"Enough, Elladan," the worried Noldo demanded and then pushed his twin forcefully back to the ground, vexed that Elladan would not remain lying down. "You are going nowhere." Elladan did not try to rise again, at least, not immediately; Elrohir held his brother by his shoulders and did not relent. "This is thrice now I have set his break. I grow tired of watching you suffer through it."
"Perhaps if you would let me rise before setting it we would not be forced to reenact this travesty," Elladan spat in anger and pain.
Elrohir sighed, his brother's accusing tone causing him to wonder, Sweet Eru, muindor, do you think I would have the Prince die?
Aloud, however, the Noldo healer explained, "Legolas promised he would come back to the clearing." Straightening the bandage around Elladan's head, Elrohir told his brother, unable to meet his scrutinizing gaze, "I felt his grief. Legolas is dying but he promised he would return to us."
Elladan studied his twin with frustrated worry at Elrohir's admission; Elrohir replaced his hands on his elder brother's shoulders at the facial expression. "Legolas is not able to keep that promise, Elrohir. One of us should look for him."
"He promised to find Ament to kill him and this promise he kept," the younger twin offered weakly. Abruptly letting loose his twin's shoulders, Elrohir stood in a graceful motion, glaring down at Elladan, and daring him to try sitting up again.
"Thank the Valar. The Wood-Elf's stubbornness saved us all. I was of little help," the eldest of Elrond's sons grumbled. "Nor was Aragorn, from the looks of it." The Ranger in question was sleeping fitfully, having not yet awoken though he was not as deathly still as before: Estel was regaining consciousness gradually, his exhausted and maltreated body demanded rest. Elladan reached out beside him, stretching his arm out to the human. Speaking so softly that Elrohir had to lean over his twin to hear, Elladan whispered, "I am not ready to lose him."
"Nor am I. Nor will I ever be." Quickly kneeling beside Elladan again, Elrohir added, "We did not lose him, muindor. We will not lose him."
Elladan fumbled in the grass beside Aragorn's arm, searching for the young human's hand but unable to bend his stiff, aching neck or lift himself without disturbing his broken collarbone so that he could see to find it. Taking Estel's hand in his, Elrohir guided it to Elladan's, who gripped the Ranger's limb as though if he let go, Elrohir's assurance that they would not lose the young human would be refuted.
"Just be still, Elladan," his twin begged, standing again and glancing about the clearing. We need water.
Elrohir strode to the center of the abandoned campsite. Scattered next to the dead ashes of the mercenary's forsaken fireplace were bags of belongings, the necessities of travel strewn around the clearing in the same careless disarray with which the mercenaries seemed to have treated all that they encountered, whether objects like those that Elrohir now rifled through or living beings that they had only treated as objects. Surely one of these mercenaries has a flask of water, Elrohir complained, emptying a satchel quickly by turning it upside down, its contents showering out in a clatter of beaten tin cookware.
"Why are you so certain that Legolas will return?"
He paused in his haphazard search, his hands stilling as guilt weighed upon him – he was not sure his twin would be happy to hear how he had convinced the Silvan to battle his grief. Seizing a flask, the Noldo shook it, relieved to hear the splash of water within the large bladder. Elrohir walked back to his youngest brother, settling between his two siblings on the ground so that he could reach them both. While dribbling water between the Ranger's lips, just enough to wet the human's mouth, he explained, "I told Legolas that he had to lead us through Mirkwood, that I needed his help to protect you, Aragorn, and Tirn."
Elladan shook his head in confusion. "I thought you could not control the visions, muindor. But you say you have not only seen what the Prince saw, but also spoke to him."
"The revelations have become stronger. I could feel his despair, the agony of his wounds, and his solace at seeing Ament's death. I could perceive what Legolas saw much clearer than the first time, when Legolas was accosted by Ament's brother." Shuddering at the remembrance, Elrohir tried to hide his reaction by shaking his head brusquely; he offered the bladder of water to Elladan and helped his twin drink.
When he had his fill of the tepid water, Elladan let his brother lie his head back on the wadded cloak under his head, and then brought his arm to lay over his eyes to block from them the noon sun. "You spoke to Legolas; what else did you tell him?"
Elrohir shook the water flask again, noting immediately that the liquid within would not last them much longer. Merely sipping from the bladder, Elrohir thought, We will need to find a stream, or travel back to the river. Perhaps Legolas will be able to tell us the nearest source of water.
