Chapter 13: The Mission
A meeting was called the following morning, where Aragorn would announce the next scouting duty. They were gathered in the dining hall; the rangers were seated on the benches at the long tables used during the meals. Elladan and Elrohir stood with Aragorn before the others. Halbarad called the meeting to order then turned the floor over to Aragorn.
"We've received a report from Rivendell scouts that there are Orcs gathered several leagues from the borders of Mirkwood, near Rhosgobel. A large mass of them—meaning at least a hundred strong." The men grumbled throughout the room, causing Aragorn to hold his hands up for silence. "We do not know in which way they are directing themselves—further east to the Woodland Realm or westward, toward first Rivendell and then us here. We assume they originated in Dol Guldur."
The mumbling began again, but quickly subsided. "I need ten volunteers to take on this duty—and the task is to locate the group of Orcs and discover their destination. I ask no one to join a suicide mission. Your duty is only to gather information. This would allow me to confer with Rivendell, and perhaps even Mirkwood, as to what the next course of action might be."
There was a show of several hands. Rhyse had raised his immediately. Jeren's shot up as soon as she was sure Rhyse intended to be involved. Aragorn gave her a vexed look, but said nothing. He called out names—including Jeren's and Rhyse's—until he'd reached the total he sought.
"That is eleven," Joem said loudly. "If you counted the wench."
"I can count, Master Mouth," Aragorn said obviously irritated, to the quiet chuckles of many. To the remainder of the crowd he said, "You eleven, front and center; the rest of you—dismissed."
Lorn, Eldis, Ned, Brid, Rath, Joem, Dell, Ander and Will, along with Jeren and Rhyse stood to the front, near Aragorn and the twins. Joem was always included on a mission if he volunteered, because he was a big man who could wield a sword extremely well. He was an asset to a battle, although he was mostly disliked by those around him. Brid was his sole friend, and only because Joem was kin—his cousin.
"We leave tomorrow at first light. Take enough provisions to see through ten days," Aragorn said to them all. "Dismissed." He then added, "Joem, Rhyse and Jeren—stay."
After the others had gone Aragorn told Rhyse and Joem, "Your gate duty is hereby rescinded. Find others to cover for you." Aragorn then turned and spoke directly to Rhyse. "I had not told you this before, because there has been no need, but Jeren is banned from using weapons except upon orders from you. I do not expect there to be a need on this mission, but as her superior officer, you will have the final word."
He then turned to Jeren. "The directive is the same, as are the consequences for breaking it. Do you still swear to abide by my rule?"
"I do swear," Jeren replied without hesitation.
"Dismissed," he told them.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
They gathered just inside the gates the following morning as the sun crested the horizon—all were ready to ride. Jeren attached her bow to her pack, making sure it was securely fastened. As ever, she wore her long knife at her belt.
"Why do you not leave your bow here, Jeren?" Elrohir asked. "It will only cause you undue temptation."
"Would you leave any of your weapons behind, Elrohir?" Jeren asked him in return. When he did not answer, she felt perhaps a wee bit justified.
The gates were opened for the day and the riders went forth. They rode for many leagues, stopping occasionally to allow the horses to drink and rest, as well as for the riders to eat and drink and take care of personal needs. But as the morning drifted into afternoon, Eldis and Will rode ahead to scout the trail before them.
Aragorn's plan was to ride along the Bruinen until they reached the Misty Mountains. There they would traverse the peaks just beyond the northern border of Rivendell, where the crossing was easier. Going clear to the High Pass would take them far out of their way. This more southern passage would put them out of the mountains almost right onto the Old Forest Road. They would then cross the Anduin and would see what they would see. If they did not encounter the Orcs sometime sooner, the entire trip, going almost to Rhosgobel, would take them roughly five days.
It was late afternoon and Jeren felt that Aragorn would soon call a halt. She was already saddle weary, so she knew the men had to be too. They drew nearer a valley in the foothills, so all had to be on their guard. It was fast approaching the time of day when the sun was descending and the hills threw long shadows. The valley, being already shaded, would allow for Orcs to steal from their caves and shelters. The area they traveled was wooded, though not densely, so unless the Orcs were underground, they could be seen. But likewise, so could the rangers.
Jeren immediately noticed when Elladan urged his horse faster. She sat up in her stirrups, craning her neck to see if she could make out any disturbance ahead.
