Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
"So tell me, Elladan, what is between you and Jeren?" It was late afternoon and the twins were on the balcony off Elrohir's room in Rivendell, sitting at a small table, sharing a glass of wine in a toast to Anardil.
Elladan almost spit out his drink, he was so surprised by the unexpected question. As it was, he swallowed, then coughed, before he recovered his composure. "What makes you think there is something between us?"
Elrohir gave his brother a look that screamed of doubt. Elladan had answered a question with a question—a classic diversionary tactic.
"I saw you kissing her the day she rescued me from the Orcs. You started it, and it took you some time before you finished it. You play a dangerous game, if you are playing, Elladan. You could break her heart."
"I'm trying very hard not to break any hearts, Brother." Elladan got up from the table, taking his glass with him. He leaned his arms on the railing, looking out over the valley of Rivendell.
"Elladan—," Elrohir started in an admonishing tone.
"I care for her, Elrohir. Is that what you want to hear? I'm trying my best to get her out of my mind and my heart, but it isn't easy. You see how she throws herself at me."
"She has told you she loves you. That does not equate with throwing herself at you."
"You do not know the half of it, Elrohir. You are not always around when she is, you know."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means what I said."
"When have the two of you been here that I have not?"
"About four months ago, when I had the break in my arm and needed a week or so for it to heal, is the time I'm particularly talking about." Elladan nodded his head when he could see the light go on in Elrohir's eyes, signaling his understanding at last.
"Ah, yes. So Jeren threw herself at you then?" Elrohir looked skeptical. "Elladan, she has never so much as tried to hold your hand and you expect me to believe this?"
"Well, as it happens, she shared what was supposed to be a glass of wine with me one evening. One glass for her turned into the entire bottle, except for the glass that I had. She was well into her cups, believe me. I doubt she even truly remembers all that went on."
"And what did go on, Elladan?" Elrohir asked him accusingly.
"One thing and then another. She would not let me be. Let's just say that had Anardil learned of it, Jeren and I would be wed by now."
It was Elrohir's turn to choke on his drink. Sputtering, he said, "Elladan, you fool!" Then he blurted, "It was probably that red from the Shire—I forget its name, but its potency is legendary."
"No, Elrohir, it was not that red from the Shire, but a Dorwinion that Thranduil gifted to father last year." Grimacing at the inane turn in the conversation, he continued, "Regardless, Jeren seems to have no tolerance for drink."
"Still, Elladan, you could have tried harder to dissuade her."
"How do you know, Elrohir? You were not there." Elladan's eyes were stormy with hurt, to think his brother thought the worst of him, without even hearing him out. He calmed somewhat and continued with his explanation. "I wonder what you would have done in the situation. She was weeping, and we both know I'm no good with that. Could you have turned her away, when she was lamenting to you that, since Orcs had forced themselves on her, she feared no decent man would have her?" Elladan paused, then said, "I suppose there was probably a better way to prove her wrong rather than to show her, but at the time..."
Elrohir got up and stood next to his brother. "I am sorry, Elladan. You are right, I was not there."
"When the morning was young, I bundled her up and took her to her room. She never woke up. I think she passed out from all the wine. And she's not mentioned it since. I truly believe she does not remember."
Elrohir was quiet for a minute, then said, "And after Father's endless lectures on the perils of mixing Humans and Elves. What will he say when he learns of this?"
"He has not learned of it so far, Elrohir, and he'd better not learn of it from you!" Elladan looked his twin dead in the eyes, emphasizing that this secret had better be only between the two of them. When he finally looked away, he continued, not able to erase the testiness in his voice, "Of course I remember Father's endless lectures." His tone softened a moment later when he added, "But sometimes the heart does not listen when it should."
"Are you telling me you are in love with Jeren?"
"I am telling you I do not know what I feel. I used to know; at least I thought I did. But now that she and I have been—close—I'm confused. It has clouded my thinking. I truly know not how I feel. I thought I was making love to her for her benefit—so she could see she was undamaged and beautiful, but now, I wonder if I wanted it all along, too."
Elrohir truly didn't know what to say to his brother, so he shifted to a different angle of the subject. "You remember what you told her when she first proclaimed her love for you, do you not?" Elrohir asked quietly. "You told her of Elves and Humans and the problems encountered if they tried to bond. Those were words of wisdom, Brother. You should listen to yourself."
