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The moon was full the night before we left Imladris. As we ride home, it is full again. I look round as the horses move along the trackway, the trees arching overhead, and in the cold light I check again in my mind all we will need to do as soon as we reach the house.
Elladan rides with his brother, too ill to be governing a horse himself. We travel slowly. His head nods. Whether he is asleep or unconscious, I do not know. His brother supports him and Legolas rides close by. Legolas carries his own wound but he is healing well. He will need rest but nothing more. Elladan will need to be tended again as soon as possible.
There were other injuries, some in need of urgent attention, but we lost none of our company. Most have returned to their own homes, so that it is a small, weary group trailing back to Rivendell. Gandalf took his leave two days ago, saying he had business elsewhere. I shall miss his guidance.
I have been away far longer than I meant. But if I had not gone, my son would be dead. Legolas might have died trying to save him. Elrohir – who knows what he would have done to try to save his brother? I was there and I fought with all my heart for Elladan, when he was down and almost overwhelmed. My strength, added to the others was enough, barely.
We finished off every orc. None escaped. None reported back to its master. We made a pyre of their bodies and left a blackened place as a warning. Then we looked to our own.
Legolas guides his horse over to me. "Elladan is worse," he says, confirming my fear. "We must warn Estel. I don't think Elladan will be fit to keep up with him. Will he be asleep when we arrive?"
I look at the sky and judge the time. I nod. "He should be. But when he hears we have returned he will want to see him."
"Has he ever seen his brothers ill?"
I shake my head. "Nothing beyond a cut or a bruise. I will go to him," I say, though I know I wish to stay with Elladan.
"No," says Legolas firmly. "I will go and wake him, and tell him of our adventures. Then, in the morning, we can take him to see Elladan."
"Your counsel is wise," I say, smiling grimly. "I am too weary to make good judgements. Make them for me, Greenleaf."
"I will go on ahead, then." And he does, his horse trotting away into the darkness. It is well that he did, for Elladan has become restless in his fever, and it takes all our ingenuity to keep him in place for the last leg of the journey.
The house is very quiet when we carry Elladan's litter up the stairs and settle him in his own room. There is a hushed busyness as he is tended to. I supervise the work then tend to the deep wound in his side myself. The skin is reddened and his fever is higher, and I use all my power to give him relief from pain and begin to heal him. It is intense labour, and I am worn already from battle and from the long journey home but it must be done. Elrohir aids me and, in the end, he is left bathing his brother's forehead with cool water while I go to seek Legolas.
I enter Estel's room as quietly as I can, for there is no sound. There is one candle alight and by its illumination I can see Estel, soundly asleep, lying on his side. One hand is near his mouth, the other, flung out across the pillow. He looks different. His hair is wild, his face more sharply defined somehow.
Legolas has drawn a chair up to the bed. He looks round at me, hand to his lips, and I smile. Estel is asleep and, for the moment, that is best.
We leave the room and talk quietly outside.
"He knows Elladan is not well," Legolas says, "though I did not tell him the extent of his injuries. His arm is healed and he has pined for you, I think. He is thinner than he was and yet he is full of life," Legolas reports. "He wished to see you but fell asleep before you came."
"Come, Legolas," I say. "Let me dress your wound. I will speak to the boy in the morning." In truth, I would have awoken him and spoken to him then if I had not had other cares.
When Legolas is settled in his own room and resting, I return to Elladan and find Elrohir keeping vigil, though my son can barely keep awake.
"We must all rest now, Elrohir," I say. "We have done all we can for him. Others will watch him until daybreak, then we will see if there is anything else we can do to help him recover. Then we must have all our strength."
"Yes, Father," Elrohir says, reluctantly putting the cloth he was using back into the basin. "He will be well again, won't he?"
Elrohir holds in him a fear we do not name, a fear still too close for either of us to put aside easily. His mother, who will never return to us, who suffered until she could suffer no more. I must push that fear away from him.
"The wound is not poisoned. He has some infection but he will mend. He will mend, Elrohir," I say, and put my hand on his shoulder. "Now go to bed. I will call you if there is any change."
He stands, takes one last look at his twin, and obeys me. I give some instructions and Elrohir's place is taken. I can now go to my own room, to bathe and to eat and to rest until the morning light stirs me once more.
In the morning, as I dress in clean clothes, a scream sends me to the door.
"No!" someone shouts. "No! You cannot go back in there!" It is Legolas. I have never heard him angry before – shouting in the heat of battle, yes, but never this anger with its bite of fear running through it.
I hasten to open the door but before I can, I hear one last despairing shout from Legolas and then thuds on my door as someone knocks.
"Elrond! You must stop him!" Legolas says, grabbing my arm as soon as he sees me.
"Stop him? Legolas?" I say, looking round for someone to fight, or restrain. I see only Estel, pressed against the wall, his eyes wide, his breath short. He seems to be ready to spring away from Legolas who is trying to keep him there without holding him.
"Papa!" comes the plea I was expecting. "Papa! I have to get back to Elladan!"
"Of course you can, Estel. Come, let us go …"
"No!" says Legolas, and it seems to me he is more frightened now than angry. "Look at him! He has already used too much of his strength!"
I cannot make any sense of what is being said but I trust Legolas to be aware of any dangers threatening my sons. I gather myself and look Estel in the eye.
"Estel. Be calm. Wait a moment. Then we will see your brother." My tone is enough to make Estel pause, his mouth open, then slump against the wall.
Legolas watches him intently. "We must speak," he says. "Elrond – you and I, we must speak."
