Imladris camp list of characters:
Soldiers/warriors:
Glorfindel
Annael, Saeldir and Amron- All appeared in More Dangerous, Less Wise. Amron had a significant part and accompanied Glorfindel, Aragorn, the sons of Elrond, Legolas and Gimli in the search of the banks of the Bruinen for signs of the Nazgul.
Arelas- Had a bit part in More Dangerous where Legolas relieved him of his knife in a card game.
Medical terms
Uilios- antiseptic or disinfectant
Ceulë- fluid replacement solution to be given intravenously
Ortire, athelas, Crystôl, - all powerful medical drugs
Sere-vanda- sedative/ anaesthetic
Tarnasercë- blood transfusion
Mantë- enzyme (Ninquisse is an enzyme distilled from mallorn trees and is used to dissolve eschar- Eschar is dead tissue that forms over healthy skin and then, over time, falls off (sheds). It is caused by a burn or cauterization (destroying tissue with heat or cold, or another method) In serious burns, this has to be removed if it begins to tighten or threaten the blood supply or respiration. Burns like Erestor has require really urgent attention for both this and infection. Amputation is a likely outcome. (I am not a Burns specialist so happy to be corrected)
Astra- cells
Alarca- particles
Please note that Imladris and Elrond are reputed great healers. It feels implausible that they would not know about the risk of infection or the different chemicals etc that are effective. That means their hospitals/ healing wards are sophisticated sterile places and not just the blood and dirt of medieval times. Elrond has been alive from the First Age until the Fourth. He also has Vilya and would know a thing or two about Men's healing and infection.
Silmarillion references: (if you are not a Silm geek)
Fëanor made the Silmarils and when they were stolen, made his sons swear an Oath to recover them at all costs. This led to four kinslayings, Alqualondë in Aman where they stole the ships to cross the Sea, then Doriath to try to take the Silmaril taken by Luthién from Morgoth. They failed and the Silmaril was taken to Sirion by Elwing. When they attacked Sirion, Elwing fled leaving behind her sons, Elrond and Elros, who were then taken by Maglor and Maedhros, who came to love them.
Before the second and third kinslayings though, Maedhros was one of the key leaders in the battle against Morgoth. He forged the Union of Maedhros which united all the armies of Men and Elves that would fight Morgoth. Betrayed by Ulfang, it was a rout and Fingon killed It became known as the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: Battle of Unnumbered Tears- the last battle in Beleriand before the Valar finally intervened and defeated Morgoth.
Nargothrond: Was Finrod's city state but when Beren asked him for help, Celegorm and Curufin (sons of Fëanor) sowed sedition and unrest, acc to the Silm, until they were expelled from the city. Celebrimbor -Curufin's son- remained.
References also to my own previous works, Where the Shadows Lie where the Three promised they could roll back Time if Elrond and Galadriel would assist them. If you have not read that, you only need to know that the Three have their own agenda- which is largely about finding Ontanë, Celebrimbor, their creator.
For Nina and Earthdragon- my faithful only reviewers on ffnet in spite of high number of hits! Come on readers- throw me a carrot!
BETA: Anarithilien.
Chapter 50: Evinyata (The Healers)
It was Elrohir who told Elrond what had happened, enough at least that he understood the nature of the wounds borne by Erestor. Of course Elrond had known the old tale told amongst the Dunédain that the Palantír had been hidden in Amon Sul and not lost in the Ice Bay as was commonly thought. He knew also of the third prophesy of Malbeth that foretold the reunification of the Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, but Elrond had never connected it with the lost Palantir. He had listened to Elrohir's succinct narrative in silence, frightened by the power of Ascatar-axo. If he were honest, he did not like the fact that it was simply hidden in the Iaun-Gynd, and that its secret relied upon an oath sworn by the company to keep it secret.
He had not known that the Palantíri could be such weapons either and his alarm was matched by the stir of Vilya's interest.
Ascatar-axo, she hummed softly. Destroyer. Singer of the World.
So Vilya knew of Ascatar-axo, Elrond thought. Celebrimbor seemed to have made Ascatar-axo rather than Fëanor as was thought.
Seven stars and seven stones….
Why seven? For seven brothers of course. Not nine ship-lords that came over the Sea. Seven brothers who were all gone now, all but one. Were all the Palantíri made by Celebrimbor? And if so, what were the properties of those other Palantíri? He thought of the Minas Morgul stone that Mithrandir had so carefully placed in Elrond's care. He wondered if the Orthanc and Minas Tirith stones were safe in Gondor, the kingdom of Men.
