I took a break from writing over last weekend, but not from the world of this story.
I took my headphones, went into a nearby forest with a dried up lake bed and ran through the woods at breakneck speed in knee high boots and a longcoat for an entire hour and a half. I dodged trees, leaped over fallen logs and climbed to the top of whatever sturdy tree I could manage to the music I gave you all earlier. The lake bed looked EXACTLY like the Dead Marshes, and God help me if the forest wasn't covered with a carpet of dead leaves exactly like the forests the Fellowship camped in before Boromir was killed. I found a chunk of wood carved into a diamond by a beaver, several shells, some beautiful white quartz and a dead raccoon. I was a ranger for an afternoon, and it was phenomenal.
I am a lost cause. XD Enjoy the new chapter and tell me what you think!
YOU MUST LISTEN TO THIS FOR THE REUNION SCENE. IT'S NOT OPTIONAL. JUST DO IT. IT'S... IT'S SO GOOD. The music for this chapter is: (again, at the youtube homepage, just add this:)
/watch?v=NaJ3WtWOQTw
Another pretty option for the end of El and El's scene is the first four minutes of this:
/watch?v=c7tc0VfZwtk
Enjoy yourselves! It nearly KILLED me, so. XDD
My two Guests, Lune, Portrait of a Scribe, Life is like a potato, Ireland Ranger and HAAA Dread Pirate Rinja! (Blast from the Past!): thank you all for your wonderful reviews! You really do keep me going and get my heart pounding about this story. I love you all so much, and especially thank you for staying with me after so long! You are amazing human beings! (Apologies if I'm wrong; I'm assuming none of you are elves, hobbits or dwarves?)
Now the scene we've all been waiting for. Me included!
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
~0~
Chapter Fifteen: Shadow Meets Light
~0~
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Quiet had descended on the morning fields of Rohan.
The battle's end had brought more work to be done, and those who hadn't already collapsed into sleep at their return were brought to varying stations around the remnants of the Deeping Wall. The stark silence in the outer valley was sharply contrasted with the bustle of the able-bodied within the keep. As close a shave as victory had been, they would need every resource left to them in the wake of the once-ravaging piles of carrion that lay in hills beyond the fortress.
Light was flooding over the hilltops and snowy peaks, giving some small comfort to those below as they ventured out of the new opening that had been blasted into the fortress by the Uruk-hai. The remaining forces of Men who had held fast against Saruman's armies were now faced with the task of binding wounds, finding their dead and gathering what supplies they had left. The families below were alerted to the conquest of the day, and as lines of mounted Rohirrim began their return to Helm's Deep, triage and several assembly lines of able-bodied men, women and children were lending their hands in whatever way they could.
Discarded blankets and clothing beyond repair was being piled before the door to the House of Healing: more a large, high-ceilinged room in the upper right level of the keep than an entire house, but the name remained. A trio of flaxen haired women of varying ages were tearing the cloth into strips and rolling them into compresses, making bandages as quickly as possible in prediction of the survivors' need of them.
The elder women who were skilled in healing and those who would not leave their loved ones scattered the floor of the room along with the injured, meager cots and gathered hunting furs adorning the cold cobblestones to comfort them. A hunting party had already been sent out across the peaks to gather whatever healing herbs might still cling to the mountainsides, and further below in the ground levels steam began to rise from fires and boiling pots as more families began making meals for the hungry.
They were battered, they were weakened, and they were grieving, but the house of Rohan still stood true.
"Leave the riding leathers! They'll never hold-"
"Move three guards to the Tower, we will need eyes on the mountains to warn us if their warg riders return-"
"Mama, why? Where is he?!"
"Haleth, thank the heavens! We thought-"
"No! No, no he can't be, I saw him not an hour ago-"
"-not enough for the whole family-"
"Keep him warm, that's the best we can do for him now-"
"One side for wounded here-"
"Clear the doors! The riders will be at the gate!"