Elladan was quiet, so Elrohir added, "Go play with Naith. She will give you the diversion you need to stop thinking about Jeren. She will remind you what it means to be an Elf!"
Elladan smiled. Naith was a sweet Elf, that was for sure.
Elrohir pursed his lips in his uncertainty, then asked, "So you truly think Jeren does not remember?"
"Well give it some thought, Elrohir!" The testiness was back in Elladan's voice. "Had she remembered going to bed with me, she would have lit up so brightly that Father could not have helped but notice it. My hide would now be nailed to the stable wall!"
Elrohir quirked one eyebrow, and lifted his glass to his lips. He took a sip and then said, "Well, I'm not so sure how 'lit up' Jeren would have been at the idea of you having bedded her, but I am sure about one thing—your secret must be safe; did he know of it, Father would indeed have your hide."
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Jeren and Elrond spent the better part of the afternoon at the pond. Finally he told her, "We must head back. You look as if you feel worse, and I need to refresh the poultice on your wound." She did not argue, which further convinced him that he needed to tend to her. They gathered up what was left of their meal and rode back to the Last Homely House.
Before he allowed her to return to her room, they visited the healing halls once again. He again fussed over her, applying more poultice and changing the bandage on her arm. He announced that her injury was no better, but was also no worse.
"Thank you, Lord Elrond," she said tiredly. "I think I will go to bed now. Good night."
"What, no evening meal?"
"I think not. My appetite is gone. I'm just tired—and sad. I'll feel better tomorrow."
Elrond looked at her doubtfully. "Nevertheless, I will send Daeron with at least some soup and bread. And you'd better see that you eat it, dear one. I plan to check in on you before I retire."
Jeren smiled, nodded and went to her room.
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"What does a sire need do to have his sons' company?" Elrond said, in a somewhat caustic manner, "besides inviting himself?" He'd barged into Elrohir's room without knocking and strode purposefully toward them out on the veranda.
Elrond was not truly angry; he just enjoyed seeing the twins squirm at times. Made him feel somewhat more in control, one might say.
The Elf lord had gone in search of his sons as soon as he'd returned from his outing with Jeren. He did not search for long, which made him happy. They tended at times to up and be gone without much notice. But this time he found them in Elrohir's room—on the veranda, drinking what looked to be the last of a bottle of red wine. He seated himself at the table with them, took Elladan's glass, and, drinking long, emptied it.
The quiet in the room echoed. It seemed he'd interrupted some conversation they did not want to include him in. No matter. He had found with time that the older these two got, the more he did not want to know everything that went on in their lives.
"Tell me about this new poison," he said in opening the discussion.
Elladan spoke first. "This toxin is unique in that it does not become apparent that anything is amiss at first. Usually, if an Orc blade is poisoned, one knows immediately. In the past, it seemed as if most of their poisons worked rapidly, killing soon after the injury was inflicted. But this one works somewhat as the one used on our mother. She did not become very sick until after we found her.
"I do not believe it is the same poison, only that it works in much the same way. I knew I was sick only a few hours later, but I felt only as if the wound was infected. Yet had not Anardil's cut become necrotic, I am not sure I would have known I'd been poisoned at all, except for the rapid onset of the severe infection.
"I feel badly about Anardil. Had circumstances been different, perhaps I would have noticed just how serious his wound had become in time to prevent the devastating turn it took."
"I think it has more to do with the fact that you are Elven and he was Human," Elrond said. "Your body naturally heals itself faster, and while you had a nasty reaction to the toxin, your Elven heritage did not allow for the necroses to take hold. I think this poison is specifically aimed at Humans."
"And Jeren's wound," Elrohir put in, "was tended directly after it was dealt. I cauterized it, in hopes that if the wound were poisoned, it would stop any necrotic tendencies the poison possessed."
"I think that is what saved her, Elrohir," Elrond said. "The swiftness with which you tended it and the searing of the wound. I am not sure Anardil would have been saved even had his injury been dealt with likewise at the time; its location and depth would have made it very hard to tend to successfully."
"And then you have the mental effects of this poison," Elrohir said, glancing at his twin.
"What do you mean?" Elladan asked, then he recalled how Anardil had acted, sending Jeren off and then not remembering it. "Oh yes, Anardil definitely showed signs that it affected his mind."
"Not only Anardil," Elrohir said, starting to smile. "You became quite the chatterer, shall we say?"