It wasn't long before she could see a single horse; its rider slumped in the saddle, coming toward them. Elladan pulled up next to him, obviously trying to hold the man upright. The entire company quickened its pace to meet them. Elladan stopped both horses and eased the man from his saddle. It was Eldis and he was riddled with Orc arrows.
There were so many black-fletched arrows piercing his body that Jeren knew Eldis did not have a chance of living. While most of the arrows had been aimed at his arms and legs, there was one in his chest that had to be fatal. That he'd lived this long was astonishing, unless the Orcs who had done this were only minutes away. Elladan sat him gently onto the ground, sitting down with him to keep him propped up so that his breathing might ease. Aragorn knelt on one knee at Eldis' side.
"I've lost Will," Eldis said brokenly, gasping as he tried to speak. He was sweating profusely and was deathly pale. "We were ambushed—they shot Will's horse from under him—he was alive when last I saw him—but I have no—hope for him—any—more." Just these few words had him coughing up blood.
"How many Orcs, Eldis?" Aragorn asked quietly, all the while brushing the hair from Eldis' forehead, like a father might a fevered child. "And how far are we from them?"
Eldis coughed again, then answered, "Fifteen at—least—I'm not—sure." After another spell of coughing, Eldis said brokenly, "Not far—and they come—this—way."
And then suddenly it seemed as if Eldis could no longer catch his breath, blood streaming from the side of his mouth. He struggled for a few more seconds and then he was gone.
With his hand still upon Eldis' brow, Aragorn bowed his head, whispering words Jeren could not make out. He then stood.
Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other, silently conferring. Then Elladan said, "They are almost upon us, but there aren't many—fifteen to twenty, I would say."
"We make a stand here," Aragorn said.
Everyone scattered to either side of the trail they'd been riding on. Two rangers picked up Eldis' body and hurried to hide it in the brush and trees.
Aragorn looked Jeren straight in the eyes and said, "You get up a tree and stay there. Rhyse, you are in charge of her." Rhyse nodded his understanding.
Elrohir said, "They are coming."
Aragorn unsheathed his sword.
Jeren took her bow from her pack along with her quiver. Elrohir caught her eye and shook his head at her, telling her without words to leave it and do as she had been told. But she would not.
No, she could not. If Orcs were around she would not be defenseless, no matter if she were called to arms or not. She slung her bow over her shoulder and found a good stout tree to climb.
Before ten minutes had passed, even Jeren could hear the Orcs approaching. She cared not what anyone said at this point. She had her bow strung and an arrow notched. When she gave her word to Aragorn, she had not considered how the nearness of Orcs left her cautious and prickly. Yet she had no intention of firing at all. As long as the Orcs left her be, she should not need to go against Aragorn's directive.
The Orcs surged toward them. Eldis' count had been quite accurate. There were fourteen Orcs in the group. The obvious leader hurled insults at the rangers, all the while hoisting his short, curved sword aloft—and Will's head was impaled upon it.
Jeren's fingers itched to let go of her arrow, but she knew that the rangers would silence this Orcish hector*. She watched as Orcs and rangers collided, black blood immediately flying, as Orc heads rolled. While the rangers were outnumbered, their prowess at fighting truly showed through against the undisciplined hacking of their enemy.
The battle had gone well; almost all the Orcs were dead or dying, the rangers making sure by running their twisted bodies through again and again. Jeren suddenly spotted, from her perch in the trees, a group of three more stealing in on the left. Elrohir was there, but he was looking at her and not at the Orcs. Jeren fired, but not soon enough. An Orc blade pierced Elrohir's side.
She notched another arrow and let it fly. She'd not take the chance the rangers could reach Elrohir in time to prevent the other two Orcs from finishing what their comrade had started. When both of the fiends were dead, and there were no more for anyone to kill, Jeren raced down the tree she'd been in and ran to where Elrohir lay. Elladan was already there, staunching the blood from Elrohir's wound with cloth he'd torn from Elrohir's own tunic.
"We must be away," Elrohir said, already breathing fast, but in spite of it, trying to rise. The wound he took was much the same as the one that had killed Anardil. "You hear them, Elladan. Many, many more are coming this way—and at some speed."
The others gathered the scattered horses, which hadn't gone far. The mounts were all trained to come when called or whistled for. Elladan had no time to tend to Elrohir's wound, which troubled him greatly. If this cut had been dealt with a poisoned blade, his brother could be in grave peril.