Ascatar-axo is where it should be. Where Ontanë wanted it to be. All will be in place.
Elrond felt cold steal down his spine; the Rings referred to Celebrimbor as Ontanë, Creator. At the end of the war, in Minas Tirith, the Three had led their bearers almost to destruction and now it seemed that Celebrimbor had made Ascatar-axo specifically for Cardolan. Elrond paused thoughtfully. Not Cardolan perhaps, but the Iaun-Gynd for that was a place of great power, he knew.
There was another mystery then; why would Celebrimbor place such an artefact in an ancient burial chamber of the Men descended from Haleth? Something nibbled at the edge of his consciousness, some knowledge that he had forgotten. Was it something that Celebrimbor had said to him perhaps? And had Sauron known of Ascatar-axo? If the other Palantíri were the same, why had Sauron not used them?
He sighed. He did not think that he would solve those mysteries. He could not just ignore them for he would soon be gone from these shores and his children remain. He resolved to meditate upon it when he returned to Imladris, and to look more closely at the Minas Morgul stone on his return. But this was where Celebrimbor intended Ascatar-axo to be, and there let it lie. For now at least.
0o0o
They had laid Erestor carefully on what passed for an operating table. The table was not steel or fitted with the customary Imaldrian hydraulic systems. Still, the wooden frame was perfectly balanced and swiftly assembled with typical Noldor efficiency and skill; it would at least suffice. Elrond had seen worse field hospitals than this canvas tent on the edge of old Cardolan. Everything had been scrubbed with uilios so it was sterile, and its pungent antiseptic tang was softened by the lighter, more fragrant scent of athelas. The essential bottles, instruments and medical supplies had been carefully unpacked and laid upon a long table that had been constructed as efficiently as the operating table.
Saelind, Imladris' chief apothecary, was carefully removing the bandages from Erestor's left arm with Nimbrethil's assistance, the young apprentice anaesthetist recently arrived from Mithlond. Her blue eyes were wide over her surgical mask, but her hands were steady as she gently pushed a cannula into a vein that she somehow had located in that ruined mass of charred flesh.
It was hardly surprising that Nimbrethil looked a little scared, thought Elrond. Even he had never seen such burns; the skin and muscle and fat were melted away, as if they had dissolved.
'Nimbrethil, take this,' said Loríndal, the famed anaesthetist. He handed his apprentice a fine tube and said in his low, calm voice, 'Attach this tube now to the cannula. It is ceulë. You will remember we have talked about ceulë and its function,' he added, unable to miss an opportunity for teaching. 'It is vital to replace fluids that the patient will have lost in the trauma.'
Nimbrethil nodded silently and did as she was instructed.
Saelind now began to remove the bandages from Erestor's face. The apothecary was silent as he did so, for the puffy mottled skin was hideous, more Orc than Elf, and skin, fat and muscle of Erestor's cheek had been burned away in an awful grin that showed the jawbone and teeth.
'Elbereth have mercy,' murmured Táleriolwë. Taeglin, his brother put a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. Both had fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad when Glaurung had blazed through the Anfauglith, with Balrogs pounding through the Gap in the Dragon's wake, but neither had seen anything like this before.
'No fire could do this,' Taeglin murmured, and Elrond did not miss a glance that the brothers shared. For a fleeting moment, he thought perhaps they knew something about Ascatar-axo, for they had dwelt in Hollin with Celebrimbor until its destruction.
At Taeglin's shocked comment, Elladan gave a grief-stricken cry, and Loríndal reached out a hand and touched Elladan's sleeve gently, soothing his exhausted Song with that healing touch. 'We will do all we can, child,' he said.
Elrond stared down at Erestor. Erestor, who had taken charge of two weeping boys at the end of the War, and defiantly, angrily placed them in Gil-Galad's care, ignoring the hisses and jeers from the Mithlond Elves, some of them survivors of Doriath and Sirion. Erestor with his crimson cloak and sigil of Maedhros, ramrod straight, amber eyes almost glowing with disdain and fury and hurt, for he had been as abandoned as the twins had been by Maedhros and Maglor while their beloved, adored captors went off and committed the final act of self-sabotage and suicide. Erestor, who had held onto Elrond when Elros had declared his intention to tread the Path of Men. It was Erestor who had been there for every trauma, every loss, every grief, every joy.
He could not imagine life without Erestor at his side. Or at his back.
