(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

Elrohir

Father is still resting but the camp is in movement all around him. All know that the day has come, the day Estel will be tested by the old man, to see if he is truly ready to face the ordeal they say will cure him.

I am full of misgivings. They will not let me see their healer. He stays in a small tent at the edge of the camp. Estel was brought to him every hour yesterday, and they gave him something, they must have done, for it made him very sick. Yet we were not allowed to tend him. They look after him, I know, for I questioned Ivorwen and she assures me that all is well with him. She looked surprised at my concern.

I am glad Father stays in his bed.

"We cannot allow this to continue," Elladan whispers to me. We sit near the river, as close as we are allowed to be, and I caught Estel's eye as he was taken into the hut. He was white and biting his lip.

"I know," more anxious even than he is to take some action which will help our brother. "Yet they are not going to hurt him, surely. He is too important to them."

"Elladan. Elrohir." The quiet greeting makes my brother look up. Gandalf is standing on the bank of the river, gazing across it.

"Gandalf," I say. I want to ask him what we should do, in case there is some hope of being allowed to take Estel away, back to Imladris. Now.

"All is well. They are preparing him. He is a little worried but he knows it is for the best. Come. You have been invited to meet someone who will be able to show you why this is necessary."

Elladan stands but I do not want to leave my post. I can hear Estel. I want to stop the mouth of the man who is making him sob so.

"Come, Elrohir. Your anger will do no good here. He will recover quickly enough. This must be done. Let me show you why."

So I follow, reluctantly. Gandalf leads us to the other side of the village, to the hut which they use as a healing place. They did not put my father here, for Ivorwen insisted he be brought to her dwelling.

Gandalf pulls back the blanket over the doorway and Elladan goes through into the darkness. I follow slowly, glancing at Gandalf, who has put his hand to his lips.

Inside, there is a fire but no other light. The room is divided into six curtained bays, each with a bed. Two are occupied, one by the man who aided us in bringing Estel and Father home, and one by a sick child. Yet there is another here, one I did not know about. His bay is screened more heavily, and Elladan hesitates at the thick, drawn curtain.

Gandalf himself goes first. Inside, it is near pitch-dark. On the bed lies a young man, barely twenty, I would guess. He is bound to the bed. By his side sits an old woman.

"Is he quiet now?" Gandalf asks her.

"Yes. You always make him quieter. But he burns, Gandalf. He burns. He will not be tortured much longer."

"He has grown very thin. Is he eating?"

"I cannot get him to eat. I think it is best he leaves this world."

Gandalf lays his hand on the old woman's shoulder. She is weeping. The young man on the bed becomes restless, moaning a little and pulling feebly on his bonds.

I do not even need to ask. This is what will happen to Estel, should the healing fail. Elladan has his hand on my arm. He knows it too.

Then Gandalf reaches forward and puts his hand on the young man's forehead. He settles, relaxing a little.

"He will rest quietly for an hour or so. I do not think it will be long." There is pity in Gandalf's voice, and distress.

He ushers us out into the bright daylight. The sun is surrounded by dark clouds but, for that moment, peers through, shining off the dozens of puddles in the camp.

"It is his time. As it is Estel's. He will move on. They could not help him, for when they tried to help him they were interrupted. A boy in such a state cannot be disturbed. Dark times, dark times." Gandalf shook his head. "Now, will you tend to your father and leave the edain to care for their own?"

He is guiding us away from the little hut. I can still hear Estel in my mind. When he was small, sometimes he would wake, and his calls would be answered. It is hard now to resist those calls.

Elladan is speaking to Gandalf, but my mind is still far away from them.

"Elrohir," my brother says, and I blink and try to concentrate. "Let us take a little exercise. We can do nothing here."

I nod and we go back to our shared quarters, Gandalf walking away towards Ivorwen, who waits for him outside her hut.

"Take your sword," I tell my brother as I put on my jacket. "I feel in need of some practice."

"Anything to lift your mood," Elladan says, fastening his belt over his tunic. "We must trust these people. They know what they are doing."

"And that boy we saw, tied to the bed, aching to leave this world, he gives you confidence that they know what they are doing?"

I draw my sword from its sheath and test its edge with my thumb. There is a spot of rust on the blade and I begin the task of cleaning it off.

Elladan is silent for a moment, then he sighs. "You cannot be proposing we march up to these people, who healed Father and know what to do for Estel, and insist we supervise what they are doing. Can you?"

"Yes," I say, hissing the word at my brother. "That is exactly what I propose. What harm can we do? I could be near Estel, at least."

"You interfere, brother. You would ask them what they are giving him, tell them he is too cold or too hot. Then you would criticise Estel and begin to tell him to complain less, or drink his medicine bravely." He is looking at me now and I can hardly bear his gaze. "And I would be doing the same. You cannot let your anger rule you."

It is an old argument, this. Since Mother – since that time, we have both been angry. Elladan disguises it better than I but it afflicts us both. He is right. I cannot behave as I would want. I must put my trust in these people.

I nod and finish the work on my sword. I sheath it once more then buckle my belt, shifting the weight of the sword until it is balanced correctly.

"If it is any consolation, he has been allowed to have Keeper with him," Elladan says. "I saw them leading the hound over there early this morning."

"Yes," I say. "That is good. Elladan," I say, looking hard at my brother, whose tension shows in face and body. "It is difficult for me to trust his care to another."

Elladan shrugs. "What is true for you is true for me also. And for Father. But Gandalf says he must be left to them, then we shall leave him to them. What if we interfered and caused him harm?"

"I cannot do nothing," I reply, throwing the whetstone on my bedroll.

"Then let us guard him, brother. Let us guard this village as it has never been guarded. No enemy shall approach it. Nothing shall disturb its peace."

Gandalf comes into the room. "Your father wishes to see you. Do not keep him waiting."

Elladan laughs, the tension in his body easing. "Do you remember, wizard, many years ago now. You came to Imladris and found us both filthy, playing in the river. We were very young – very young."

"I remember. I scared you enough with those words then. Do not keep him waiting. You ran like rabbits!" Gandalf smiled at the memory.

"We did not!" I return, pretending annoyance. "We ran much faster than rabbits!"

"Much faster!" echoes my brother. "We were not happy with you when we discovered you were teasing us."

"Why must we stay away, Gandalf? I do not understand." The question formed in my mind that instant. I have been shown the result of unfinished healing but I do not know what we can do that would hurt my brother.

Then the wizard says something which silences us both. The silence hangs between us while the sounds of the village circle us.

"Because he must not be with anyone who will show him pity."