Yet as of now, they were all at grave risk. They knew not if this was the large group of Orcs the rangers had hunted, but if it were, they would perhaps have just under one hundred Orcs on their tails. While the Elves of the party could tell the enemies were many, the Orcs were so numerous, Elladan and Elrohir could not discern even near exact numbers.
Though the rangers were close to Rivendell land, they were far from the house. More importantly, they were far from the healing halls. The only crossing of the Bruinen that gave access to the dwellings of Imladris was almost a three-hour ride from here. Rivendell had originally been built as a fortress, and great Elven power protected its borders. Even the twins could not breach them without leave of their father.
They rode for more than an hour as fast as they could. Elladan kept his eyes on his brother, making sure he stayed in the saddle. It was well and truly dark by the time Elladan decided they could go no farther. Even with the waning moon's nearly full face, they could not risk the chance of ambush in the darkness. But more to the point—in Elladan's eyes—he could not allow any more time to pass without tending to his twin.
Aragorn dismounted and rounded on his brother. "What do you mean to be stopping now? There are perhaps a hundred Orcs on our trail, and what do you propose? To stop, and let them catch up with us?"
"I propose to tend to our brother, Aragorn," Elladan said, with not a small amount of ire in his tone. The use of Estel's proper name should have told Aragorn that he'd better pull back or he would more than likely be very sorry that he did not. "Or perhaps you have forgotten about him?"
"I have not forgotten, Elladan," Aragorn said. "But neither have I forgotten those two we left behind. I'll not be responsible for the deaths of any more of these men tonight."
"Will you then be responsible for the death of my brother? Go on ahead—I do not stop you. But I will be stopping now, and tending to Elrohir."
Elrohir had by now dismounted and, holding his injured side, joined his brothers. Even in the dimness of the night, any who looked upon him could tell he was unwell. His movements were jerky as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"Children," he said uneasily, almost in a shout, "do not fight! I hate it when you do that."
They were both surprised and turned to stare at him. In past times such as these, when harsh words were spoken between his other two brothers, Elrohir usually just told them both to shut up, and then they had all gone about their business. Elrohir's deep emotion in this situation was very unlike him.
"I can continue," Elrohir said, "although it probably would not be prudent. I feel strange. I am more than sure that Orc's blade was poisoned."
"We will stop for two hours," Aragorn said, "not a minute more."
"Agreed," Elladan said, and he let Elrohir lean on him as they made for the camp the others were already busily setting up.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Elrohir was tended and bandaged before long. He refused to lay flat. He seemed restless—tense and jittery. Not like himself at all.
The others lay down on their bedrolls, except for Elladan, Rhyse and Brid. They had the watch. Rhyse and Brid split up to walk the perimeter of the camp, while Elladan sat where he was. He and Elrohir would be aware if Orcs stole upon them as they rested.
Elladan's concern for Elrohir was great. He was sure, as Elrohir was, that the Orc blade had been poisoned. But besides the emotional outburst earlier, Elrohir was twitchy and sweating. These were not the same things Elladan and Anardil had experienced. Elladan would not let his brother out of his sight until he was sure Elrohir was not in extreme danger.
"Drink the tea, Elrohir," he directed for perhaps the fifth time. He'd steeped some Valerian in it in hopes that it would calm his twin. But Elrohir would take a small sip and place the cup aside to begin talking again—which he had been doing ceaselessly since they'd stopped. The scenario repeated itself over and over. Elladan was growing ever more concerned.
After an hour, Elrohir seemed calmer. He'd finally drunk all the tea. While the Valerian had slowed the spate of words, it had not stopped them. Elrohir made sense, he was just not acting like himself, saying things he would never dream of uttering at any other time.
"I fear I am losing my ability to fight, Brother," he said to Elladan. "This is the second battle in less than a month in which I've not had the upper hand with the Orcs. That's so unlike me."
Had the circumstances been different, Elladan would have laughed at that last remark. In his right mind, Elrohir would never have admitted such a thing to Elladan. It only confirmed that the blade that had cut Elrohir had been poisoned—and by the same poison Elladan and Anardil had been affected by. The fact that the effects were so extreme and had set in so fast had Elladan worried that Elrohir had taken in a huge dose of the toxin. Or perhaps that the Orcs had added something else to it. It was also apparent that all these Orcs had originated from the same place as the others who had ultimately slain Anardil with their poison.