"Hands to the stables-"
Gandalf had taken a quick sweep of the fortress as he had returned, ensuring that those who had need were tended and that the human clockwork of the keep was running smoothly to regain its strength. Theoden himself had also stopped in his tracks to aid a woman as she fell while running along the hay strewn walkway with a large basket of roots, personally returning them to the woven container before sending her on her way. The wizard could feel how far his spirit had broken during the invasion, and it was obvious the son of Thengel was going to repay his people for his own weakness if he had to clean horse troughs on hands and knees with the last of the stable hands to do it.
Forgiveness of self would come at a far higher price.
"Prepare a search party," Gandalf instructed as Theoden returned to his side. "We must find the survivors, should they remain."
Theoden's eyes were hard as he nodded, turning to find Gamling and give the order. The odds were slim at best, but any man still buried in that hellish pit did not deserve to stay there if they had survived. More than that, the mothers, wives and children who still awaited their soldier's return had a right to bury them, were they able.
His eyes clouded. It had been no comfort to Theoden to bury his own, but he would not deny them such small mercies were they his to give.
The Istar did not linger to see his request fulfilled. Gandalf knew that between his almost certain duties in the House of Healing and finding Elrond's missing child, his time would be precious little. A sweep of robes signalling his departure, the old wizard descended the stairway into the belly of the keep and headed for the creeping shadow he felt in one direction in particular, his need for answers winning out over his responsibilities at last.
This force would need tending to.
~0~
Aragorn did not enjoy his first ride atop the King of the Great Eagles as much as he had hoped as a small boy.
His position was tenuous at best, but Elrond's steadying hand on his chest brought him more comfort than he could have hoped. It had been too long since they had last spoken, and bitterly at that. He grasped the Lord of Imladris' fingers firmly with his own, a brief squeeze from his adoptive father's grip sending a pulse of warmth into his heart.
Elrond too had missed his youngest son. Neither had wished the pain that lay between them, and their disquieted parting had not erased the decades they had together: cold nights when he had wrapped the human child in woolen blankets by the fire in his lap, nights that did not touch the strength of the elves but brought bitter chill to the son of Arathorn. Lessons in hunting and tracking alongside his older brothers, stories of battles long past to a twenty-year youngling, lounging on a balustrade of the great hall like when he was a boy, knowing that he would be gone with the other rangers on the morrow...
Holding him steady against the rocking of beating wings and the occasional slide down toward the open sky as he lay prone, clinging to the feathers of the great eagle, his father and brother nestled the man between them as Gwaihir glided to the end of the expanse and touched down lightly at the entrance to the ruined fortress. The arrival sent women, children and even a few men running for cover in their alien perception of the giant beast.
"Lord Aragorn!"
"He is alive!"
In the gap between the gathering crowd of Rohirrim as they watched the Great Eagle deposit two Firstborn upon their doorstep, one face broke through and cried out for joy as she saw them return. The revealing of the younger elf's countenance as he dismounted finally sent her reeling towards them in her startlement, and she called for him as she broke into a dead run, dark skirts flying in utter abandon:
"Elladan!"
Aragorn's breath caught where he lay atop Gwaihir's back, knowing her voice instantly. The very sound of her was like bells in springtime, the calling of doves in a vale.
Arwen Undomiel moved swiftly through the humans surrounding them, literally shining with radiant delight and threw herself upon the elven rider clad in only breeches and soft boots, relishing the very feel of his presence, the soothing warmth of him, the smell of his hair as she thoroughly kissed every inch of her brother's face. Elladan had the presence of mind to look at least slightly embarrassed, but he was more than happy to see his dear sister as well. Welcome faces were a gift after so much death.
The twin dropped his sword to the dirt and held her to him, not having the will or sentience for more. She crushed her face into his tousled hair, nearly faint with relief.
"Gwador-nin, when I felt you break from us in the caves, I thought-"
"I am well, my dear sister," Elladan assured her, stifling her enthusiasm as their father steadied Aragorn's rise from their feathered mount.