"I did not." Elladan said, beginning to frown. "I know not why you are saying such things. I do not remember anything of the sort."
"Yes," Elrohir said, nodding once. "What exactly do you remember, Elladan? Can you sit there and tell me that you remember every detail of all that transpired at the time?"
"Of course I can," Elladan said, that testiness he was prone to coming to the fore. "I remember it all exactly as it happened."
"Then tell me, Brother, what possessed you to argue with Anardil?" Elrohir felt that this conversation Elladan had with Anardil had been very suspect—if Elladan remembered it, Elrohir would be surprised.
"I never argued with Anardil," Elladan said. "When did I do this?"
"You do not remember scolding him about something he said?" Elrohir asked him. "You will know to what I refer, if you remember the incident at all. Do you remember tending his wound?"
"Yes, I remember that!" Elladan said, his face almost angry and his tone defensive.
But slowly his expression turned to one of acceptance, and his voice held resignation when he continued. "You are right. I do not remember all that went on. I realize now that there are blanks in my memory. I remember tending to Anardil's wound, but before that, I vaguely recall walking into the campsite and Jeren leaving. And afterwards, I remember after darkness had fallen, wondering where you had gone. Rhyse set me straight on that. I questioned at the time why he looked at me so strangely.
"It is true. This toxin works on the mind as well as the body."
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Jeren bathed again, taking a long, leisurely soak until the water was all but cold. She noticed the lack of singing as she dressed for bed. Funny, she hadn't realized the quiet until now.
She did not go directly to bed. She sat in her nightdress at the table on the veranda. By now it was dark, the sky filled with millions of tiny stars, glittering like precious stones. There was nothing like the night sky, and she wanted to see it. Count the stars. A little game she and her father had played—she now knew it was to make her sleepy—when she was a child. Fresh tears coursed down her face.
She sat there silently weeping until there was a soft knock on her door. Sitting up quickly, she swiped at her wet cheeks. She knew it would be Daeron with her tray for supper, but she honestly did not want to see anyone, nor eat anything, so she didn't respond. Perhaps he would think her asleep and leave her alone. But it was not to be. The door opened and, surprisingly, it was Elrohir that poked his head into the doorway, finally spying her out on the balcony. He let himself in.
"I do not recall telling you to enter," she said in a flat voice.
"I hoped you wouldn't mind seeing me, Jeren. There's something I wish to speak to you about."
"Well, I do not wish to speak to you, Elrohir, so since it takes at least two to have a conversation, perhaps you should leave." There was now a little more life in her tone.
Instead of following her direction, though, he pulled out a chair and seated himself. She looked at him, her growing anger sparkling in her eyes. "Mayhap if I spoke to you in Elvish, you would understand me better?" she asked him.
He frowned at her. "I wonder what I have done to make you so angry with me. I knew it yesterday before we left the stronghold and I can see that nothing's changed."
"Please, just go away, Elrohir." She did not want to discuss this right now. She was mourning her father, whether she truly wanted to or not. She was very tired of all the tears and they were apt to fall without much warning. She had no energy for guarding against them embarrassing her in front of Elrohir.
Again there was a knock on the door. When Jeren didn't move to answer—she just continued her uninterrupted gaze at him—Elrohir called for whomever it was to come in. It was Daeron with her supper. Jeren smiled at him as he drew near the table to deposit the tray. He'd been one of her constant friends over the years; they'd often gone riding together when neither of them was otherwise occupied.
He set the tray before her, but instead of turning and leaving, he held his arms out to her. She rose and let him embrace her. "I am so sorry about Anardil," he whispered into her ear. "If you have need to talk, or need someone to simply sit with you, call for me." Not trusting her voice if she answered, she nodded. He gave her one last hug and left her there with Elrohir.
She hoped she'd have no more visitors wishing to express their sympathy. She sat back down and took the cloth from the tray that had been covering the food. It smelled delicious. She really should eat it. Lord Elrond expected her to. So she took up a spoon and tasted the soup. Very good, but she simply wasn't hungry.
"I spoke to Estel, Jeren," Elrohir said, "yesterday, after you'd left the dining hall."
She lifted her eyes from the bowl before her, and stared at him again. She truly had not wanted to start this conversation in the first place, but at least now he had her interest piqued.
