Hello everyone! Many thanks to those who are still reading the story so far, and a special thanks to Nurayy who reviewed!

Now, without further ado, let our hero make his entrance. Happy reading!

Chapter 5

May 16th, TA 3020

Even gone, Sauron continues to plague these lands, Elladan mused as he cast one last look at the small hut that had served as his dwelling for the last three days, before slinging his bag over his shoulder and setting off into the woods.

The embers of the fire had long since died inside their circle of stone. The doors and single window had been duly shuttered, latched close in the event of a storm; before long, spiders would weave their cobwebs in each and every corner, their patience infinite as they created intricate tapestries that would glisten with dew come dawn. The herb garden – his only occupation during this self-imposed exile – was now free to grow wild once more, overrunning the confines of the rickety fence that barely could hold in the yarrow and the feverfew as it was.

No-one else would come to tend for the plants until Elladan's return – his intention precisely.

Isolation was key, and the work required to render the hut habitable upon every return was a small price to pay to keep his wards safe from contagion.

Elves did not fall victim to sickness; a well-known fact, amongst those versed in the arts of healing as much as the simpler folk fond of folklore. A lesser-known fact was that Elves could very well be carriers of disease, be it on their clothing or their skin; a simple touch from a well-meaning, yet unsuspecting, individual could spread an illness that would decimate a village within a fortnight.

An individual much like Naeriel…and a village much like Pinehollow.

Last Elladan had seen the young elf, she was leaving for the North-South Road through the Drúadan forest, head hung low, her bow held limply in unfeeling hands – the very hands responsible for the death of her beloved, his family and many from the village. "Go to Imladris," Elladan had told her, squeezing her shoulder with more force than he should have, his jaw hurting with the reproach he need not say.

The journey on foot alone would take her over a month; by the time Naeriel reached his former home, all trace of toxin should have vanished from her body. Only Elbereth knew whether she would find the strength to draw that bow once more, for a cause greater than her own life, or whether she would arrive to the Last Homely House at all, where Elrohir could strive to relieve her sorrow.

Elladan himself had waited out in his hut in the woods, cleansing his body and burning the clothing he had worn in the village until he was convinced he was no longer a threat. Living off the forest reminded him of the not-so-old times when his brother and he hunted with the Dúnedain, fighting to preserve the line of Isildur. Now that the heir has ascended to the throne of Gondor, his task was accomplished. Glorfindel's old tales had always contained some sort of reward for those who fought valiantly and till the end, yet Elladan's own was yet to come – if it ever would.

He strode through the woods, weaving through the undergrowth, amongst clumps of knee-high fern and hemlock in bloom. The soil sank under his boots, releasing water from last night's rainfall; as soon as the leaves stopped shivering in his wake, starlings fluttered from the canopies to drink from the puddles. Such was the way of life; as soon as the threat was gone, all of Eru's creatures yearned to enjoy the world He had created.

The same was true for Elves and Men.

As soon as the shadow of Mordor had waned, both races had striven to rebuild Middle Earth, which had only made them more vulnerable to the deadly fumes that had risen from the ruins of Barad-dûr. Not even Father had foreseen it. Carried by the Eastern winds, they had drifted over the summits of Ephel Dúath – a wall that had kept Evil confined for centuries, but did nothing to stop it from floating out. Neither Elladan nor his healers yet knew how the poison had found its way into the bodies of the men and women of Ithilien. Had the fumes infused the clouds above, falling down with the rain, trickling into rivers and wells…? Had the people simply inhaled them, breathless from a village dance, drunk on mead and the taste of summer on their lover's lips?

"Had they indeed," Elladan muttered aloud as he dove under a chestnut branch, unable to repress a mirthless smile.

Midsummer's Eve was but a month away; the woods around Imladris would shimmer with lanterns and fireflies, music wafting down the ravines, mingling with the laughter and sighs of all those who, yielding to the old tradition, had sent their wreaths downriver in hopes of finding their beloved. A proof of nimbleness and interest and the same time, but above all, a naïve, childish game. Elrohir had believed so as well…

…Or so had Elladan always thought.

Will you come?

The bag slipped from his shoulder and Elladan adjusted the strap, shrugging off the question. Not so long ago, Elrohir would not have bothered with a letter, seeking Elladan out instead through the connection they had shared since birth. A bond that Elladan himself had all but severed, blocking the tendrils of brother's attempts at contact until they grew scarce and erratic. He wondered whether Elrohir too felt the pain of loss, or whether his newfound happiness was enough to make him forget it.

Will you come?