Lord Elrond's face froze entirely for no more than a second at the sight of his daughter, but the wave of anguish he felt at the realization that she could no longer travel to the Havens nearly overcame him. It was only the full six thousand years worth of self-control he had at his disposal that kept him from crying aloud. The Lord of Imladris swept the emotions aside and locked them away in the farthest corner of his heart. Their arrival had already dealt so much for his spirit to withstand; they would have words as time allowed.
"We must get him to the Healing House," Elrond directed, indicating that they should press on as he and his youngest son made their way around the vast wingspan of the Great Eagle to where his children stood. "I will need a clear place to tend Estel and the others."
Joy turned to horror as Arwen saw the quills of an arrow protruding from her love's shoulder, and he leaned heavily on their father's shoulder for support as he set foot on the rocky ground.
"Estel!" the dark-haired elf maiden cried, her hand unconsciously going to her mouth at the dark stain on his clothing.
"He will be well, my daughter," Elrond calmed her, his face set in a mask of occupied determination. The ranger seemed to welcome the elf lord's assistance as he staggered upright, eyes focusing blearily on the maiden rushing toward him.
"Arwen," he breathed, more of a croak than any real speech.
He didn't care how he must have looked, nor how he sounded. The Evenstar was here, and that was enough to soothe every hurt he had. Valar, but she was beautiful. As beautiful as the day he had first spied her in the trees, a vision from the stars themselves. The man could not tear his eyes from her. His mind was not yet too muddled to forget the words he and his father had exchanged at the gates of the last homely house, and he had enough capacity for thought not to reach for her as she examined the wound, pale fingers parting the cloth, eyes dark with worry.
Satisfied that he would not meet his end from the injury, Arwen turned to caress her father's cheek. "Mae govanen. Well met, Ada," she murmured, searching his eyes with the greeting.
The taller elf smiled at her softly, not without a hint of sadness, nodding to purge her thoughts of any possible fear of bitterness against her.
"Well met, my child," Elrond told her, hefting the ranger further onto his shoulder as he slid down the velvet robes. "Let us speak in more depth once we are inside-"
"My lord Aragorn!"
The ranger lifted his head to see Gamling in a mad rush down the length of the path leading into the carrion fields, reaching them in blur of speech that began as soon as he arrived:
"My lord, there is a- a-an elven warrior, in the deep, we believe it is your brother; My men are- he was badly wounded and so we tried to restrain him, but he attacked- you must come quickly, he's just beyond the hills before the breach of the outer wall-"
Two things happened at once.
First, Elladan's face had begun to fill with apprehension, and his eyes had widened further and further until the man had uttered the location of the warrior in question. Obsession did not begin to describe the look in his eyes as he sped away, leaving the rest of his family to watch as he dashed into the killing fields with barely a whisper of sound, dark hair swept fully horizontal by the wind in his wake. The Rohirrim following Gamling shouted in surprise as the Eldar barreled through them with inhuman speed, bowling them over with his passage and leaping like a deer over the length of a fallen war horse in his breakneck charge to the carrior plains beyond the wall.
The second happening was when Elrond's eyes unfocused in a current of vision, the entire scenario stretching before him, reaching back even before the time of the Men's discovery of said warrior. It played as if he were experiencing all of it before his waking eyes:
A dark pit of evil held him, the stench of bodies soaked in blood, dismembered orcs falling around him, a crack of light above burning him as he crawled from beneath them to fulfill his purpose, the only purpose left to him now that he was alone, no more of the Eldar still living to know what he bore... There was the occasional squeal as a still-breathing monster was put down, and vengeance gave him the strength to rise despite the pain and heft another blade over his shoulder, treading the field like a dark angel of justice come to wreak judgment upon the world...
But worst of all, there was no music left within him. The song of Illuvitar was all but spent, passing him by as indifferently as the river passes the shore.
It was at this realization that his composure failed him at last.
"Elrohir!"
Everyone turned to stare at Lord Elrond as he cried out in distress and disbelief at the mental image of his lost, heart-wounded son.