When Elladan had finally been able to care for Elrohir's wound, he'd treated it as if it were toxic. He'd cauterized it, filled it with an herbal poultice and bandaged it tightly. He'd despaired that he'd had to wait for so long to tend it—but the Orcs were many, and Aragorn thought it best to put as much distance between them and the rangers as they could. He'd allowed them to stop for this short while only, so that Elrohir could be seen to and the others could get a short time of rest. Traveling in the dark was risky, but Aragorn obviously felt remaining where they were was riskier still. Orcs traveled by darkness, and the entire night loomed ahead of them.
Elladan greatly hoped he'd cared for Elrohir in time to prevent his twin from meeting Anardil's fate. While Elrond felt sure that this poison was not as harmful to Elves as it was to Humans, the deep wound was in a place difficult to treat, as Anardil's had been. Elrohir's reaction had been extreme. Elladan would not rest until time proved to him that what his father surmised was true—when Elrohir was again acting like himself and his wound began healing as it should.
"Lay back, Brother," Elladan said, "and let me look at that cut again."
"No, Elladan," Elrohir said, "you've only just gotten the bandage on. Leave it be."
"Elrohir," Elladan said patiently, "that was over an hour ago. I need to check on your injury. You remember what happened to Anardil, do you not?"
"Of course I remember," he said, "but you are mistaken. We just now sat down here. You've just finished taking care of it."
"Consider it, Brother," Elladan said softly. "Were that true, your side would be on fire still. I cauterized that wound—I'll bet most of the pain is gone by now."
Elrohir looked as if he were pondering what Elladan told him. "You're right, it no longer burns." Then Elrohir's brows came together. "You cauterized it? I do not remember that, and I would. That hurts!"
Again, had he not been so worried, Elladan would have laughed. But Elladan could not let go of the intense fear he had for his brother.
"You do not remember it because of the poison. Now Elrohir, you are just going to have to trust me. Lay back, please. I'm asking you."
Jeren had overheard the last part of this conversation. She got up from her bedroll and went to sit beside Elrohir.
"How are you feeling?" she asked him.
"I'm confused," he admitted. "Elladan is telling me things that I don't remember, yet I know he's not lying to me. I've seen first hand what this poison does to someone. I'm sure what he's saying is true. But it's all very strange."
"Then listen to him," she said. "Lay back and I'll stay with you. You can tell me anything you want to while he takes a look at that cut."
"I would like that," he said, as he laid himself down. She stretched out near him, on her side, hoping to comfort him this time, as he'd done for her so many times before.
"I worry about you, Jeren," he said. "I think that's why I'm performing so badly in battles lately."
Jeren closed her eyes; hearing Elrohir say this out loud hurt her to the bone. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to fret over her. But she pushed back the pain. "Why do you think that, Elrohir?" she asked him.
"I did not have this trouble concentrating until after your visit to the stronghold, when I knew you were wandering out there alone somewhere, and I couldn't help or protect you. That's when it started—during that ill-advised battle we should have never been in. I knew you were there. I would be fighting an Orc, and suddenly he'd have an arrow that had been fletched in Imladris sticking out of his ear! It could only have been you.
"And in the second battle—when it was just you and I—you were right, I put you in the tree so that you'd be protected, first of all." Elrohir glanced at Jeren, a contrite expression on his face, but he continued, in an almost defiant tone, "But I did not lie to you then; I still think it was the best place for you, given the circumstances. You brought down many Orcs before they got to me."
Jeren wiped at a tear that had escaped her eye. Elrohir was so unlike himself right now that it terrified her. Lying on her side, she'd propped herself up on her elbow while she listened to Elrohir, and now she caught Elladan's gaze. He was troubled too, she could tell.
"And then this evening," Elrohir continued, "I let them get too close. I was watching out for you, Jeren, not minding my business. This wound is entirely my fault and I deserve what I got."
Jeren made to protest, wanting to say that no one deserved to be attacked by an Orc, but Elrohir, as had been the case the entire night, was not finished talking.
"I would be dead were it not for you, Jeren," he told her. "You were minding the battle more than I. And to think, I had suggested you not even bring your bow. I'd be in Mandos' halls had you listened to me."
Jeren wanted to shush him, but thought less action might be the better choice in this situation. Perhaps the remark would go unheard, did she not make anything of it. She took a quick look around to see who might be listening. She'd not known—nor had she cared at the time—if anyone had been witness to her shooting down Elrohir's attackers. But now, since the crisis was over, she desperately hoped she'd not been seen. Her glance took in Aragorn and The Mouth, both of whom seemed to be asleep.
