They had only been traveling for three days, but to Elrohir, the expanse between the dense, dark forest of Mirkwood behind them and the light mountains ahead of them seemed to stretch further as their journey went on.
The visions were gone. Elrohir felt the Prince no longer. The grief that had touched Elrohir was absent from the Noldo now, and though he mourned Legolas' death, his connection to the valiant Prince was forever severed. While he had never wished to end this bond in such a way, Elrohir was relieved from the familiar distress the Prince had carried. Elladan, too, was relieved of feeling his brother's grief and the sorrow Elrohir had felt from the Wood-Elf and for this, if nothing else, Elrohir was happy while he sat in the grass.
Soon the sun would rise, and it would be time for the brothers to wake the Ranger so that their trip could continue. They had been traveling for several days, and it would take many more before they were in Imladris.
Aragorn has a few hours left of sleep, yet, Elrohir commented to himself as he eyed the dark sky above him. He needs the rest if we are to make any distance at all today.
"Ada will be glad that we have returned." Elladan pulled his bag to him, and then pulled free a roll of weather-beaten leather from within, adding, "And he will be surprised that we have found our reclusive brother and brought him home." As he gathered also from his bag some thick twine and a darning needle, Elladan cautioned, "Although I do not know that our Ada will be as sympathetic as King Thranduil has been in this matter."
"Do you think Thranduil wiser than Ada, Elladan?" the younger twin teased happily. "Or do you think Thranduil merely kinder?"
"Of course not, Elrohir!" Sounding offended at the very suggestion that he would imply that Lord Elrond was anything but the smartest, most kind Elf ever to have walked Middle Earth, Elladan huffed, "I did not say such a thing."
"You worry that Ada will be angry that Aragorn could not keep Legolas from harm."
It was not mere harm of which Elrohir spoke: their father felt as they felt, and believed that abetting the destruction of another being was a crime unforgivable.
"Yes, Elrohir, and no, as well. Ada will not be angry with our Estel. Ada will realize, as Thranduil has, that Legolas made a sacrifice for something that was greater than himself."
Although Elladan's arm was still in a sling, for his mending broken collarbone was not yet healed enough for him to carry weight with the adjoined arm, Elrohir had given up trying to keep his twin from using said limb. Even now, Elladan loosened the sling so that it would not impede him as he unfurled the leather to inspect it. Scrutinizing the tattered front of the long leather cloak, Elladan frowned at his task and continued, "I only meant that I hope our father makes clear to Estel that he is not livid with him, but that he is proud of him, as I know Ada will be. Aragorn carries enough unnecessary burdens. I would not wish to add to his long, hard road in life, muindor."
Looking over to his human brother, Elrohir watched the Ranger roll to his side in his slumber. The human's bruises had faded, the shallow lacerations that had adorned his legs were now just scabbed scratches, and the deeper, more worrisome punctures on Estel's forearm, chest, and belly were not closed entirely, but were no longer infected. Even the burnt flesh where Ament had driven the fiery torch into Aragorn's stomach and ribs was healing.
The Ranger's physical health was improving; however, Estel was not entirely well, not yet. Certainly, the human was still in pain from his injuries, and though in his slumber his gaunt countenance was not drawn with sorrow, when he awoke, the lines on their brother's face would return, the Ranger's shoulders would be low with grief, for the recent tragedy of Legolas' death still clung heavy to the human.
At least he does not blame himself anymore. Turning his attention back to Elladan sewing the tattered cloak that Aragorn usually wore, a cloak that Elrohir had ripped while tending the Ranger's wounds in the clearing where he had found the human seemingly dead not a month earlier, Elrohir shook his head. I hope that it is as Elladan says, and that Ada can ease his suffering, as Thranduil has seemed to do.
He did not know of what Aragorn and King Thranduil had spoken while the twins were absent in Legolas' chambers that dreadful night the Prince died, but whatever Thranduil had told the human, it had alleviated Estel's guilt more than anything the twins had told the Ranger.
And now, after two weeks of recovery, of allowing enough time for respect for the grieving Wood-Elves and to attend a memorial in Tirn and Legolas' honor, and then another week for Elrohir and his twin to be certain that Aragorn's fever had truly departed the injured human, the three brothers had left for Imladris. Estel, more than the twins, had needed to leave Eryn Galen: the mourning populace and the distressed King had grown to be too much for the Ranger to endure. Even in the Wood-Elves' joyful celebration of Legolas and Tirn's lives, Aragorn had found no comfort.