He gasped as if he had been struck, pulling back from the intrusion with a sense of revulsion at seeing this come to pass in any Eldar, let alone his son, nearly dropping Aragorn as the darkness engulfed him.
Oh, my son... My poor child!
Arwen felt the stirrings of panic as her ever-calm, ever-composed Ada looked unseeing into the fields and wept a single tear at what foul aftermath the battle had wrought upon them that they could not yet see. The expression he bore was unlike any she had ever witnessed upon him, and Aragorn swiftly lay a hand on his father's breast, searching his face with childlike fear for answers.
"Ada?" Aragorn pressed him as they both nearly went to their knees, Arwen catching their father's face in her cool hands.
"Ada, man cenich?! What do you see?!"
"You may have been right, Estel," Elrond said, his voice thick with emotion. He dared not converse above a whisper. "I cannot see if he will ever emerge from the Shadow that has beset him." The Lord of Imladris could no longer speak, for he no longer knew within himself if it were preferable for his child's injuries to claim him, or for the Shadow to leave him living and take his soul.
That truth rent him speechless, and no less tortured than the day that his brother Elros had departed this world.
His hand went to his face, as if that could shield it from him somehow, and he said no more, fighting back the grief.
Aragorn felt himself choke at his admission. Not to escape the shadow meant the same fate for any elf: the slow transformation into orc kind that created every creature they had fought that night. He felt ill. The words 'fate worse than death' were not to be applied lightly to any immortal, but... could Elrohir be turning? Knowing it had been possible was a heavy burden in itself, but hearing it from his father's own mouth...
His eyes burned in denial. No. They had not survived this long to lose his brothers in the waking world, not after all they had bled and died for, claiming the lands of Arda with banner and lordship alike. The helpless torment he still carried from their ordeal in the glittering caves was a scar in his heart that he would bear for the remainder of his days, but the hopelessness that had quenched his faltering spirit would never again take him for its own. That much he could still swear. His chest tightened.
If not for himself, then for Legolas.
The ranger broke away from them and ran in a buckling stride that lengthened on his uninjured side to stave off the pain from his abused leg, following the path that Elladan had taken into the silent battlefield.
~0~
"Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell."
Journey's End -J.R.R. Tolkien
~0~
"You will not lay hands on me!" Horses screamed and riders bellowed orders as a black figure in orc armour faced the ten men, demanding that they leave him be. It was chaos, and half the Rohirrim were bickering with each other as to whether they should leave or take him by force:
"Back away from him!"
"Do not touch him! Sir, we must wait for Master Gamling's return!"
"He's right sir; better to leave him be until-"
"But he must be tended- look at him!"
The search party had expected a response from any Uruk-hai that happened to have survived should they encounter it, and that was where the trouble had started. The human soldiers had seen a dark figure shoving his way from beneath a pile of heavily muscled corpses and acted accordingly. The Men's original reaction of fear and their offensive attack had drawn the creature's blade to bear on them, but it was only then that they saw the red blood that still flowed from a great wound in its side and the smaller, more human features that they realized their mistake.
Tapered ears gracing his head were definitive proof that an elf had survived the warfare, but those of them who recognized him from his stand within the keep refused to come any nearer. They had seen what this elf was capable of, and those images would not fade from their minds so long as they lived to see them.
"Do NOT approach me!" the warrior commanded, spittle flicking from his teeth as he screamed, his sword drawn in both shaking hands.
"Listen to the man, sir," one Rohirrim soldier said crisply as luminous green eyes regarded them in an unsettling parody of a warg considering prey. "This elf held off the whole of them toward the end. I bain't wanting to do nothing he might look upon as... unwelcome, if you take my meaning sir."
The higher ranking horseman took in the state of the elf's dress: the tattered clothes, the chipped pieces of randomly scattered steel armour confiscated from former victims, the deeply-cracked blade he seemed loathe to discard even now... all still stained and dripping with orc blood as if he had bathed in it.
While his body seemed on the verge of collapse, his eyes were lit with the breaking gleam of the Fires Below.
The man was inclined to agree with his comrade: they need not upset such a being.