"What I cannot understand, is why you didn't feel the need to tell him that I helped with that senseless battle you and your rangers were engaged in the other day. Nor that I freed you from Orcs—by myself."
Her look was accusing and he tried not to resent it. The fact that he'd spoken to Aragorn about something other than what Jeren thought he had helped ease his own temper.
Since anger now replaced the lifeless tone in her voice, Elrohir decided this must be the source of her displeasure with him. "Estel would not have reacted well, to hearing about either thing. He, in deference to Anardil, would have kept you safe, Jeren. Your father would have had you nowhere near a battle, could he help it. I knew Estel would not have been pleased if informed of your presence, at either event."
The pain of her father's death—at hearing his name out loud—suddenly flared, but she tamped it back down. She would not weep, especially not in front of Elrohir. "Then I suppose your effort in speaking to Aragorn was wasted, since he obviously shares my father's opinion."
Elrohir had seen her flinch when he'd mentioned her father's name, but he continued in the same vein. "I said Estel would have deferred to your father's wishes, not that he shared the same opinion. You forget that Estel was all but Elven raised; he does not always share the same mores or attitudes as the men he leads. And therein lies the snag. The men—the other rangers—do share your father's inclinations, and like it or not, those are the men Estel has to work with. They are whom you would have to work with, did you become a ranger like your father was before you. And believe me when I tell you, their views will not be lightly turned."
Although she'd done her best to hold them back, her control deserted her and tears streamed down her face again. Hearing Elrohir speak of Anardil reminded her that just day before yesterday her father had been very much alive—and very displeased with her. Had he told her truly? Was he proud of her, as he said this morning, just a short while before he died? His behavior prior—for years prior—belied that it was true.
Elrohir got up from the table and went around to Jeren. He squatted before her, reaching out to take her hands. She did not resist. He pulled her up with him as he stood and enfolded her in his embrace. They stood there for a few moments, but then he guided her to her bed. He put her in it, propped against the headboard on pillows, then joined her, with his arm around her shoulders. There they sat—in the way they'd been on so many occasions when she'd needed his comfort throughout the years.
"I cannot believe he's not here anymore, Elrohir." Her voice was shaky and she hated the sound of it. "I'm truly alone. Neither of my parents is on this earth any longer. I thought my heart would break when my mother left me, but this—I am not sure I will survive it."
He gave her a squeeze, but said nothing at first. He just let her cry. Truthfully, his own composure was hanging by a thread. Anardil had been a friend and a visitor in Rivendell for many, many years. Not only did Elrohir's heart hurt for Jeren, but he would miss the man, too.
Finally, he told her, "I know it seems a feeble thing to say, but you will survive. How do I know? Because I've lived thousands of years, through much heartbreak—at times it brought me to my knees. But I'm still here. And we both know that Elves tend toward flimsy hearts. If I—a mere Elf—can withstand these things, surely you, with your stout Human heart, will be fine—ultimately."
Jeren couldn't believe it, but she found herself chuckling. Of course Elrohir would make her laugh—at the most improbable moment.
"So," Elrohir said a few minutes later, "does this mean you are no longer angry with me?"
The innocence on his face made Jeren smile even wider. "Elrohir, I don't think I'll ever be able to say that, at least not for long. But for now, I'm no longer angry with you—but that is speaking only for this moment."
They sat there together in silence for a while, then Jeren glanced up at him. He was staring at her, and in a most discomfiting way.
"What is it?" she wanted to know. "Do I have soup on my face?"
"No," he replied, "I was just thinking of something Elladan told me this afternoon."
"Well, if it was about me, it was bound to be something waspish. I am not among his most favored people at present."
He thought about that for a moment, then asked, "Tell me, Jeren, do you feel about him as you felt before? Do you still love him, as you've been saying for years?"
"What does this have to do with what he was telling you this afternoon, Elrohir?" she asked with growing alarm. She sat up and frowned. "What did he say?"
Aware that he may have just opened a subject he did not intend to open, Elrohir decided to go with the least damning thing that he knew.
"He did not need to tell me anything; I have two good eyes, and I saw him kissing you the day you freed me from the Orcs. I asked him what his intentions were toward you."
"And?" she wanted to know. When it was apparent Elrohir wasn't going to elaborate, she prompted, "What did he say?"
"I am not free to reveal a confidence." There. That seemed noncommittal enough.
