Glorfindel stepped into the main hallway of the healing wing to find Arwen alone on the water lily bench with only the silent sentries as company. Her eyes shone with tears and trembling starlight as she looked up when she heard him approaching.
"My lady," he bowed his head, "how do you fare?" he asked gently.
Arwen only shrugged. He was pleased to see that someone had brought her a warm shawl which she hugged around herself.
"May I sit?" he asked and was answered with another shrug. He took the space beside her and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, studying her face. "How do you fare?" he asked again. "Undomiel?"
Her façade of composure began to crumble, and she covered her face in her shawl.
"Who would hurt Elladan?" she asked in a gasp, leaning into the Balrog Slayer's offered arm. He was wearing a delicate, spring-green tunic hemmed in stitched yellow celandine quickly saturated with her tears.
"Oh, Little Star," he sighed, embracing her and rocking gently. He pressed a cheek to her raven hair, liberally pouring his golden healing energy over her spirit. She sometimes seemed to be as stern and noble a lady as her grandmother, an effective administrator of her father's household, a shrewd wit and a talented craftswoman. But Glorfindel remembered when, an age ago, he had comforted her childish woes, and her tears had sounded much the same.
The sound of her sadness felt like the Balrog's fiery foot on his chest, and a swirling rage filled him at his own incompetence. The Heir of Finwé and her beloved older brother had been cut down under his own watch, possibly by one of his own kind, and the ignominy of it filled him with blazing wrath. "I will find the one who did this," he rubbed her shoulder, unwilling to make an oath that he was unsure he could fulfill, "Valar willing." He said instead, looking up to the stars, which he could not see through the heavy curved beams.
"Did your father take Elrohir?" Glorfindel asked after a moment. Arwen nodded with an unladylike snort into her already moistened shawl.
"I wanted to give them some time alone." She explained, and he suddenly felt sympathy for the isolation of the sibling to a pair of twins who were closer to one another than they would ever be to her.
"Then let us find your father together." He stood and offered her a hand to stand.
The adjacent corridor was lined with small rooms for their most critical patients. As they approached, they saw Raniel emerging from a door on the left with a basket of white cloth stained with red. Two of Glorfindel's guards stood sentry beside the door.
"I need to speak to lord Elrond," Glorfindel said to her, and she indicated that he was in the room that she had just left. Raniel nodded to Arwen with a look of sympathy as she passed.
The room had high, leaded glass windows that caught the coming dawn's first pale blue light. The bed on which Elladan had been laid was immediately below them, and his still body was bathed in the fading starlight. There was a bejeweled device of delicate silver over his mouth and nose, and the blue and red gems pulsed with his chest's gentle rise and fall.
The lord of Imladris sat turned away from the door, his long braid falling down over the back of the chair. He sang a simple lullaby to his eldest, holding one of his hands in both of his own. His hoarse voice had none of the urgency or harmony from earlier. He watched in an exhausted daze as Elrohir carefully braided his unconscious twin's hair. Someone had washed the blood out of it. The younger twin looked up at Glorfindel and Arwen as he closed the door.
"Oh, Dan." Arwen gasped when she saw her brother. She made eye contact with Elrohir and watched as his stoic expression crumpled. She rushed forward to embrace him as he arranged the unbound ends of his twin's plait on his chest.
"How fares he, my lord?" Glorfindel said as he stepped up behind Elrond.
Elrond stopped his singing and looked at the still face of his son. Elladan was ghostly pale, and the large garnet, attuned to the music of his heart, fluttered too quickly for his comfort, "he's alive." The Elf-lord said, clutching one white hand in both of his own. He could feel the delicate web of healing energy supporting Elladan's fragile life and the exhaustion of the one who maintained it.
Glorfindel folded his arms in defense against the thick emotions flooding the room. He raised his chin, trying to lend strength where it was most dearly needed.
"Whoever did this knew what they were doing." Elrond informed his seneschal. His lord felt depleted of energy, as the golden warrior had not seen since the darkest days of the war. There was stiff tension running through his body like a bowstring about to snap.