This year would not find him dancing around the old beech, nor drinking mulled wine alongside with Glorfindel. Elladan realized he had thought of his former weapons master twice already in the span of an hour. Was it because he missed him, as a comrade-in-arms and a friend? Or was it because Glorfindel represented the times when Elladan had been most happy, times that would never come again?

Will you come? his brother had written, yet Elladan already knew his reply.

For a healer, a plague provided the worthiest of all excuses.

oOoOoOo

"Welcome back, my Lord!"

The 'guard' at the 'gate' waved as Elladan passed him by. Glorfindel would have scoffed at Legolas' idea of safety, and his choice of men to preserve it, but Elladan understood. The people who came to Bar-Lasbelin were ailing in more ways than that of the body; more than one had spent countless weeks in the Houses of Healing of Minas Tirith, or the longhouses of the sick in Edoras, amongst the dying and the hopeless, breathing in the scent of decay. Many had endured a siege, waiting in darkness for the enemy to break through as the walls closed in on their helplessness.

Some had tried to end it.

There were no walls around Bar-Lasbelin, no gates, no locks. The place itself, from what Elladan had gathered, was a shrine to the memory of someone he had never met, and whom Legolas could not save.

"You are either too late for lunch, or too early for supper."

Elladan grinned at the voice in his back. "What does it matter? As if you would ever keep some of either aside for my sake. You eat not for two, but three…at the very least. At this pace, you shall soon become as plump as a hobbit."

A well-aimed acorn collided with his shoulder, bouncing off into the grass that grew by the path; Elladan yelped and dropped his bag, dodging the next projectile and catching it as it sailed in front of his face. He spun on his heels, ready to throw.

"You would not dare aim at a pregnant woman, would you?"

Her hands on her hips, Saineth stared him down in challenge. Elladan shrugged. "If I aimed at your head, I would. Save the child, forget the mother. Is that not what they teach the midwives, here in Gondor?"

"Utter horsesh…sugar, is what they teach," Saineth scowled, but softened at once at the sight of a boy who barreled onto the path, his breathless mother on his heels. "Horse sugar, absolutely. Go on, now, scamper off." She winked at the child who beamed, and ran to repeat this gem of vocabulary to his mother. Once he was out of earshot, Saineth rubbed her swollen belly. "Raving fools, the lot of them – the old guard of Gondorian medicine, I mean. Frankly, Elladan, I am astounded at how this people have not yet gone extinct. It is time they listened to what the women have to say on the matter."

Elladan bent to pick up his bag; on a whim, he stuck the acorn into the earth, a foot or so away from the path. If Bilbo had managed to grown an oak in the Shire, then perhaps he could hope for such a heritage as well. As he rose, he took a moment to study the face of his most competent healer. Beneath the rosy glow of her cheeks, Saineth seemed weary. How much of this fatigue was due to the child she bore, and how much to disappointment? "I take it you have not received an answer yet?"

"I have received an 'answer' alright," Saineth sighed, drawing the quotes into the air with her fingers, lips twisted in disgust, "just not quite the one I was hoping for." She nodded towards the hall before them, whose pillars of sculpted oak blended in with the surrounding forest. "And if I may say so, my Lord," – she pronounced the title with exaggerated flourish – "you have been slandering me. There is, in fact, a meal awaiting your goodwill."

If there was a feeling Elladan knew well, it was the roguish sting of remorse. In his absence, had he allowed Saineth to work herself into exhaustion? His own father would have never allowed such a thing to happen. Which called the question: where else was Elladan failing as a leader?

"In this case, what is there left for me to do but beg for your forgiveness?"

Saineth flushed ever so slightly, and crossed her arms on her chest. "You could remark, for instance, what a jewel of efficiency I am, and how lucky Caelben is to have me."

"You are a jewel of efficiency, Saineth. What would I ever do without you?"

"Starve, I suppose. Now go on, scamper off." She chuckled and nodded towards the Great Hall. "I will meet you in your study afterwards."

oOoOoOo

Saineth was both efficient and punctual, for she was waiting for Elladan as he approached the doors of his study; through the crack of the door, he saw her sitting with a small pillow propped between her back and the seat – a pillow filled with beans that Elladan kept in one of the drawers for that very purpose. From her right hand dangled a delicate chain, from which hung a miniature golden bell. The pendant tinkled softly with every move of her wrist, punctuating the lullaby Saineth was singing for her unborn.

Loath to interrupt the song, Elladan took the time to greet a passing healer, lingering in the corridor until Saineth was finished. In fact, he realized as soon as he stepped into the study, greeted by the scent of fresh pine rising from the less-than-a-year-old furniture, he was loath to hold this meeting at all. Surely the news could wait until tomorrow, or even another day; anything to preserve the peaceful ambience he was about to shatter with his report. Yet he knew that Saineth would likely take offense to his refusal.