Loríndal was muttering anxiously to himself as he shook the leather ceulë bag a little to start the solution dripping through the tube and into Erestor's veins to replace vital fluid he had lost. 'We just can't make up for lost time,' he said quietly. 'This is too late.'
'Let us trust to Elbereth,' Saelind replied, efficiently attaching another catheter into the next cannula that Nimbrethil had inserted. He spoke slowly, in the rich deep cadence of ancient Doriath where he had been born. His wisdom was learnt from Melian herself and yet he bore no grudge against Erestor for what had passed in Doriath, and both had been there. 'This should be enough to accommodate for the shift of plasma into the interstitial tissue,' Saelind continued in a low voice. 'Taeglin, are you preparing for Tarnasercë?'
Taeglin nodded silently.
Beside him, Elladan bowed his head. 'We could only spoon liquid into his mouth. It was all we could do,' he said miserably. 'I couldn't think of another way to keep his fluids up… We didn't have anything …' He made a strangled noise and shook his head as if a noose closed about him.
'Ah, it was not a reprimand, child,' said Loríndal remorsefully. 'He would already be dead if it were not for you.'
'He would not,' Elladan cried and covered his face with his hands. 'He would be alive and…' He made an inarticulate noise like an animal in pain. Elrond knew his son better than to try to give him comfort. He would be stiff and unyielding, punishing himself for what he saw as his failure. But Elrond's heart yearned to pull his child into his embrace and comfort him.
Nimbrethil's gaze darted between them, first at Loríndal and then at Elladan.
A clink of metal came from the table behind them, where Taeglin placed a scalpel into a steel bowl of uilios to sterilise it. 'No one is blaming you, Elladan,' he said kindly. 'Any more than they would blame Elrohir. Let us focus on Erestor now.'
Elladan took a breath and looked at Taeglin. Then he nodded. 'I have Rithilmuilë.' He pulled out a pouch from his tunic pocket, stepping forward and emptying Erestor's heavy gold ring into the palm of Elrond's outstretched hand. 'He had given it to Ma…' He stopped for a minute and glanced up at Elrond but seemed to think better of it. Instead he said, 'We did not dare put it back on his hand in case his fingers swelled up and the ring restricted his blood flow.'
Elrond looked at his son. He did not press Elladan, but the question buried itself in his thoughts; Erestor had taken Rithilmuilë off? And given it to someone else? Who? Elrohir had not mentioned anyone else was up there on the Barrow Downs. Who would have reason? He did not press Elladan, but he felt Vilya's watchful interest. He would find out later, he thought, when they had time to hear the whole tale. 'Yes. You were right not to replace it,' he said quietly, holding the familiar weight of the gold ring in the palm of his hand. He looked down at the perfect ring. Rithilmuilë had been made for Erestor.
'A ring for a spy,' Celebrimbor had said, with an amused smile. 'It will help you to see better.'
Elrond slid Rithilmuilë onto his finger where it clicked against Vilya as if it were a magnet and Elrond braced himself against the Rings' Power. Immediately there was a whir and Vilya's mechanism slid open and locked with Rithilmuilë as if they had been designed to be worn together like this. A moment later, Elrond was flooded by shocking, overwhelming sensation. It seemed like Rithilmuilë exploded into sharp blades of golden light that shot through Vilya's blue-violet. A blinding pain pierced Elrond between the eyes as the Rings forced themselves into his own neurons.
It was a moment only and then suddenly he could see beyond the outward skin and flesh to the shimmering alarca of which all matter was made; he saw his companions as energy, pulsing, shimmering, their movement was a scatter of waves and their voices ripples in the light.
Slowly, Elrond turned his head and gestured to Saelind to lift the strips of linen coverings from Erestor so that Elrond could examine the injuries.
At first, he simply saw the same shimmering alarca as the other Elves, but there were splotches of crimson pain and trauma throughout the body. Elrond could see how the nerves flickered like small bolts of red lightning everywhere at once; this was pain, ravaging the body. But the nerves were at least signalling the pain, and the brain was at least, receiving it. He could see too how the cells, plasma and platelets rushed about to the sites of damage and trauma, but he could see too how dangerously stretched and thin they were for the sheer amount of repair required. It was too much for Erestor's body to repair on its own. The ceulëwould help, he thought. It acted quickly but Erestor needed more.