Elladan cut the bandage away, and slowly lifted the padding from Elrohir's wound. His face fell as he looked at the injury. Jeren knew it was bad news—she just wondered how bad.
"What do you see, Elladan?" Elrohir asked. "Is it worse?"
"Not worse, Elrohir," he said. "It is just filling with pus, like I knew that it would. But so far, the wound isn't black. That's a very good sign." Then Elladan looked Elrohir in the eyes. "However—and you aren't going to like this—I think I should burn it some more. I want to be very sure I've left none of that toxin in the injury."
Elrohir looked at Elladan suspiciously. "Are you sure that's why you want to burn it, Brother? The wound inside is not black, is it, and you're just trying to keep me calm by telling me it's fine?"
Jeren could see the look of concentration on the twins' faces that they got when they would mind speak to each other. Elladan was obviously opening his mind to his brother so that he could put Elrohir's mind at ease. After a few moments, though, Elrohir shook his head. "I can't sense you Elladan."
"It's probably from the effects of the toxin," Elladan told him. "I can barely sense you either."
"Regardless," Elrohir said, "unless you've taken up lying to me for sport, I can only believe you. Do it, Elladan."
Aragorn approached them and nudged Elladan with his boot. Elladan looked at the foot, then up at Aragorn with malice in his eyes.
"Let me," Aragorn said. "I've been wanting to get at him with a hot knife for some time now." Elladan's face gradually relaxed and he finally smiled. Aragorn just didn't want Elladan to have to put his twin through torment again. Elladan threw a couple of small limbs on the fire to stoke it, then placed his blade in the flames. He moved aside, allowing Aragorn to get closer.
"You'd better restrain me," Elrohir said, a look of trepidation on his face. "I do not promise not to move."
Jeren shifted to Elrohir's feet, ready to sit on his legs when it was time. She'd more than likely be kicked off, but she knew she did not have the strength to keep his upper body still. Elladan sat at his brother's head.
"Joem," Aragorn said loudly enough to be heard through the others' snores. "I need you here." When Joem got there, Aragorn told him to take Elrohir's feet.
Jeren did not protest, she just got up and gave her seat to Joem. In fact, she so badly did not want to see Elrohir go through this again, that she left the men to do what they would. She walked a distance into the woods; close enough to not be in danger, far enough away so as not to hear or be heard.
And there she crouched on the ground and shed silent tears, covering her face with her hands. She had just lost her father to this insidious poison and now Elrohir—someone she also loved to the bottom of her heart—was snared in its clutches. She did not hear Rhyse approach, so deep was her misery.
He pulled her up into his embrace and she let him hold her at first. But she suddenly seemed to become aware it was Rhyse, and she pushed him away and wiped at her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I meant not to disturb anyone."
"Do not be sorry for showing you are Human," he said. "I think you might have spent too much time with Elves. Either that, or with men."
She looked at him hard. "You can accept me as I am or not at all, Rhyse. It matters not to me." She was glad her voice sounded strong, even though she'd been weeping.
"That was truly not a criticism, Jeren," he replied, seeming disconcerted.
She did not answer him; she merely went on as if he had not spoken.
"As I said, it matters not. What does matter is that you are probably angry with me, but if not, you will be. I broke Aragorn's directive. Not only am I in trouble, but so are you, and because of me."
Rhyse frowned at her words. He'd forgotten about the need to order her to use weapons. She was so much a warrior he felt absurd having to command her to fight. That is why it had slipped his mind.
"Perhaps he'll not remember it, or cast it aside because you had a very good reason for breaking it."
"Mayhap the Bruinen will reverse its course," Jeren said with a short laugh. "Come now, Rhyse—you know he will not forget it. And if by chance he would, The Mouth will not let it go. For whatever reason he hates me. He is probably, as we speak, informing Aragorn that I have broken trust."
"The Mouth carries tales on everyone, so do not feel he hates you any more than anyone else. But do you think he noticed?" Rhyse asked her. "We were all busy slaying Orcs at the time. I did not see you do it."
"When does The Mouth not notice things he should not?" Jeren asked him in return. "He was at the archery trial; he heard me speak of the directive—everyone did. So he will have certainly been on the hunt for me to break it."
"I could tell Aragorn that I ordered you to arms. No more problem."