Guilty to have added to the Wood-Elf's burden with yet another responsibility, Elrohir absently brushed the leaves, twigs, and dirt from Aragorn's tattered clothing as he admitted with a heavy sigh, "I could not help him, not now as I could not when he was being despoilt by the mercenary. I have only shamed him into coming back to us because I could not watch him die. I told him it was his duty to see us safely to Eryn Galen."
"But you have helped him, Elrohir, by giving him a reason to persist," the elder Elf advised. "He would have already given in to grief had it not been for his desire to make certain that Eryn Galen and his father were safe."
Despite his twin's attempt to assuage his guilt, Elrohir concluded, "I have only prolonged his death, then." Elladan frowned at his twin, ready to argue, but he stopped, his eyes growing wide and his brow knitted in concentration – and then, Elrohir heard it, too.
Walking back through the forest was traumatic for the Prince: without the fleeing mercenary to guide his actions and bereft of the wrath that had sustained his interest in living, Legolas felt lost amidst the hazy, indistinct sea of trees. Barely adrift, the Wood-Elf stumbled blindly forward, trying vainly to discern his surroundings, to find his way back to his ailing friends, but his panic at being lost overwhelmed him and his inattention caused him to fall. He could find no strength with which to rise. His chest rattled with his rasping sighs and moans of pain; the sound reminded the Wood-Elf of the whispering of the leaves above him, and he concentrated on the forest, willing to remain amongst the trees, amongst his friends, and in the light, if only for a little while longer. They are alive, he thought, and I must help them. He was elated to hear Elrohir say that Strider and Elladan would be well; his desire to aid them became the only incentive to his continued efforts to find the campsite.
He pulled himself to his knees, using the trunk of the tree beside him for support. The familiar song of the oak tree comforted the Wood-Elf. An impromptu tune spilled from his lips, each utterance sending forth another fine spray of the blood that had collected in his mouth from his incessant coughing, and each toneless measure a bastion against the waves of grief that still threatened him. Not yet, he told himself, I must be a Prince now. His song of inane syllables was nothing more than what his failing lungs could manage to expel of his thoughts. He could still hear the soft rush of water lapping against the shores and his mother was still there, laughing at his childish antics as he played in the water as an Elfling; he sang to resist the lull of this soothing image and the cold death it would bring.
Blackened and blurred, the Prince's vision rippled with each flatfooted step he took until his gait faltered, and he stood still in pleasant surprise. Legolas was not aware of the horrific sight he made for the two, shocked Noldor across clearing; he did not even see them. Instead, the Wood-Elf was fascinated by the brightness of the discolored sky above, for it broke through the dark, immaterial shadows he had stumbled through thus far; it lit his body, warming him, as it lit his face with an appreciative smile. For too long I have been in the dark, he told himself, thinking of his insentience at being poisoned by the mercenaries, of almost drowning in the icy depths of the Anduin, of his time spent trapped in the tunnel, and of his harrowing journey back through the Mirkwood Forest.
"Legolas?"
The Wood-Elf started, his hand nearly losing his grip of Elrohir's sword: before him walked the Noldo whose sword he held.
He could not crane his neck to see what Elrohir saw, but Elladan could feel his twin's conflicting emotions of relief and worry, and he strained to rise, knowing Elrohir would clobber him if he noticed. Finally managing to sit up, the Noldo nearly fell back when nausea and dizziness threatened to rid him of the water he had only just imbibed. Eru's ass, he protested, quickly placing his hands on the ground on either side of his hips in a vain attempt to stop the forest from spinning. It didn't work: the Noldo instead placed his hands on his head, sure that his brain was trying to escape his skull. When he heard his brother's sharp intake of breath, the elder twin wrenched his eyes open, willing them to focus on the sight of the two Elves to his side.
"It is Elrohir," his twin soothed to the filthy, bloody, golden warrior, moving closer to the preoccupied Silvan with caution. Legolas only stared at Elrohir, muttering softly to himself.
I cannot believe he is standing, Elladan thought, watching the Wood-Elf swaying on his feet.
"Hand me your sword, Legolas."
Without argument, the seemingly unresponsive Prince handed Elrohir the blade he held in hand, his movement deliberate and sedulous, considering the Wood-Elf's condition. Starting from the Prince's blood spattered chin and mouth, the archer's battered, emaciated body was covered in blood, the relatively clean leggings for which he had traded with Tirn were now smirched with mud and filth, most of it tinted red with the blood that ran freely from the young Elda's bare, lacerated chest and newly sliced bicep. Most disconcerting, however, was Legolas' softly sung, distracted, dissonant melody.
Elrohir tried to take the archer by the forearm but the Prince pulled away, his singing ending for him to ask in a hoarse voice, "Are they well, Elrohir?"