Estel regards us both as if we have become his enemies. I must know quickly what is wrong.
Fortunately, Elrohir comes out into the corridor, looking sleepy and dishevelled but clearly with some grasp of the situation.
"Estel," he says. "Please, come and help me find my knife. It is in my pack somewhere and yet I cannot locate it."
Estel looks at him warily. "If I help you, will you take me to see Elladan?"
Legolas shakes his head but Elrohir has already agreed. His action has given us a few moments, at least, and as Estel goes back into Elrohir's room, he leads me a few paces away.
"I could not believe my eyes," Legolas says. "He stood there and, as he touched Elladan, I saw – I saw him try to heal him. I saw it, Elrond. No one in all the long years …"
"No," I say, though whether in disbelief or agreement even I could not say. "I must see this myself."
"I saw it," Legolas affirms, trying to hold my attention. I know that at any moment, my sons would reappear, ready to go back to Elladan's side.
"He would have no control over that power," I say. "It will drain him beyond his power to recover. It will take many years of training …"
Again, the prince interrupts me. "Yes! And Elladan, ill as he is, would take all Estel's strength."
I nod, trying to think what to do for the best. Perhaps if I could just see this mystery for myself, it would help. It could also be dangerous. But I must know – and I must begin to teach him to use this strength immediately.
"I will take him in myself. I will see what happens – just for a moment. We must be prepared to pull him away, if we must. I do not think that explaining the matter will hold him back at all. If he truly has power to heal he has a great gift indeed."
We were both silent for a moment but there was no time for more of this whispered discussion. Estel stood at the door with Elrohir behind him.
"We found the knife. Now I'm going to see Elladan."
I follow closely as he leads us all, and he goes to sit in the chair by Elladan's bed, his hand reaching out to touch his elder brother's hand.
The change in him is startling. His eyes close and his skin greys as he loses himself in this ungoverned action. Legolas and I both reach for him as quickly as we can, Legolas pulling his arm back while I grasp his shoulders, turning him away from Elladan, who wakes with a gasp. Estel's cry makes me loosen my grip a little but Legolas is holding his arm firmly. I thought one of us was hurting the boy until he begins to shout.
"Let go of me! Let go of me now!" he screams "I can do this! I'm not a little boy!"
He tries to twist out of Legolas' grasp but that is his weaker arm and he screws up his face in pain.
"Estel!" I say, trying to calm him. "Estel! You are hurting yourself! Elladan will be well – you do not need to do this!"
"I do! I do! He's very ill and I want him to be well!"
"Child – be still. Stop shouting. Go to your room," I say, trying to be calm myself in the face of his fury.
"Why?" he shouts, free now of Legolas' grip. Legolas could not hurt him even to save him. "I haven't done anything wrong! I could make Elladan better, I think I could, I feel – I feel I could. Why won't you let me?" The boy takes a staggering step, going deathly pale before he leans against the chair. "I can do it!" he says, more quietly.
There is no arguing with him. He has gone far beyond his own control. I do the only thing I can think to resolve the situation.
"Let's go and see your pony, Estel. Show me how well he's doing. We can get you something to eat on the way, if you want. Here, come with me."
I take his hand. It is warm and damp with sweat, and the boy is shaking. I master my concern and lead him from the room. He cannot bring himself to look up from the floor. He tries to face his failure but as soon as we are out of the room he turns and hides his face in my robes, as he used to when he was a small child. I hold him until he quietens a little.
"You should have let me try," he says. There is still anger in his voice, alongside the fright. He has seen something in himself today that I suspect he did not like. "You should have. I could have done it."
"Come, Estel. You need something to eat. Then your pony, remember?"
He stiffens. He looks up at me, his dark eyes still wild and fierce, his temper only half reined in.
"I can't, Papa," he says. "I can't do that. He ran away and we can't find him. Halbarad and me, we looked everywhere and we can't find him. Not anywhere. My pony's gone and now you won't let me near Elladan. I don't see what use it is to be me. I can't do anything right."
He stand there, shaking, his beliefs in a secure world stretched to their limits. His hands are fists. His shoulders are set. There is no self-pity in his statement – it is pitiless, a judgement on himself which springs from a deep source. Yet he does not know – he does not understand the failures of his ancestors, for he has not been told who he is.
I cannot for a moment think what to say to him.
"Papa?" he says. He is waiting for me, his face full of questions.
"We will go and eat together," I say at last, taking his hand again as firmly as I can. "Then we will form a plan of campaign. Your pony is as headstrong as you are. He will be somewhere you have not yet thought to look. I shall put every member of this household on to finding him and bringing him home, even if it means there is no-one but us to cook the meal tonight!"
I hurry down the corridor, so that Estel must run a few steps to keep up.
"We will find him, won't we?" he says, a hint of optimism in his voice. This is a battle I must win.
"Of course we will! He's grazing somewhere, wondering when you're going to find him. Did you think we would never come home?" I ask, wondering whether it is right to slip this question in now. But it is a question that has come into my mind as I heard his moments of despair.
"Yes," he says, without any qualification. "I read all the reports you sent really carefully but it wasn't the same. I just wanted you to come home."
"I am here now. Come - food, then pony. I just wanted to be home, too."
The boy grasps my hand tightly as we descend the stairs. There is much here to talk over, much to settle but he is calm again now. The black moment is past but I shall not forget the depth of his anger, the strength of his will.
It is not a matter to be dealt with just now, however. Food and a lost pony. How glad I am to have such simple matters to resolve.