Jeren's heart fell, along with her esteem for Rhyse, to know that he would think that little of breaking trust; of lying, simply because it was convenient. She did not know that Rhyse was testing her honesty, just as she tested his.
She could not tell if she'd shown her disappointment in him on her face, and in the darkness, expression was probably ill conveyed, but Rhyse amended his prior word.
"I will not tell him that. Worry not," Rhyse said kindly. "I've been disciplined before. I'm sure to be again. Your reason was sound and I neglected my duty. 'Twas my own fault, too."
Jeren tried not to hear, but Elrohir's anguished cries now rent the air.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Jeren fell into Rhyse's arms again, covering her ears to drown out the distressing sounds Elrohir made. Rhyse placed his hands over hers, which further cut off her hearing. They stayed that way until Rhyse brought her face up to his, his hands moving to the back of her head, just behind her ears. He kissed her long and deep.
The stitched place on Rhyse's lip was scratchy against Jeren's skin. And it was obvious that he'd not shaved in a day or three. But when he opened his mouth to explore hers with his tongue, a question was answered for her—if this type of kissing were an Elvish trick, or did others indulge in it as well? She now knew that they did.
She got swept away in his passion, her tongue assaulting his. She felt as if she could devour him, and she longed to rip at his tunic until it was out of her way.
After several more heated seconds, Rhyse became aware of his surroundings again; all had grown quiet, yet a twig snapped under a wayward foot—something he could not ignore. He quickly kissed her lips twice more, reluctant to pull away, but did so just the same. Duty called.
They both looked in the direction of the sound that they'd heard. Elladan was standing there, awash in moonlight from a break in the trees. His Elven glow plainly showed his features. Jeren knew he had wished his presence known; no Elf was careless enough to snap a branch underfoot unless he wanted to be heard.
Jeren's heart clenched at the thought that she'd been disloyal; yet Elladan looked right at her and gave her a half smile. But then he said, "We break camp soon. Come. Make ready." He melted into the trees.
She had no reason to think it was so, but she felt as if he'd just told her goodbye.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"El-ro-hir, you should wake now. Your father calls you."
Elrond was bent over his son's bed, drawing out Elrohir's name—almost as a song—calling him from a healing sleep. Elrohir had yet to stir. Elrond sighed and straightened his back. He would try again in a little while. The morning was yet very young.
Aragorn and Elladan had come dragging Elrohir into Imladris during the witching hours of last night. It seemed that Elrohir had been the only one injured in the latest attack by Orcs, although Elrond was saddened to hear that the rangers had lost two more of their own. The Elf lord had sent his other sons to bed—at their extreme protest—and had then put Elrohir into a deep, healing sleep, in order to examine the wound in his side. He'd wanted neither of the other two near him, wanted no distractions as he checked to make sure that he had been right about this poison—that this wound would not develop necroses and kill this son.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he had explored the wound to his satisfaction and had found only very bad infection. He thanked the Valar again and again. He'd not known what he would have done had the examination revealed bad results, but thankfully, he need not find out.
And now, he called Elrohir once more. He wasn't alarmed or worried that his son did not awaken, because Elrond knew it was simply a matter of time. It was no longer Elrond's power that was keeping Elrohir sleeping, but Elrohir himself, in need of very much rest.
Elladan came into the healing halls a few minutes later to see to his twin. He barely acknowledged his father, something Elrond did not fail to notice. He wondered at this son's attitude. They had parted on very good terms when last Elladan left. Elrond wondered just what could be rousing Elladan's ire at this hour of the morning. A night up worrying over Orc poison had left Elrond's mood less than ideal.
The Elf lord motioned for Elladan to follow him out onto the veranda. If things got heated, he did not want to disturb Elrohir, even though it seemed as if nothing could at this point. As soon as Elladan had cleared the entry, Elrond shut the door with a quiet click.
"It appears as if something is amiss with you," Elrond said. "What would that be? I'll not have any dissembling from you—speak plainly. I've no time for beating about the bush, as it were."
"I'll not dissemble, if you will not exercise your authority as my father," Elladan said, as plainly as he might.
Elrond had been thinking that Elladan's nose was simply out of joint at being banned from the healing halls last night. And from the sound of things, that was probably indeed the case, since Elrond had used that particular phrasing when he'd ushered Elladan and Aragorn out of the room the night before.
"You know I cannot agree to such terms. Keep your sulk to yourself, then." Elrond turned to go back inside.