She stared at him for a few moments, then her eyes widened as if something dire had just occurred to her. "He didn't tell you!"
"He didn't tell me what?" Elrohir tried very hard to keep his face neutral. Inside, he was beginning to sweat.
Her cheeks flamed and she dropped her face into her hands, embarrassed at the turn of the conversation. She looked at him again, then closed her eyes, her head falling back against the pillows. "I cannot believe he told you." She got up from the bed and began pacing the room. "I would have thought that it would have been secret—just between the two of us. At least, that was how I was treating it."
"You forget, Jeren," Elrohir said, trying to ease her concern, "it is hard sometimes to keep secrets when you have a mind connection with someone."
The minute he'd uttered that remark, he could read on her face that it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Instead of lessening her fears, he'd only increased them.
Her blush drained, and her eyes widened even more than before. Elrohir thought she might faint.
"How much can you discern from his mind, Elrohir?"
He shook his head, holding up his hands. "He stays well guarded, most of the time, Jeren. I truly do not know the details." He wished fervently that he'd never broached this topic at all.
She climbed onto the bed again, relaxing against the headboard. "I cannot believe he told you," she said again, almost whispering.
"He didn't actually tell me anything, Jeren," Elrohir admitted. "He said that you did 'one thing and then another' until I knew pretty much what the two of you had done. No details. I promise." He circled her shoulders with his arm again, pulling her close. "It makes no difference, as long as you are not hurt by it, and it certainly seems as if you aren't." He searched her face, trying to glimpse a hint of her feelings. "That is why I asked the question to start with. Elladan thought you truly did not remember, but I wasn't as sure about that as he seemed to be."
"When I woke up in my bed the following morning, I thought it might have been a dream," Jeren confessed. "But I knew in my heart it was not. I'd been a little tipsy, you see." She stopped, looked at Elrohir, and then looked away. "No, I was just plain drunk. I suppose drink makes me bold, because I all but threw myself at him. I was a little surprised he didn't throw me out of his room." She glanced at Elrohir from the corners of her eyes. "And I suppose I used a few dirty tricks to ensnare him."
"Dirty tricks?" Elrohir asked her.
"Never mind," she said. "Elladan left for the stronghold the next morning, before I'd even risen, so I could not approach him even had I considered to. I thought his behavior churlish at first, but on considering it, my behavior was not exactly sterling."
"Not churlish, Jeren," Elrohir said quietly. "Merely confused, and if I were to bet on such things, and a little ashamed for allowing himself to love you in that way—not having better control of himself, for your sake. Elves treat physical union between friends as pleasant diversion, not usually a serious event; he might have been afraid you would not see it as he did." He thought for a moment and added, "Perhaps gutless would be the better word." Jeren smiled at Elrohir's attempt to lighten the subject.
They sat there together and neither said anything for a little while. Then Jeren said, in all seriousness, "Perhaps I need lessons in holding my drink."
Elrohir wanted to laugh, but hearing the earnestness in her voice, decided against it. "I think holding one's spirits is something that cannot be learned. You either can, or you cannot."
Jeren was quiet for a few minutes. Then she said, "I really haven't explored how I feel about Elladan since that night. I know I still love him, and that was your original question."
Jeren pulled the linen up into her lap, and smoothed the coverlet on top. "You know, Elrohir," she said softly, "I had been afraid of it—physical union, as you call it. My only experience had been hideous, and I feared I would be so damaged—both physically and in my mind—that I would not be—able, if you know what I mean." Elrohir touched her face, to get her to look at him, yet he didn't say anything. "But," she continued, "that night with Elladan was magical. He was very sweet with me. It was what I wanted and it was everything I had dreamed it would be." He smiled at her, glad that his brother had done right by her, even if he hadn't done, in Elrohir's view, exactly the right thing.
"Well, 'tis over and done," Elrohir said with a sigh. "I think perhaps your feelings for Elladan might have calmed somewhat. There was a time that you would not have felt such restraint as you do right now. You might have shouted this particular news from the rooftop."
Laughing, Jeren elbowed him in the ribs. "I never would have done such a thing!" She looked at him, smiled facetiously, then said, "Well, not from the rooftop, anyway."
Jeren was glad she'd relented and allowed Elrohir to talk to her. Very glad they'd had this discussion. It had been just what she needed to distract her from sorrow.
She loved him so much. With Elrohir near, who could stay sad for long?
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