He knew he had murmured words, and might have instructed them to commence Tarnasercë, but it felt like his mouth moved of its own volition. Dimly, he heard a hurried clinking of metal instruments somewhere behind him, the hurry of feet as they rushed to prepare the transfusion of blood. He felt a drift of cool air as the tent flaps were thrown open and then closed behind someone, but he did not move.
Slowly, Vilya deepened her blue-violet light without Elrond really knowing what she did or why but then he understood; the shimmer of alarca densified and although the flesh and muscle were still transparent, Rithilmuilë illuminated the bones and organs from within. Elrond could see them in astonishing detail. He could see where there Ascatar-axo's terrible power had reached the lungs and heart, but spared other organs, liver, pancreas, kidneys. But where the blood had been restricted or insufficient, there was further damage. He peered into the body closely, cataloguing the harm.
As he moved his attention the limbs, he could see that the ceulë was beginning to work, pushing new regenerating fluid into the bloodstream. Vilya intensified the ceulë, vibrating the alarca so that the blood thickened and strengthened, repairing its cellular structure. Her Song vibrated along the frequency that accelerated healing and retuned the alarca so he finally began to hear Erestor's Song reverberate through his body at last.
Quite suddenly, something snagged at Elrond's awareness. Another Song, one that lingered in his memory, like the scent of the sea, like a lullaby sung to one as a child and almost lost. It brushed over his fëa like the hand of his mother…No. Not his mother. She had never stroked the top of his head like that or taken his hand with such tender care. Only his beloved captors….
Elrond almost staggered. Drawing in a breath, he held onto the edge of the wooden bed, swaying. He felt someone hold his arm, easing him into a chair that was shoved behind him. He sank into it awkwardly. Someone cupped his hand around a glass of clear cold water, and he drank gratefully, letting the physicality of it anchor him back into the physical world.
'Elrond?' A concerned voice reached him at last and he blinked and looked up. He did not know who looked at him.
'Ada?' he said numbly and lifted a hand, blinded by tears and longing. His chest hurt with the grief.
Instantly Táleriolwë was there, pushing him gently back into the chair, pressing the cup into his hand again and urging him to drink. Elladan's face swam before him, concerned and anxious. Distraught even.
He struggled to regain himself. 'I am all right. Do not fret. It is nothing. Just Vilya sometimes… she catches on something….' It had happened before. There had been a handful of time over the Ages when he had caught the echo of a lingering strain on the air and knew that Maglor had been close. Close enough to reach out to if he only knew where to look.
He drank the water again. Took a breath. And another. Of course Erestor would keep a strain of Maglor's Song in his heart. Of course! He would treasure it as much as Elrond.
'You need a rest, Elrond,' Saelind said kindly and Taeglin agreed.
Bowing his head, Elrond looked down at Vilya. Her blue-violet light was dim, and Rithilmuilë was dull. They were depleted. Exhausted with the healing. As was he. He had not realised how much time was passed.
'Take a moment to go out into the air. Come back when you are rested. We have to begin the Tarnasercë anyway and this would be a good time for you to take a break,' Taeglin said reassuringly. He nodded to his brother, Táleriolwë, who gently took Elrond's arm and drew him outside.
They were right of course, he thought. Night had drawn close and the Moon was a huge golden disc in the sky. It was late, he realised with a mild surprise. The campfire crackled cheerfully and the sound of sleepers, breathing rhythmically, dreaming, and small animals rustled in the leaves and grass going about their lives unconcerned by Palantírs or ruined kingdoms, or lost heroes from long ago.
Even so, Elrohir waited for him and met him on the grass. His son took his arm from Táleriolwë and led him a little distance from the camp. They sat upon an old crumbling tree trunk that was had fallen in some storm long ago and Elrohir, astonishingly, leaned against his father and took his hand gently. In the deep quiet, he told him that Maglor had been there. Aragorn and Gimli had met him on the Barrow Downs and he had fought the Umaiar, saved Legolas, saved them all. Maglor had used Ascatar-axo to heal Erestor as well as he could. Maglor was there, in the Iaun-Gynd.
0o0o
Elrohir threw back the tent flap. He intended to find Elladan and force him to rest as he had their father, but it seemed there was a disagreement between the healers about how to treat the thickening wounds and swelling fluids beneath those wounds.
'I am not averse to doing as Saelind advises,' Táleriolwë was saying. He cast a quick, grave look at Elrohir as he entered, and then continued, 'If he says that Ninquissë successfully debrides the burn sites and will let us see how deep the eschar is forming, I say it is worth trying. We have seen an accelerated healing in Men where we have done this, and it means far less nerve damage.'