The twins, however, had found the whole affair mesmerizing. The banquet had been as Elrohir would have expected to be thrown for a fallen Prince and his sentry, but instead of the somber, placid event that usually accompanied death, the grieving Wood-Elves had shed their saturnine mourning. Rather than sulky, tearful processions past the Wood-Elf's body or a harrowing night of weeping and sorrowful singing, the Silvan had instead thrown a massive, impromptu feast, followed by a night of dancing and music. The next morning, they interred their Prince's body beside the Forest River, buried along the roots of a silver maple tree. Tirn's body had been left beside the lake where the Noldor and Ranger had buried it, for his kin had found it a fitting place, once learning that the Prince had chosen it for his sentry and why Legolas had wanted Tirn placed there.
Laughter, wine, and beauty had characterized the Prince and sentry's memorial, and though he had known the Wood-Elf for only a short time, Elrohir felt he had known Legolas better than most, for he had seen into the Silvan's faer. This in itself made Elrohir sure that the Prince would have been honored to have his brethren merrymaking at his funeral. For this reason, when the Wood-Elves tried to include the Noldor and Ranger in their sprightly wake, Elrohir and his twin had joined the Silvan without pause.
I suppose that death may not affect the Wood-Elves as it would other Elves, the Noldo mused as he stuffed the night's supplies back into his satchel. They are accustomed to losing their kin in opposition to the ever-present shadow that haunts the Mirkwood Forest.
While wadding his possessions back within his bag, the younger twin's hand brushed against the hard roundness of Melfren's goblet. Instinctively, he snatched his hand away from the object. Although the goblet was wrapped in a cloth, hidden between the extra clothing the warrior had brought with him, the younger Noldo did not wish to touch the golden cup. Elrohir did not believe that the goblet could be used again. Its spell had been cast, and the chalice was just that – a chalice, and nothing more. They would take this golden artifact to their father, for they knew that Lord Elrond would have the knowledge to ensure that Melfren's goblet would never bring the vile witch back. By Elrond, it would be destroyed, as it should.
I will be glad to be rid of it, Elrohir thought. Even with its malfeasance spent, the twin wished to have the cruel thing no longer. Thranduil had willingly, eagerly allowed the Noldor and Ranger to take the accursed thing with them, for the King had not wanted the object for which his son had died to remain near him. Nor could Elrohir blame him.
He pushed the artifact deeper within his bag, hiding it under other articles and remembering the day they had left Eryn Galen, when the King had kept for himself a different golden object. As the twins and Ranger had said their goodbyes to Thranduil, Elrohir had seen clasped around the sovereign's neck the telltale shine of Tirn's medallion, its luminescence nestled amidst the fine folds of Thranduil's robes, the golden hairs from Tirn's head still caught in the cord.
Of course, during their time in Eryn Galen, they had explained to the King the medallion's meaning and the advantageous use of it by Tirn to locate the Prince, and the Noldor, for that matter, and of how this simple leaf-blazoned coin had come to save all of their lives by chance. They had also explained the full story of Legolas' capture, the Ranger's involvement, and the twins' fortunate participation. For his part, Thranduil was no less forgiving or righteous in his acceptance of the details of his son's torment and demise – he maintained his belief that Legolas had died valiantly, and as the twins and Ranger believed this as well, none had questioned the King's adamancy. To all who knew him, Legolas was a paragon for the ideation of sacrifice and indefatigability.
But the golden medallion, hanging from the King's neck where it had hung from Legolas', and before that from Tirn's, had confirmed to Elrohir and his two brothers that the Prince and sentry's death would never be forgotten. The medallion itself, though just a simple coin, had meant more to the King than the memorial or feasts held in Legolas' honor. For Thranduil, Elrohir knew, the coin symbolized something much greater.
Melfren's cursed goblet had been desired by Ament and his brother for the love of money and destruction, a desire that could be satisfied by using the simple, albeit imprecated chalice. Tirn's medallion was the opposite: it was a symbol of desire as well, but not for the desire of gain or ruin. Tirn's golden medallion had symbolized to the sentry, and now to Thranduil, a love not for something, but love for love itself.
As he watched absently while his twin patched the Ranger's coat, Elrohir thought of what Jalian had told him in the tunnel, of how warriors of nobility, wealth, or station would never be forgotten, not just by their families, but remembered by their people and future peoples to come. "Glory is for those with wealth, those who are well-known enough not to be forgotten," the younger twin whispered aloud, his troubled thoughts spilling free of his mind.
Elladan looked up from his stitching, confusion marking his far too pale face. Always ready to argue with his twin, however, the elder brother remarked, "Dear brother, the Darkness, whether it resides in men, in the shadow, or in ourselves, is not fought because it brings glory to oneself, but because it brings glory to all."
The younger twin smiled suddenly at his brother, his face lighting as Elladan had repeated to Elrohir a reply similar to that which Elrohir had told Jalian in the tunnel. He conceded Elladan's point without words but with a nod of his head.