All of a sudden, the warrior whipped his head to the side and staggered backward, putting them all on edge with the movement, and in more of a tumble than a step he plunged his sword into a giant goblin that lay a few sword-lengths behind him. They saw that the monster still bled, and perhaps had even been breathing before the elf had taken preventative measures against it.
Every man went still at the wracking, choked inhalation that stemmed from the warrior's mouth.
The elf was weeping.
No one could bring themselves to move.
Every sound, every move he made was plain in the silence: the jingling of the black gauntlet buckles as they shifted with his blow, the skidding of faltering feet as the warrior struggled slowly, painfully to stand and walk, the occasional patter of his blood mingling with that of the carrion beneath him... and the gasping, wrenching breaths that marked masculine sobs as he continued to forge on: the last soul fighting a battle that had long since ended. His head nearly reached the dirt as he leaned against the deeply embedded weapon, still hilt-deep in orcan flesh, his fingers almost slipping before ripping it out again, and it sent him reeling backward as he fought unconsciousness to pursue his next victim.
No one would be able to stop him, they knew, not without his leave or until he collapsed weaponless, and by then...
All the horsemen could do was watch as the pitiable warrior bled to death in front of them, his swiftly dulling eyes searching the grounds for any target left to destroy, and there were no more thoughts within him.
"Valar help him," someone said into the quiet, and they watched grieving silence as he drifted on to another pile of corpses, the elf's devastated body swiftly crumbling, his strength waning with each dragging step. The blackened twin saw the world fading before him, raising his blade anew for an unknown enemy that perhaps only lingered in his mind...
There was nothing for him here.
"Elrohir!"
As if in answer to the Man's plea, the high trumpet call of a crying voice came vaulting over the uneven terrain, echoing into the deep, and the Rohirrim found themselves startled anew:
The elf's black face actually lifted in utter shock, mouth dropping open...
...and a sliver of desperate hope graced his dead eyes.
Elrohir found himself responding to the call as if Illuvatar himself had indeed called his name, the movement both swift and transformational of his blank, tear-streaked features. When it came again, it was closer and much more deafening in its intensity, and there was no denying that voice as it screamed for him:
"ELROHIR!"
No.
It couldn't be.
It couldn't be. That wasn't...
It wasn't possible.
Elrohir was shuddering with weakness, but the shivers that cry had sent through him came from something else entirely: a vulnerable apprehension that cut him to the quick and stole his breath. The blackened elf was barely able to utter the name for fear of it all being one giant ruse, a cruel joke from the Valar meant to pain him further. But he had no choice; it had to be spoken aloud.
Perhaps that would make it real.
"...Elladan...?" he whispered, barely audible and little more than a breath in the winds sweeping across the valley floor.
The shaking twin looked up with reluctance toward the high road that had been carved into the carnage, the surrounding band of Rohirrim following his gaze with undisguised, baffled curiosity, the stone walls of Helm's Deep barely visible in the blurred backdrop of mountains and snow that surrounded the valley.
There was someone approaching them, a figure clothed in light that glimmered in blue and white crystal patterns to his eyes, shimmering like a mirage in the heat of the desert.
That voice. That familiar connection trickling into him like melting snow, refreshing his soul in ways he had thought lost to him forever.
Could... could it be?
"Elladan," he breathed, eyes wide and suddenly brilliant beneath the layers of blood and offal blanketing his skin. The Rohirrim stared, caught by surprise as the sword that they could not take from him was instantly dropped to the wayside with a loud clatter, and he stepped toward the direction of the call, forcing them to back away from him as he took another shuddering step.
The shining silhouette drew closer at a high speed not possible for a Man. Only an elf could fly so, and it was an elf that approached them.
A flame caught within his breast, rising like a growing bonfire with unchecked momentum, bringing him taller on his feet and forcing them to move, propelling him forward as if tugged onward by his very heart itself. A single step, then another, then another, then another until he was walking swiftly, then even more as he quickened his pace to a run, barely avoiding being snagged on protruding spears and arrows as he passed them.