'Have you seen these burns on his hands?' Taeglin exclaimed. 'They will need surgical debridement I tell you. And urgently. Otherwise we might have to amputate.'
Elladan moaned and put his head in his hands. Elrohir hurried to his side, alarmed. 'Surely you do not think that? There was no infection, we are sure.'
'Elrond found no infection either,' Táleriolwë argued. 'Surgery should be our last resort, not the first.'
'If we have to act,' Taeglin argued, looking irritated, 'then now is the time. To delay risks further damage.'
Loríndal leaned over and lifted the linen wrap over the right hand. 'Sadly, I agree with Taeglin. There is some worrying inflammation in the joints of the right hand particularly and while I agree that Ninquisse does significantly reduce nerve damage and aid repair, sadly any nerves in this arm are already well beyond our help.' He shrugged and looked at Elladan, but Elladan seemed unable to speak and Elrohir was suddenly more concerned about his brother than Erestor.
He placed his hand tentatively upon Elladan's shoulder. But his brother barely moved, and he was so pale as to be almost translucent. Elrohir barely attended to the ensuing discussion but leaned into Elladan and let his own crimson warmth suffuse his brother's cold flesh.
'Give me two days grace,' Saelind was asking quietly. His voice had the low, rolling lilt of Doriath, and which always made Elrohir think of his grandfather, Celeborn. In one hand he held a deceptively delicate glass flask containing a measure of thick, golden athelas tincture. He swirled the athelas so it coated the sides of the flask like a rich golden wine. 'When added to athelas, Ninquissë dissolves necrotic eschar,' he explained emphatically and lifted a small vial of emerald liquid in his other hand and carefully dripped four drops of emerald into the athelas, so it spread slowly like green ink. 'Ninquissë is a mantë, distilled from the bark of the mallorn tree. Galadriel herself found it effective in treating burns during the War.'
It always took Elrohir aback slightly to remember that to these Elves, the War meant not eh War of the Rings, but the War of Wrath that ended with the sinking of Beleriand.
Táleriolwë appealed to his brother. 'Come, Taeglin. You and I have performed escharotomy many times before and not always with complete success. Recently Saelind has tried Ninquissë on the Men who came in from Fornost, and they responded really well. There was only one amputation where normally, there would be more. I confess I am keen to try this.'
With a sudden shock, Elrohir remembered that Baranor had joined him in Amon Sul because Arvaron had been injured badly enough that he needed a wagon to take him back to The Angle, and that an amputation had been a possible outcome of that injury. He had been on the North Downs and Elrohir wondered what the trouble had been that had caused that.
Táleriolwë was looking at Elrohir and then, he turned more gently, at Elladan. 'Let the Sons of Elrond decide. They know how these burns were formed and have attended Erestor until now.'
Taeglin sighed. 'I am just concerned that it will not work on these sorts of burns; they are not simple thermal burns as you well know.' He spread his hands wide in resignation. 'If Elrohir and Elladan say we should use Ninquisse, I will not argue. But if it does not work quickly, though, promise me you will be swift with surgical debridement? A hand is better than an arm and an arm better than Mandos.'
Elrohir looked at Elladan's bloodless face and frowned. 'We should try Ninquissë,' he said for the idea of an amputation was horrible, but he thought as well that they should try not to damage the tissues further. It was so raw and agonised that the idea of scraping away the dead tissue to the healthy tissue below was too much. Elladan gazed miserably at Erestor's terrible grinning face.
'Will you agree to give me two days to see the effect?' Saelind asked again. 'I do believe that reducing surgical debridement will mean there is less damage to the tissue and any healthy tissue will recover more swiftly.
Loríndal and Taeglin glanced at each other and Taeglin shrugged in resignation at last. 'One day only and I will agree. But at the first sign of infection, we begin surgery?'
Táleriolwë nodded at Saelind, who looked less happy, but agreed.
On the other side of the table, Nimbrethil had been quietly preparing the mechanism for Tarnasercë. The tubes curled over each other like sleeping serpents and the glass gleamed softly in the lamplight.
Elladan lurched suddenly forwards with a cry, one hand reaching for the button of his tunic, but Loríndal stopped him. 'I will not be taking your blood today, Elladan.'
Elladan stared at him. 'Why not? What are you saying?' His voice trembled with misery and his eyes were tired and defeated.
'I will not be taking Elrohir's either,' Loríndal said firmly. 'You are both in need of rest and nourishment first.' He looked meaningfully at Elrohir and Elrohir knew he was right; he needed to get Elladan to rest and eat. He was no use here like this.