I wonder what will become of Jalian, Elrohir asked himself when Elladan returned to his stitching. He drew his legs up closer to his body, pulling his knees to his chest so that he could rest his chin upon them while still watching Elladan's sewing. Jalian changed his thinking about Elves, that much is for certain, though whether it will keep the human out of trouble I cannot say. There was little chance that the Noldor and Ranger would ever encounter the mercenary again, and Elrohir doubted ever knowing what became of Jalian.
"Damn it," the elder twin cursed, rubbing the tip of one finger against his leggings. Grinning at his younger brother, Elladan explained, "You were always better at sewing, why do you not do this? You are the one who tore it!"
"I am better at sewing?" the younger twin asked sweetly. "I will remember you said this, next time you complain while I am giving you stitches." Seeing his brother's mock hurt, Elrohir laughed joyously.
"Quiet, Elrohir," the elder twin admonished, grinning as he pulled from his satchel a roll of clean linen bandaging. "You will wake Aragorn, and our dear, sick brother needs his rest!" Casting a suspicious gaze at Estel, Elladan ended in a whisper so soft that Aragorn could never have heard them, "And hand me another roll of bandaging. It will take another to line the length of his coat."
As he realized his twin's intent, Elrohir snickered again. Under the guise of stitching together the tatters of the Ranger's torn leather overcoat, Elladan was tacking to the back of the leather a long, white strip of bandaging. When done, the white stripe against the dark cloth would have the Ranger appearing much as the twins had always claimed him to be – a skunk.
As Elrohir handed his brother a roll of linen from his pack, he grinned his own encouragement to Elladan, his dour mood lifting. I have always said Estel was one of the skunks, the younger twin told himself, snorting his amusement and earning him another lighthearted glare from Elladan for being too loud. It is high time he looked like one as well as smelled like one.
It might have been too early for such a prank. The Ranger was not fully recovered, and the grief Elrohir and his brothers felt for the Prince was still fresh. However, it was difficult to feel guilty and sorrowful for having lost Legolas, not when the Prince had died as he had lived – nobly, peacefully, and graciously.
Besides, he thought, Legolas would not wish for us to remain upset over his death. In fact, I am sure he would laugh himself silly to see Aragorn trussed up like a polecat.
Aragorn lay still in his bedroll on the ground, not wishing his brothers to know that he did not sleep. I suppose this is not the same as lying, but even so, I am more adept at fooling my brothers than before. Usually the twins would know the instant the Ranger had woken. At the moment, neither twin seemed to realize that their young, human brother had heard their every word for the last hour – almost their every word, at least. It was apparent they whispered too quietly for him to hear, for the silence would be broken by their intermittent snorts and chuckles.
Hearing the distinctive sound of the twins snickering softly again, the Ranger grew more alert. He knew he was in for trouble. They have finally thought of revenge for my prank upon them in Imladris, he guessed, smiling into his folded arm and keeping his own breathing and body's movement regular and soft so that the twins would not know him to be awake. I will need to be vigilant as we travel home, lest I end up doused in skunk oil, or thrown into the river.
Recalling the Prince's laughter when learning that Aragorn was the adopted brother to the twin sons of Elrond, the Ranger sighed heavily. I wish you had been here to see what new scheme my brothers have concocted, Legolas, the Ranger thought to the Wood-Elf.
The ground felt unyielding against his shoulder and side, the thin blanket on which he laid was bare coverage between him and the soil of the forest floor. Although Aragorn had grown used to sleeping on the ground, he felt older, his bones tired and his muscles aching in places where he was no longer hurt.
Ament had earned his revenge against Thranduil and Legolas. The mercenaries who had taken the Prince had been evil with a Darkness that was not unusual in the profane times in which they lived, but Aragorn would not succumb to it. He had his own tasks in life to complete, and he would not forsake them.
Something inside him had broken at the Wood-Elf's death, and now, as it was reforged with the passing of time and the healing of both his body and mind, Aragorn knew that he was not only older, but somehow wiser, though he did not understand how this would be so. Just knowing the Prince had changed the Ranger. It was as his brothers' had only just agreed between themselves: Aragorn was indeed burdened – the cumbrous burthen that was his to carry as Estel the adopted son of Imladris, as Strider the Ranger, and as Aragorn, the heir to the throne of Gondor, seemed no lighter than before. Indeed, his load seemed heavier, and his world bleaker because of it.
I will heed Thranduil's words and follow Legolas' example. I may be burdened, he told himself as he lay still on the hard forest floor, but it is my burden to bear, and I will see this duty through to the end.
Rolling onto his back, the Ranger finally opened his eyes to find the sky lightening above him.