It could not be, it could not be, it could not-
His eyes were clouded, the being so radiant in his shadow-painted gaze that it hurt to look at him, but as the light intensified and seared him from within, he saw more and more clearly the dark hair like his own, the gait so similar to his, the same color of riding breeches he had chosen before they left Imladris that morning, the same leather boots, the same braids in his hair. The closer he drew, the more details spurred his flight: the single eyebrow that he always cocked when he was distressed whether he knew it or not, the same color eyes that spoke of the sea, the strong jaw and brow line they had both inherited from their father...
It was him. It was Elladan.
He was alive.
Suddenly breathing became real, nourishing breath instead of stale, empty air. His pain was proof that this was real and that he had survived. The ground beneath his feet was supporting him, not simply existing for him to be crushed upon, and the tears that streaked his face fell to cleanse him of the grief and bitter shadow that had left him no more than a shell with his brother's departure.
"Elladan," Elrohir repeated, over and over, his name on each breath as the sons of Elrond rushed closer and closer at matching speed, leaving the Men behind in awe the sheer transformation the elven warrior had undergone from this new being's beckoning. Light sped toward dark and he felt his heart swelling with each step:
"Elladan. Elladan. Elladan. Elladan. Elladan!"
With every repetition his voice grew stronger, louder, until he was crying his brother's name with all the strength he had ever possessed, his head growing light from the volume. It was both incredulous and desperate, as if his name alone would save him from the pain, from the darkness-
"Elrohir, no! Stop, gwanur!"
The sound was anguished now; he could tell from his twin's face that he wanted him to cease his running, that the wounds he bore would be worsened by such action, but he could no more have stopped him in his wild approach than he could have barred a tidal wave with his bare hands.
Both names blurred in matching tones from either throat as they took the last few lengths to their respective goals, and hit home.
"ELLADAN!"
"ELROHIR!"
It was like two halves of a whole reuniting at last.
They had crossed the distance in more ways than one, and it was only the final failure of Elrohir's body that kept them from crashing into each other as they met, his head striking against Elladan's chest in his momentum. His legs collapsed beneath him as the last of his strength left his body, and he toppled forward to meet the other twin's midsection as he clutched him close to his heart, arms wrapping in immovable rings around his brother's bare torso, his bloodied fingers digging deep into his flesh. Elladan yanked beneath his arms to catch him up to him, as well as to save him from crashing into the ground and further damaging himself, his eyes brimming with tears of both joy and worry.
"Elladan... Elladan..."
"Elrohir," the elder twin whispered to him as if in prayer, both terrified at his physical state and overjoyed that it was still his brother who gazed at him from behind glazed green eyes. He had feared there would be nothing left of his twin's soul to greet him at his return, and his heart sang with gratitude with every familiar expression that took his face, his own caught between elation and petrified concern.
Several of the Men had simply stopped in their tracks, seeing an exact copy of the black statue of a man that they had feared and respected, now cradling what looked like himself while bearing not so much as a blemish. Elvish magic could swiftly be blamed for these happenings, but that did not make the Rohirrim any less spellbound by their ethereal appearance. The beams of sunlight striking the twins from the chilly mountain peaks turned them into a shining vision amidst the carnage, Elladan's soft blue-white glow strengthening with the sun's aid, framing them like a graceful portrait of elven myth in their embrace.
"Tis' disconcerting, I tell you that," someone muttered, barely daring to speak as Elladan worked swiftly to bind his brother's grievous hurts.
"Elladan," Elrohir continued softly murmuring where they had fallen, as if it gave him comfort to hear of him as well as see him, forcing this to be truth, to be real. His fingers tangled in the long tresses at his twin's back, as if he could not possibly hope to hold enough of him at once. "Elladan..."
"Oh, El," Elladan lamented, hugging him tightly and rocking the damaged, filthy body with his own. The tortures he had suffered inside and out from their separation was emphasized by the state of his body, and the elder of them observed it with no small amount of pain, feeling his stomach clench with shame.
