haired elf stroked his fingers gently over the back of his mortal brother's hand. "Do not leave us." He repeated again, feeling tears gathering in his own eyes. After a moment, Elladan too rose from Estel's bedside and came to his twin's side, placing a hand upon Elrohir's shoulder.

"I cannot bear it, 'Dan." The younger twin said softly, casting his gaze downward. Elladan tightened his grip upon Elrohir's shoulder. "It is too soon to lose him, muindor." Elladan nodded silently, holding tightly to his twin.

"We must be strong for Ada..." He said quietly, firmly. "Estel's illness weighs heavily on him." Elrohir looked up now, and mirror images of concern gazed at one another. "He bears the same grief that he did when Naneth sailed; he feels just as powerless to keep Estel with us. We must not give up, 'Ro. Legolas has only just gone, and he swore to return. It is up to you and I, muindor nin to have faith…Estel and Ada need us."

Elrohir drew in a slow, shaky breath before nodding his agreement.

"Then let us sit with Estel and tell him tales as we used to do whenever he was ill as a child." Elrohir smiled a little. "And sing him the songs of Loríen and speak of the plans we will make when he is well."

"And pray the Valar will deliver to Legolas that which we need to keep him with us."

"Aye...and pray the Valar."

Elrond wasn't quite certain when he had dozed off in the chair, but as he awakened now it was clear that some time had passed. The sun was farther west, although it was not quite dusk. The light had since shifted away from Celebrian's gardens and there were long shadows cast along the pathway. Long fingers reached up to rub his eyes and a ragged breath escaped him.

"There was a time," A quiet voice said from the doorway, "when sighs like that filled all of Imladris."

Elrond looked up to see Erestor standing there, and a faint smile crossed his features. The advisor wore a concerned expression, and Elrond motioned the other elf into his chamber.

"There was a time," Elrond agreed quietly, "when those sighs had cause to fill this house." He motioned toward the gardens. "Her touch remains and yet…some places never mend completely."

"Hir nin, that may be so," Erestor agreed. "But some of those places once found rest in the laughter of a child." The comment earned the advisor a slightly curious expression from his lord; only Glorfindel had dared to be quite that…direct with him when it came to Celebrian or Estel for that matter.

"That 'child' is a grown man now, Erestor." Elrond reminded with a slightly amused shake of his head. "No matter how much we as Eldar would like to deny it, Estel has reached his majority by some years now."

"As he was so eager to remind you when he spent his days here with you in Rivendell, rather than the northlands of his kin or the fleeting peace of solitude." Erestor said quietly, finally coming closer to the window and glancing out at Celebrian's garden as well. "Ever has he called this place home; whenever he has need of refuge, his heart has driven him here." Long moments of silence passed between the two old friends, and at last, Elrond spoke.

"His heart is failing." Another of the heavy sighs slipped out, and the Elven Lord raised his gaze from the gardens to his fellow Noldorin. "Not of his human mortality but…of something deeper and darker." Elrond swallowed tightly before looking back at the garden, fading with fall's coming chill. "There is no refuge for him here. Not against this."

"There is still the refuge of a father's heart, Lord Elrond." Erestor dared to say, and he did not miss the small shiver that passed through the Elf Lord. "You may not be able to aid him by your craft, but you certainly may aid him by your care." Erestor paused a moment, before placing a hand upon Elrond's shoulder. Perhaps it was not protocol, but it was heartfelt. "Whatever else destiny may call him or fortune bring him, he is still Estel. And you are his Ada."

Elrond felt the hand upon his shoulder and he looked up into the face of his friend, his expression troubled. "And when I cannot save him, Erestor? I will not look upon him again, as I will Celebrian."

"If the Valar so will it, then he will depart for Mandos' Halls wrapped in your love, mellon nin." Erestor's expression was frank. "If there is a way to save him, Glorfindel and Legolas will find it. The best thing you can do for Estel is to be the strong Ada he has always loved." The advisor smiled slightly; he too remembered the small human boy chasing after his elven brothers and who loved nothing better than to sit in his Ada's lap listening to a story or song in the Hall of Fire.

"The first rule of healing…" Elrond replied, his tone somewhat self-depreciating. "…is to set aside your own pain to focus on easing the pain of others." He drew a deep breath, still heavyhearted but feeling a little steadier than he had upon awaking. "Are you giving me lessons in healer-craft, mellon nin?" The Elf Lord offered a small smile now, and Erestor returned it encouragingly.

"By no means, hir nin." The advisor was quick to say, but his tone too was a bit lighter. "Only to remind an old friend that he is more than just a pair of healing hands." The grip at Elrond's shoulder tightened just a bit. "And that he does not bear this burden alone."

"I never have." Elrond replied at last, a slight nod. Between Glorfindel and Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir, there was no burden that Elrond had ever faced alone and this was no exception. "Hannon le, Erestor. As ever you have spoken just as I should hear."

"Even you need a friendly voice at times." Erestor replied, with a slight inclination of his head. "You may be wise Lord of Rivendell, mellon nin, but you are not infallible." Elrond had to shake his head slightly at that; Erestor's sense of humor, couched within a very dry delivery rarely failed to draw a reaction from those around him. With a respectful nod, the advisor took his leave and Elrond drew a slow, steadying breath as he considered his friend's advice.

Could he simply sit by and accept his son's fate, whatever that might be? Would he be able to bring Estel some sort of comfort that went beyond his healer's hands? To be so helpless in the face of such obvious suffering in one he loved was eerily akin to those days at Celebrian's side, struggling to find a solution that would keep her with him here in Middle Earth.

Quietly Elrond's gaze left Celebrian's gardens and redirected to his hand, resting upon his knee. He had never resorted to using Vilya on behalf of his human son, even during some more desperate fights for Estel's life; for to use the ring in such an endeavor would serve to draw unwanted attention to Estel's existence, possibly to his true identity. Elrond swallowed tightly; how could he rescue Aragorn only to thrust him into further dangers? No, as tempting an idea—and it wasn't the first time he had considered it—as it was, he must leave Vilya out of this battle. Somehow, he would find a way to keep Estel in this realm until Glorfindel and Legolas returned with the vital information that would save his life.

Even if that way simply entailed the gentle touch of a loving hand.