"Who did this, Ada?" Arwen asked, cradling Elrohir's head to her chest and rocking him gently as he sobbed.
Elrond looked up at the golden warrior. Simmering rage burned under the surface of his grey eyes. "who has done this, mellon nín?" He echoed Arwen. Glorfindel inhaled and held his breath.
"We are still answering that question." He was not prepared to voice his suspicions. His gentle lord, kind as summer and usually as placid as the waters of Cuiviennen, was closer to losing control than he had ever seen, and he did not want to release the whirlwind in the wrong direction.
Just then, there was a hasty knock. The lord of Imladris raised an eyebrow at the door in annoyance as Erestor stuck his head in.
"I'm sorry…" his eyes caught sight of Elladan, and he gasped audibly, stepping fully into the room. Erestor seemed to have completely forgotten what he had come to say. His hands went to his chest as he stepped up to the foot of the bed. "Oh, what darkness creeps among us." He shook his head and laid one hand on Elrond's shoulder.
"You bring news?" Elrond asked.
"Yes, my lord," he said without taking his eyes off Elladan's face, "We found Iston, my lord." Elrond turned to look at his advisor. "Dead, my lord."
"Dead?" It was Glorfindel's voice that broke the stunned silence.
"I found him myself, my lord. They are bringing the body back now." Erestor shook his head, "I could find no wound on him, sir."
"Bring the body to the surgery," Elrond ordered.
"Ada!" Elrohir's cry brought his attention back to Elladan. He had pushed Arwen away and was clutching his brother's arm in fear. The red gem on the mask that covered Elladan's nose and mouth had gone from pulsating to a steady red.
Elrond swore. He was on his feet in an instant. He pulled the pillow from behind his son's head, letting it loll back onto the bare sheets. He folded his hands over Elladan's sternum.
"Stay with me, Starboy," he begged, throwing his full physical and spiritual weight into the chest compressions. Elladan's head jostled with the movement, his lips were tinged blue, and he did not react when they all heard one of his ribs pop. Everyone present held their breath as they watched him work. The living sapphire light of Vilya burst between the carved rafters. For a moment, there was perfect silence, honly broken by the ragged sound of Elrond's breathing.
And then the red stone flickered and finally settled into a regular beat again. Elrohir buried his face in his sister's shoulder. Arwen watched with shining eyes, her arms tight around her brother's neck.
"I got him back." Elrond laughed, "Ai Valar." He collapsed back into the chair that he had occupied. He breathed heavily, groping for Elladan's hand. "I cannot leave him." The Lord of Imladris looked at Erestor and Glorfindel, a mixture of exhaustion and rage in his steely eyes. "Find the one responsible for this!"
"Yes, sir," Glorfindel bowed smartly.
"Yes, my lord." Erestor echoed, and with a shared glance of foreboding, they exited the sick room.
Voices echoed from the main hall of the infirmary.
"No, master elf," Mithrandir did not sound happy, "I'm afraid that YOU do not understand the gravity of this matter."
"I don't see what this has to do with finding our attacker." Finbaran sounded ruffled.
"Perhaps nothing," the wizard admitted, "but if that was the escape route used by Lord Elladan's attacker. You can see why we would be concerned that the only way out was through your hidden door."
"You don't think I had anything to do with this?" Master Tentaluntë turned to Glorfindel as he approached. The balrog slayer was burning with rage, and the small crowd around the master healer scattered as he slammed the old Noldo's body against a mallorn-shaped pillar. His booted feet kicked as he was lifted off the ground.
"Did you hurt him?" Glorfindel hissed, his face only inches from the other elf's.
"No, my lord." Finbaran flinched. Glorfindel studied him. There was something undefinably wrong in his gaze. He could feel the layers and layers of defenses guarding the secretive core of that ancient mind.
"My boy," Mithrandir said gently, laying one hand on Glorfindel's arm. The warrior stepped back as the wizard, whose grizzled head came up to the balrog slayer's chest, stepped between them. Finbaran rubbed his throat and struggled to find his feet and regain his dignity. Mithrandir fixed Glorfindel with a cool look, "Perhaps you would like to see what your warriors have discovered in the caverns."