If I had known he would come to this, I would never have left...
Somewhere under the agony in his limbs and the burning in his chest, Elrohir saw that Elladan bore nothing on his bare skin but light scars, and he was wholly unharmed. Warmth claimed him for the first time since his twin's perceived death, and he breathed in Elladan's presence with a need akin to starvation as they lay melded together, clinging to each other in a reversed mirror image.
"El... Elladan," he murmured, breathy with exhaustion but smiling nonetheless. "Elladan... you live... you live..."
"Yes, gwanur-nin, and so must you. Do not leave now to spite me, El!" The gibe was terse and half-hearted; Elladan was hurriedly keeping one arm around him while stripping a section of cloth from somewhere on the ground to press hard against his leaking side, allowing for the embrace only after securing the compress to stop his bleeding.
One Rohirrim took this as an opening: "My lord, can he be moved?"
"What supplies can we offer?" one man demanded, three of the band following swiftly after to aid him in dressing the downed elf now that he was stable, two of their horses tugging frantically at their bits in obvious desire to help the fallen Firstborn.
"Give me your cloak, Telen-"
Another soldier knelt to offer the garment, strewing it about Elrohir's blood-soaked, shivering shoulders as the identical Firstborn spoke to him.
"I need some water, and a long strip of leather for a tourniquet," he instructed, cradling Elrohir beneath his chin to steady him as he tied off the makeshift bandage one-handed and moved to wrap him further in his embrace. One of the mounted Rohirrim headed back in the direction of the keep to retrieve the items, spurring the animal into a hard gallop.
"You came back," Elrohir gasped softly, grimacing as the compress pushed farther into his wound only to continue smiling as he caught sight of his brother's face anew through the agony, his speech clearing slightly. "I couldn't... I couldn't see without you El... The light... I couldn't-"
"It is well now, Elrohir," Elladan shushed him, twisting him further off of the ground and into his lap to keep as much physical contact as possible, hoping and praying that their combined presence would help the healing and stave off the Shadow before it was too late. "Please, my brother, we have come this far. Do not desert me now that there is no need of it!"
Elrohir sighed with a relief too great to be spoken, barely seeming to hear his words but reveling in the familiar tone that formed them. The hands around him soothed with as great a tenderness as the branding of the wounds he bore, and he let out a small sob of sheer joy, leaning his head further against his twin.
Were it possible, he would not see this moment end for an age.
"I held them off, El..." the fallen twin said weakly. "I did not give them... Estel... He is safe... He..."
"I know you did, gwanur-nin," the elder twin nodded reassuringly. "You don't have to explain. You fought well."
Elladan pressed a kiss to the top of Elrohir's dirtied head, arms encircling him in a cocoon of healing warmth, keeping him as close as physical embodiment allowed, The contact let him feel a little more of his twin's familiar presence that their almost-severed bond once shared between them.
In response to the touch, the thread of link left between them widened.
Elladan abruptly let out a bark of startled pain, nearly dropping Elrohir in his shock. "What-?!" He froze, gaping at his own hand.
"My lord?!"
Lifting the hand before his face, the elf watched in horror as multiple shadowed marks began to mar his smooth skin, spreading from fingertips slowly toward his elbow, and driving deeper an invisible arrow seemed to pierce into him, drawing a line of fresh blood down the length of his wrist. A quick glance confirmed it: Elrohir bore an arrow in the center of his left forearm. With their close proximity to each other renewed, the bond was opening, once more halving both good and ill between them.
The elf's insides went deathly cold. It could not be. Not again!
"You left us, El..." Elrohir's eyes were pained and milky, now seeing neither light nor dark about him, oblivious of his twin's distress as he faded. "You left, and..."
"And that is exactly why I know you will not do the same," he warned him, tears spilling over his furious, impassioned face in sharp contrast with the tenderness of his fingers as he stroked his twin's cheek. "We are together now, and there is not a force in Arda that will make me leave your side."
Elrohir's grin widened, happiness mixed with torment on his features as he ebbed away from consciousness.
"Together..."