'When you are fit,' Loríndal continued, 'then I will be happy to take a donation from you. In the meantime, there are others who are better able to give what Erestor needs.'
Almost on cue, a welcome voice spoke. 'Take whatever you need.' It was Glorfindel of course. 'Erestor is an irritating old Fëanorian,' he said in his warm voice, looking briefly at Erestor's still and silent body. 'But he is our Fëanorian.' He grasped Elladan's shoulder and smiled at Elrohir. 'And he would cheerfully kill me and bury me in a ditch if I let you exhaust yourself with watching any longer. Go. I will call you if he wakes. Until then, eat, sleep, rest. You can take over the watch in a while.'
To Elrohir's relief, Elladan nodded dully and ducked under the tent flap.
Elrohir followed.
Moonlight silvered the copse and shone upon Elladan's pale face. For a moment, Elrohir was reminded horribly of the way Frodo had looked when he returned from the war. Translucent almost. He had seen it before, at a Fading. He threw his arm around Elladan's shoulder and murmuring softly and reassuringly, he led him to a sheltered place where he saw that Elrond had already fallen asleep. He was mildly pleased that his father had obeyed him for when he had told Elrond of Maglor, he had thought his father would demand his horse and leave. Elrohir had emphasised Erestor's need for him, Elladan's and he had stayed.
Throwing down his own cloak upon the grass, Elrohir pushed Elladan down onto it and urged him to sleep.
0o0o
Awakening from a deep sleep that he had not known he needed, Elrohir reached out first to Elladan, seeking his cool blue presence. But there was only piercing red pain streaking through his brother's fëa as he slept. It was raw and bleeding, he thought with a wrench. This was the wrong way around; it was Elladan who comforted, Elladan who was the healer. Elrohir did not know how to help his brother. He glanced about for his father, who had been sleeping when Elrohir arrived with Elladan but there was no sign of him now. He must be with Erestor, Elrohir thought.
He threw off the blanket that someone had draped him during the night, and rose to his feet, snagging his shirt and pulling it over his head. Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed; Elladan would excoriate himself with guilt and would punish himself in any way that he could, wanting to endure at least a fraction of Erestor's agony. It was something Elrohir knew well himself.
Between the trees he could see a number of horses grazing the lush grass and Elves moved about, busy with the work of the camp. Elrohir shoved first one arm and then the other through the sleeves of his black leather tunic and buttoned it one-handed while he groped for his boots. The grass was thick but well-trodden by now with many feet and it was becoming muddy in the soft Spring morning.
Nearby, Aragorn and Gimli lay still wrapped in their cloaks and with blankets thrown over them. Aragorn breathed deep and rhythmically, and Gimli snored gently. Sam was awake and sat on a small tree stump. He turned and nodded cheerfully to Elrohir and then turned back to watch over Frodo, whose breath was lighter amongst the sleepers but regular and his face was peaceful, if thin and a little paler than the other Hobbits. Dods and Iberic slept soundly beside Frodo, and a couple of extra cloaks had been draped over Frodo. Merry's, Elrohir thought, and Pippin's obviously.
The copse was mixed beech and oak, its canopy spreading thickly above. Early morning sunlight filtering through the fresh new leaves reminded him of Legolas, green and gold, dapples of sunlight dancing through the leaves. Legolas' absence was almost painful to Elrohir and he took a breath, reminding himself that Legolas would soon be at his side. Already he must be riding over the wild moorlands towards them and Elrohir reached out, seeking his Song, hoping for a touch against his fëa, a brush of sensuous desire, of devotion . A smile came over his face and he found himself touching his own lips as Legolas might.
'Elrohir!'
He looked up startled to see a tall Elf striding towards him, his long fair hair pulled into one long braid.
'Annael ,' he called back softly, not wishing to awaken his companions, and went towards his old comrade, hand outstretched.
Annael smiled brightly. 'I am glad to see you up,' he said as he drew close and gripped Elrohir's hand and then slapped his shoulder in a friendly embrace. Then he said in a quiet voice, 'Can you tell me what is going on? There is much unsaid of course, but it is Erestor for whom we all pray.' He looked searchingly at Elrohir. 'No one is saying anything about how he came to be so burned but Glorfindel and I are worried that there is some enemy that we need to prepare for. I cannot think if…' He swallowed and glanced about nervously. 'If it was not a Barrow Wight, but a Balrog awoken as was Durin's Bane was in Moria?'