"You had no right to run to Jeren with Peredhil tales, Father," Elladan said. His jaw was clenched so tightly, it was a wonder words could even make it through his teeth.
Elrond stopped just before he reached for the door latch. He turned and said, "I told you I would use my authority as your father, and I will not have you speak to me in such a way."
"How would you have me speak, Father? I am angered—I feel betrayed by you. You told me I could trust you, yet with the first opportunity, you ran to Jeren with stories to elicit sympathy from her. You speak of trust, yet you seem to not even be aware of what the word means."
Elrond looked at his son, not knowing what exactly he could say. He was guilty. He knew it and so did Elladan. He knew not how to explain what he felt to his son—how to explain and not weep like a child. For that is what he felt like doing when he thought of losing any one of his children to this 'Peredhil tale', as Elladan so aptly called it.
So Elrond simply said, his voice quiet, "Now that you have had your say, you hear me. Listen and listen well, for you will never have the opportunity to hear me utter these words again as long as you live, however long that might be: You are right and I was wrong. Can we now move beyond this?"
Elladan was stunned. Whatever he thought his father might say, this was not it. He thought about agreeing and having them both go about their ways. Yet he knew the bitterness in him would only grow, until he understood his father's heart.
"No," Elladan said, "we cannot move on. I would know why you felt compelled to speak to her, after I spilled my heart to you in what I thought was confidence."
"You have no sons nor daughters, Elladan," Elrond said, his voice grave. "I know not how to explain it to you so that you would understand. You have no reference with which to compare it."
"I have no reference, yet you would deny me to ever seek it," Elladan said, the anger in his voice turning bittersweet.
Elrond looked at his son, the puzzlement plain on his face.
Elladan looked away and wiped briefly at his eyes with the fingers of one hand. He then faced Elrond again. "I have no hope of sons or daughters, Father, if I am Elven. If I chose a Human life, at least I could hope for children."
He walked to the rail surrounding the veranda and turned to face Elrond again. "Arwen is perhaps the youngest Elf in all of Arda, Father. You had the last of the Elflings. Elves no longer seek to give life. There is virtually no hope of sons or daughters for me, unless I choose a Human mate. And you would not allow me to choose freely, it would seem, no matter the reasons I might have."
"I knew not you felt this way—," Elrond started.
"—You did not ask, Father," Elladan said. "You simply told. You merely thought to exert your will, no matter what I thought about the subject."
"I am sorry, Elladan," Elrond said, shame coloring his tone. He walked to Elladan and placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "I knew not you even thought about having young ones of your own. It never occurred to me."
"I suppose I've spent too much time with the Dunedain, Father," Elladan said. "I've helped with so many of their births—tended their children when they became ill. Elenmere's children were as close as I hoped to come to ever having any of my own. But it is a wish and a dream of mine.
"I doubt if Jeren is in my future. There are too many obstacles in our way. For one thing, I know not if I love her well enough to bond with her for a lifetime. And she has met a ranger who would be far better suited to her. She wants to do battle, but I would have her pregnant every year, would I get my wish. And you and I both know that is probably not even possible for her. That Orc attack left her so damaged, she probably cannot hold a child within long enough for it to be born alive. So I am torn when it comes to her. I do love her, but do I love her enough? This one thing I cannot leave. This is what I have been agonizing over for the past few months. But I know myself, and if I choose Humanity, I want the entire parcel, not just a part of it."
"You have given the whole concept much thought," Elrond said. "I would never have known." He walked a few paces away, then turned back to his son. "What would you have me do to make this right, Elladan?"
"Nothing, Father. No real harm was done—this time. I only want your word, that if I were to bring a woman to Imladris that I loved and thought to bond with, that you would leave the Peredhil tale for me to tell her. It is my choice and my tale."
"You have my word, son," Elrond said sincerely.
They both were startled when the door opened and a disheveled Elrohir poked his head through the entry.
"What does one have to do," Elrohir asked, his voice heavy with sleep, "to get some food around here? I am starving."
o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o-o_o_o_o_
*hector—as defined in Samuel Johnson's Dictionary, p. 238; n.s. (from the name of Hector, the great Homeric warriour.) A bully; a blustering, turbulent, pervicacious, noisy fellow.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
A/N: I want to thank my four dear reviewers. You have no idea how encouraging it is to know there are people reading and following this story. I am almost to the end of this tale—only a couple more chapters left.