"Elrohir!" he pleaded sharply, seeing his brother's soul slipping before his very eyes, powerless to stop it. "No! You cannot- ah!"
Just before Elladan could lose his grip on his fractured calm entirely, a weathered hand placed itself over his eyes and forehead, forcing him to close them.
"Peace, son of Elrond."
That deep, authoritative tone could only have belonged to one stern, occupied white wizard.
Relief warred with fear in his heart. "M-Mithrandir," he stammered blindly, trembling. "Do not take him from me; please we must save him-"
"Be still, young one! Do not open your eyes until I give you leave." He felt the Istar's other hand slide over Elrohir's stilled face as well. "He can be saved, but we must not allow this malady to affect you as well. Still yourself until I have finished here. He will be quite dependent upon you shortly. We must save your strength for it." The wizard was indeed silver-tongued; he knew just how to effectively capture the mind of those that encountered him.
Elladan nodded convulsively and tried to calm himself as his brother's heavy, silent weight remained so horribly cold in his arms.
The wizard wove his web of musical speech with practised ease, though not without effort it seemed. Gandalf's soft chanting seemed to last forever, and he heard their younger brother, father and sister making their way down the path towards them. The Lord of Imladris could not have been more grateful for his presence than he was at that moment.
"El, is he-"
"Estel, leave them be," Elrond's sharp voice commanded him. "Mithrandir must finish this work swiftly." A slight straightness of his tone said that their father was using his Sight as he spoke, and there was a measure of hope in it that stilled his son's shaking hands somewhat.
Elladan forced himself not to move as the blood continued to drip down his elbow and onto his leg, his shoulders shivering violently at the thought of another possible experience like before as the fate that brought them to ruin. His emotions warred within him. If they were not connected, how could he hope to aid his brother's spiritual battle with the Enemy?
But if they both laid so close to death that they might not have the will to overcome such darkness... what then?
At long last he felt a tingling in his fingertips that spread over the rest of his body bone-deep, and he could feel the hole from the arrowhead closing from within, an unsettling wet sucking sound making him start gently as the wound healed all the way up to the surface of his skin. He shook as if from cold, not willing to admit just how deeply it had terrified him to have to face the possibility of going through such torment again, knowing that both of them would perish if either's strength were to fail.
Warm hands left them and Elladan leaned over his twin's limp body in sharp inspection, finding with relief that breath still lifted his chest in a steady rhythm.
"El-"
"We've no time," Gandalf interrupted, sweeping the battered Firstborn into his arms and dragging Eladan along with him to where Shadowfax waited, stamping impatiently. "To the House of Healing and I will explain once we have banished this darkness. Come, young one!" The last utterance was accompanied by a nod in Elrond's direction.
To the surprise of all, Elrond stepped forward and took his eldest son from Gandalf's grasp, placing his own hand where the wizard's had lain moments prior. "Be at peace, my son," he bid him. "We must keep you from the shadow until your moment has come. Let us away."
Elladan could do no more than nod, leaning on his father's shoulder as Arwen and Aragorn trailed behind them.
There was much to be done, and time was of the essence.
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QUICK Poll: Am I bringing Thranduil into this little adventure? It seems to me if Elrond can feel his sons' distress, then Thranduil would damn well traverse the whole of Arda to go to where his son was if he felt him die. But, I will give you all the courtesy of letting me know what happens here. Fan suggestions have sparked my typing fingertips in some wonderful ways until now, so I ask you: IS THRANDUIL TAKING AN ENTOURAGE TO ROHAN TO FIND LEGOLAS? Or are we keeping him in Mirkwood? Only you can decide! Review!
NEXT TIME: Legolas' Reveal! (Yeah. He needs a whole chapter to himself. LOL.)
On a side note, my grandmother is most likely leaving us in the next few days, so if you find time to review, I would really appreciate it. Writing has been cathartic, and I love reading what you all have to say. Gimme a review carrot to cheer up the plot bunny? Again, thank you all so much. See you next chapter!
(It's half written. No worries!)