Elrohir pressed his lips together; he thought the Úmaiar were far worse than a Balrog, remembering the terrible screaming of the devoured souls. He could understand why Anneal and, it seemed, Glorfindel, feared that a Balrog had awoken beneath the Iaun-Gynd. He should explain, he thought. But at the same time, he did not wish to tell others about Ascatar-axo. They were sworn to secrecy about its existence, and he did not want to lie to those he trusted with his life and who were his friends. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and then said, 'Let me eat first, Annael. I am starving. Even if it is your cooking.'
Annael released him and grinned cheerfully. 'Oh, you are spared that particular torment. Amron is here and is cooking. If you had awoken earlier with the rest of us, you would have had to make do with whatever it was that Arelas had boiled until all the taste was wrung from it. But you are in luck and there is only what Amron is preparing what the lords Periannath call…Second Breakfast.'
Elrohir smiled. 'I cannot say that I an unhappy to have missed Arelas' attempt at cooking.' He stretched his arms and shrugged his shoulders to get the stiffness out of them. 'Are you joining me?' he asked Annael.
Annael grinned. 'I have found the lords Periannath have several good ideas, so yes.'
Even as he spoke a plaintive voice drifted towards them from the nearest campfire. He recognised Pippin. '…not even an extra sausage?' he wheedled.
'Oh dear,' Annael said cheerfully. 'I hope that doesn't mean we are missing out. '
'How can you be hungry, Master Peregrine?' That was Amron. 'What about all that stew you ate last night when you arrived?'
'That was a whole day ago,' Merry's voice joined that of his cousin's, pained and hopeful at the same time.
Elrohir glanced at Annael, who had an amused smile on his fair face, and they approached the crackling fire where Pippin and Merry were sitting. The two Hobbits looked up delightedly when they saw Elrohir.
'Just in time!' Amron grinned widely and waved the ladle in his hand at them. 'In another moment all this would be gone.' He spooned a couple of ladles into a wooden bowl and held it out to Elrohir. He sniffed it appreciatively. Rabbit, berries and roots, he thought. It didn't matter that it was breakfast.
'One forgets how good your cooking is, Amron,' he said and blew on it a little before tasting it. The hot meat contrasted with sweet berries and the roots was a delicious combination he thought and remembered why Amron was so popular amongst the men.
Annael accepted a bowl from Amron before leading Elrohir a little way from the fire and the gently bickering hobbits.
'Well, you have certainly been on an adventure,' Annael remarked, blowing on the hot food as Elrohir had. 'What trouble have you got into?' And then he lowered his voice. 'And as I asked before, is Erestor going to recover?'
Elrohir sighed. 'I do not know if I am honest. He lives and that is enough for now. I await Elrond's assessment to see if he can be restored for I do not know.' Then he sought to distract Annael from further enquiry. 'I cannot tell you how glad I am that we found you here waiting for us. What brought you?'
Annael chewed a mouthful and swallowed. 'It was Elrond of course. My company were about to leave for Fornost.' He gestured with his spoon to the other members of the company who were engaged in various tasks, and then leaned conspiratorially towards Elrohir. 'You have heard there is trouble up that way.' Elrohir nodded briefly. 'We were about to depart when Glorfindel suddenly appeared amongst us and commanded us to come with him,' Annael continued. 'Glorfindel said he needed half the company to ride to the aid of Erestor. There were lots of volunteers, but Glorfindel picked the ten of us and told us to get up to the Wards and help pack anything they needed. The rest of the company continued to Fornost with Tindómion.' He ate another mouthful and Elrohir listened thoughtfully. He deduced that Vilya had alerted Elrond to the awakening of Ascatar-axo. It did not surprise him.
'When we saw it was the Evinyatar coming with us,' Annael said as he nodded towards the healing tent respectfully, 'we knew it was serious.' He swallowed and ate another mouthful, talking as he chewed. 'When Táleriolwë and Taeglin leave together, that's a bad sign. When Loríndal and Saelind are with them, and Lord Elrond himself, it's looking more like a crisis than an emergency.' He glanced up at Elrohir. 'And so it is then?'
Elrohir nodded. 'It is indeed. We battled the Úmaiar, Annael. They are very terrible. And these injuries that Erestor has sustained are such as I have never seen in all my life.' He looked down at his own hands soberly and thought of how Erestor might lose one or even both of his. He could not even begin to consider how that might afflict him mentally. 'I am still not sure if he will ever recover.'