Trained by Lhaewen herself – the Elvenking's Chief Healer – Saineth had volunteered to come to Ithilien, thus breaking Mirkwood's tradition of seclusion and secrecy. She had once told Elladan that she hailed from a family of four children, three of which were much older brothers, and a father who worked as a tanner. Of all those who had followed Legolas to his new home, she had worked the hardest for her new people, earning her position as his second-in-command through arduous and often unrewarding work. Saineth had never mentioned a mother, leading Elladan to suspect that either her own birth had something to do with this omission, and with her determination to change the fates of the women of Gondor, or the poor woman had been so overshadowed by the men of the family that Saineth had vowed to achieve quite the opposite.

"How was your early dinner?" she inquired once Elladan was settled at his desk, eyeing its crowded expanse with disapproval.

"Surprisingly large. Though grateful, I would have you know I do, in fact, manage to eat in your absence."

"Pah." She waved a dismissive hand, filling the room with the pealing of the bell. "I know how it is. A squirrel here, a mushroom there…such fare does not fill a belly."

"Speaking of experience?"

"Hardly." Saineth's expression darkened. "But my brothers have told me all about it."

Leaning back in his own seat, Elladan set his feet on the corner of his desk, in a display of flippancy he did not quite feel. "Mirkwood must be teeming with squirrels, if the whole of King Thranduil's people have managed to survive this long. They must be particularly large, prolific squirrels. Maybe Legolas should write to his father, begging to import some into Ithilien, and solve our troubles regarding food for the decades to come."

He was stalling, as they both knew. Silence fell as Saineth rubbed her belly over the stretched fabric of her dress. "Will you tell me how it went? Or are you waiting for me to give birth before it comes to pass?"

Only, how could he? How could Elladan begin to describe the sight of another swollen stomach, but one that no longer bore life, the child as still as the air that hung over the village, laden with a rain that would not fall? How to express his despair as he failed to save the children while the parents lived to beg him to do something, as though he possessed the power to swap their places on earth? The gut-wrenching guilt, spewed by the bottomless pit that had opened inside his heart at every pair of eyes he had had to close?

Forget the mother, save the child.

"That bad?" Elladan nodded. "Any survivors?"

"About half the village." He had no desire to elaborate about the most sickening aspect of the plague which, unlike the sickness that had struck the lands of men without discrimination a little over a millennium past, seemed to target the most vulnerable members of the population, leaving the men to dig out the graves and mourn for the departed. Instead, Elladan grappled with his memory, trying to find something that could pass for good news. "There is hope, however. The poison must have cleared from whence it came from, for I noted no new cases of illness, nor any contagion from existing patients."

"Naeriel?"

The name had been spoken with utmost detachment, as though it were a matter as casual as organizing the healers' roster for the upcoming week, though this particular name would no longer appear on the lists.

"I urged her to find my brother." A pang of guilt at the mention of Elrohir, only deepened by Elladan's lingering concern for Naeriel – a concern that would not be assuaged until he knew she was safe within the natural walls of the Hidden Valley. "If someone can help her, it would be him."

Elladan stared at the tips of his boots, the well-worn surface growing darker as the night fell upon Ithilien, the grass stains blending into the leather. Neither he nor Saineth made a move to light one of the lamps that stood by the desk, sitting in companionable silence until the swelling murmur outside informed them it was time for supper.

"We should probably go. Legolas will be wanting to hear my report." The prospect of repeating himself did little to cheer Elladan up, but at least he could tell his friend everything without feeling so guilty about the horrors that left his mouth.

Then he would rest, for a little moment at least, and try to forget, before his duties called out to him once more.

Saineth softly smiled as she pushed herself up from the chair, rubbing her lower back despite the presence of the cushion. "Legolas has gone to Minas Tirith. That leaves you with an entire evening of freedom…." She reached out to grasp a piece of parchment from his desk, stuck between an old ledger and Tinwendil's 'Guide to Hemocraft', and brought it to light. It was an incomplete, hasty sketch of a woman's entwined hands, the unwitting subject of which had long since left the Houses. "…One that you should spend on yourself, for a change. Oh, and Elladan?"

He fought the urge to ask her what she made of it. "Yes?"

"You know you do not have to do this alone, do you? Go out there, village after village, haunting the woods until your time is up…. There are men and women here who would gladly help you carry this burden, which is not yours to bear to begin with." Gently setting down the drawing so that it remained visible to all, Saineth walked to the door and paused, the light of the lamps outside reflecting on the bell that tinkled against her stomach. "You are not alone. No matter how much you want to pretend the contrary."