"Come, Legolas, and see," Elrohir prompted, reaching out to take the Wood-Elf's arm again, but Legolas stepped backwards, and the Noldo lowered his hand. Not offended by the Silvan's avoidance of him, Elrohir merely began walking away from the archer, keeping his gaze on the Prince and at ready to catch the archer should he fall. He let Legolas follow him the short distance to where Elladan watched, concentrating on remaining upright. "Elladan is awake, and – Elladan! Lay back down," Elrohir demanded, rushing to push the struggling Noldo back to the ground.
"I am fine, Elrohir, leave me be," Elladan griped, shoving his twin's hands away from him and reclining slowly back to the earth of his own volition.
Elrohir scowled at his brother but did not argue further; instead, the Noldo turned to the Wood-Elf, asking, "Please, sit, Legolas. Let me see to your wounds."
Elrohir reached out to aid the Prince in sitting but stopped himself: Legolas collapsed gracelessly to the grass onto his injured knees when he tried to sit, for his abused legs would not hold him. He is in worse shape than when last I saw him, Elladan noted, taking in the new injuries that the Silvan had sustained from whatever had occurred after Elladan had been thrown across the clearing.
His voice gruff and broken, the Prince tried to speak and then settled into sitting cross-legged beside the Ranger, this time managing to ask, "How is Strider?"
"He will be fine, Legolas, he is merely sleeping. I've no doubt he is exhausted." Elrohir grabbed his satchel of herbs and bandages then retrieved the flask of water from the ground. He knelt before the coughing Prince, sitting back on his feet as he examined the wounded Silvan and tried to determine where to start.
At least one of his ribs is broken, Elladan decided. Each breath Legolas took sounded like his last. Across his chest lay a thick laceration, the flesh scored deeply, rent into an angry gash, and on his chest, over his heart, was a shallow gouge dripping red fluid. The Wood-Elf's upper arm also bled, and on his back and legs were new superficial cuts.
Elrohir poured water onto a fresh rag of linen and began to wash clean the leaves and dirt from Legolas' torso; however, the Wood-Elf recoiled by arching away from Elrohir. He grabbed the cloth from the Noldo's hand and began to swipe at the bloodied mess of his chest for himself. From his vantage point on the ground, his head elevated slightly by Elrohir's cloak, Elladan observed his brother become flustered at the Prince's careless cleaning of his wounds. Although it must have pained the Prince, Legolas did not seem to notice as his cloth abraded the injured flesh of his chest. If he will not let us treat these wounds, he will never let his tend those that Ament's brother inflicted.
Legolas inquired about his sentry, "What of Tirn, how is he?"
"I do not know, Legolas," Elrohir disclosed. "He is in the tunnel with Jalian. When last I saw him he still lived."
The Prince frowned; he hurried in his washing with the now bloody rag, the grime and claret on his chest still covering his thinned white flesh despite his efforts at cleaning it. "I will go get him."
"No," Elladan soothed, trying to be of some use to his disconcerted twin. He could sense Elrohir's anxiety for the Wood-Elf, could feel his guilt at being unable to stop the archer's torture at the hands of the humans, and knew that his overstressed twin would not be capable of maintaining his patience for long. When their mother had almost died of grief, Elrohir had almost joined her, for his empathetic inclinations had made their Naneth's despair Elrohir's despair, too, and the younger twin was still scarred from watching her sail. He breathed deeply, hoping to stifle the sickening urge to faint as he rose from the grass. "Elrohir will go get him."
Frowning with annoyance at his eldest brother's exertion to sit, the younger twin seized the rag from Legolas' hands, no longer able to watch the Prince damage himself further. "I cannot leave the two of you here alone."
"Then I will go get him," the Wood-Elf offered again. "I cannot leave him in the tunnel alone."
"He is not alone, Legolas." Elrohir opened a tin of salve and dipped the corner of a strip of bandaging into the substance. "Jalian is with him. We can collect them both after I am sure that you are well."
Once more, the Prince evaded Elrohir's attempts to help him but this time he did so by trying to rise. "I do not want Tirn left alone with the human."
"Elrohir, go get Tirn and Jalian. It will be better off should we all remain together." Elladan glared at his twin, reminded by Legolas' statement that he didn't trust the mercenary with which the grievously injured sentry had been left alone.
The goblet, he thought, realizing that the mercenary was below with the Elven blood needed to make the object work, should it be capable of working again.
The Wood-Elf must have had the same thought, for he threw off Elrohir's staying hand to try rising again. He asked, "Where is the goblet?"