Annael glanced at him and put his spoon down suddenly. 'I pray that he does,' he said softly. 'How could we go on in the Valley without him when…' He sighed and stopped speaking, but Elrohir knew what he meant; when Elrond sails.
0o0o
Legolas rode swiftly over the hills of the Tyr Gorthad. The sky was clear and apart from one sharp cloudburst, it remained clear and by the evening, he was in sight of the Greenway and could see Amon Sul far away in the distance.
The Song was everywhere, powerful. Immense. He felt a sudden uprush of Air as if the wind had seized everything and thrown it upwards into the empty blue sky and beyond the stars. He knew that Elrond was there, and that he wielded Vilya. Legolas heard her Song, the powerful symphony that spiralled upwards, building towards a crescendo. Other songs were caught up in Vilya's symphony, songs he did not recognise and did not know. Deeper, complex harmonies, strains of courage and high valour woven in with phrases of grief and loss. He could stand here listening forever.
And then there was a strain of melody that made his heart leap with joy; it sang of the mountains in the snow, pristine and blazing under the winter sun, a sky clear and blue above. He thought he could hear the sharp cry of an eagle. Elrohir. He felt the Song like riverweed swaying in the clear water. It rippled about him, tugging him downwards towards a small copse of beech and oak and ash, and he smiled.
They had been rescued, he thought with excited relief. Elrond was there. Erestor would be healed and rewarded for his immense sacrifice. And Elrohir waited for him.
Arod felt his enthusiasm too and almost skipped along the ridge and then dropped down the steep slopes towards the copse. Below, winding through the Andrath was the Greenway.
He heard a low whistle that meant he had been seen by sentries, but he was not challenged.
Lights glimmered softly between the trees and he saw the camp. Elves moved between the trees and a soft whicker came from a small herd of horses who lifted their heads and gazed with benign curiosity. There were a few tents in between the trees and one larger not quite pavilion but it looked as if more care had been taken with it. Strong canvas formed walls and a roof to protect it from the wind and rain. Legolas guessed that this must be where Erestor lay.
A tall figure emerged from the copse, striding towards Legolas. Long black hair was pulled back into a severe braid and the black leather tunic fitted closely over his broad shoulders. Black leather breeches, long boots and a smile that lit up his noble, handsome face.
Legolas' heart soared. Elrohir.
In a moment, he was in Elrohir's arms and pressing himself chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His heart was overwhelmed with love. His tongue plunged demandingly into Elrohir's mouth the way he wanted to plunge into Elrohir's body and at the thought, his desire surged with joyful hope. He pressed against Elrohir even more closely.
'Elbereth, how I missed you, beloved.'
Elrohir laughed softly and murmured into his ear, 'It has been one day.'
'One day too long.' He pressed himself closer, wanting Elrohir's skin on his, the delicious friction.
'Legolas! About time,' came a grumbling voice and they pulled apart a little, smiling at each other ruefully. 'Took your time.' Gimli stood with his arms crossed, like a boulder, thought Legolas delightedly. Arod was already making his way over to the Dwarf with a hobbit-like hopefulness.
'I missed you too,' Legolas said. He glanced at Elrohir and then moved towards Gimli and put a hand upon the muscular shoulder. Breathing in, he let himself be grounded in the earth as he always did with Gimli, feeling the earth beneath his feet. He felt a tension he had not known was there leave him. He blinked slowly and then looked down to find the earth-brown eyes watching him with concern. 'I am well,' he said seriously. 'It is good to be here amongst my friends.'
Gimli nodded carefully. 'I did not like to leave you alone in that place, Legolas. But I know that you had unfinished business. Is it now done?'
A small flock of plovers flew overhead in the morning sky. The rising sun turned them gold for a moment and then they wheeled and glinted and then were brown again.
He thought of Eldarion, and the ghosts of Cardolan whose bones were now just dust in the earth of their home. Remembering how they had ascended the ship and been absorbed by Ascatar-axo, he pondered the strange fate of Men and knew that one day, Aragorn would return to the Draken Eldarion Hårfagre, and he would not leave. It wrenched his heart to think of it. There was Maglor too and his complicated grief and courage.
Legolas was quiet, wishing that Maglor had followed him after all, but he knew that Maglor would not come.
'It is done,' he said.
0o0o0o0o
For art work, please check out my post of all my stuff on Archive Of Our Own, also more mature versions of all my fics are over there under ziggy
