Warning: darkness ahead, with mentions of blood, preeclampsia (and related symptoms) as well as hints at self-harm.

If you'd rather skip reading this, I've included a note at the bottom summarizing the chapter's events.

Chapter 38

August 17th, TA 3020

There was too much blood, Elladan thought dimly. Too much of it, running in a dark, lazy rivulets and seeping into the sheets. Grasping her husband's hand, Ferwen strained and writhed, her forehead drenched in sweat while she clenched her teeth, biting back moans of agony. No doubt following some idiotic recommendation from the Gondorian school of midwifery. Eru forbid the woman disturbed anyone by screaming while giving birth.

Remembering Saineth's intention to someday give them a piece of his mind, Elladan vowed to do so himself as he pulled up Ferwen's shift, ignoring Lerdil's bewildered look as he examined his wife's stomach. His heart constricted upon seeing the purple blemish blossoming under Ferwen's swollen breast, his pulse quickening with the realization of how little time he had.

Hold on, child.

"Send for Beylith," he barked out, startling an already blanching Dagnis. "Tell her to bring her most potent parsley tincture." The girl managed to tear her eyes away from the widening puddle, only to look at him, uncomprehending. Whatever was she doing here? And, by Angainor, where was Bruiven? Elladan swore under his breath. "Go, run! Get Beylith, quickly!"

Before he could shove her out, Redhriel seized her by the elbow, guiding her out on stiff legs. As he pushed rather than eased the too-soon-to-be mother into laying down, his gestures roughened by haste, Elladan heard her apostrophe someone in the corridor, her clipped voice laced with an urgency such that the healer went dashing down gallery, her feet rattling out a rhythm as frantic as Ferwen's heartbeat.

Hold on.

Another contraction; another swallowed moan that oppressed Ferwen's chest. Just scream, Elladan wanted to tell her. Scream if it helps you endure…as long as you stay with me.

"What's happening?" Lerdil demanded, puffing up his scrawny chest in an attempt at bravery in the face of his wife's suffering.

He could not be older than Gárdred, while Ferwen was barely a woman herself. Elladan's gaze slid down her forearms, to the faded scars running down her wrists as the sinews beneath bulged with her effort to bring her child into the light. Elladan hesitated, all the while knowing he had no right to do so. The father was in right to know the truth; yet in his experience, fathers tended to get in the way, especially when their firstborn was involved and, considering what Elladan was about to attempt, fighting Lerdil to get to Ferwen was not something he was looking forward to.

"Step aside," Elladan told him as gently as he could. Joined by Redhriel, he stripped the girl of her crimson-stained chemise; the hand-holding did not make the operation any easier, too, though perhaps it helped Ferwen some…which was why Elladan allowed it to be.

"But I want to help!" Lerdil protested, swallowing as a low, guttural cry rose from the bed. Averting his eyes from his wife's contorted face, he looked beseechingly at Elladan. "I can help, please! I'll do anything you say."

Perhaps was he wrong about him, yet Elladan could not wait and find out. "You have done everything you could by bringing her here. Now she is in good hands, and you should let us work. Stay, if you will, but do not interfere," he then sighed, softened beyond reason by the imploring look in the youth's eyes.

"Go stand by her head," Redhriel instructed Lerdil, while bringing out a sheet that would screen Ferwen's belly, and what would soon happen on and inside it, from both their sight.

"Al…alright."

As he reclaimed his wife's fingers into his trembling grasp, Elladan did not have the heart to tell him to engrave her touch into his memory, just in case.

No. You cannot give up!

A hand upon Ferwen's sweat-soaked brow, Redhriel smoothed away the chestnut hair plastered to her face with a movement more compassionate than Elladan had ever thought her capable of. "She is burning," she murmured as soon as the sheet had been hung from a rail embedded into the ceiling, and Lerdil was out of earshot.

As on cue, Ferwen shot up, bent in two by another spasm. Elladan caught her by the shoulders and forced her to turn as she vomited upon the bed, lest she choked on it.

"We must deliver them now," he breathed while Lerdil captured her hand once more, wincing as though she was grinding his into bone dust.

"Them?"

"There are two babes," Elladan nodded. "A boy and a girl."

He could have laughed at the irony. Two tiny heartbeats hammering in unison under Ferwen's abdomen; he held their pulse inside his palm, mingling with their mother's. Two small, yet indistinct minds like sparks inside the darkness of her womb – unnamed, but alive. Two gifts of nature instead of one for his begetting day.

His…and Elrohir's.

Did Ferwen even know she was carrying twins? Had she wished for a son or a daughter, upon seeing her belly grow, without realizing she had been blessed with both? If Elladan did not act now, however, the blessing may well become a curse. Already her grasp on her husband's hand was waning, her fingers slick with sweat and blood slipping away with every new contraction that wracked her exhausted body.

If only he knew anything of Ferwen beside her name!

Bruiven did. Bruiven was her healer, and had been – under Saineth's supervision – for the last two months, ever since the couple's arrival to Bar-Lasbelin. Where was he, and why was he not with his patient? In Elladan's book, it was a fault more severe even than having missed the symptoms of the insidious yet well-known affliction Elladan knew for a fact Bruiven had learned to recognize, having taught him about it himself.

"You will need help," Redhriel stated, though even she blanched at the thought of what lay ahead.

As Elladan was about to reply, the door clicked open and Bruiven appeared, followed by Beylith who clutched a handful of vials filled with a clear green liquid. "I am sorry," he breathed out, skidding to a halt two steps into the room as he took in the extent of the danger Ferwen was in. To his credit, he did not freeze nor flee, but sprang into action, as if hoping to compensate his absence. Diving into the steel-plated box that stood on the table by the wall, he unfolded its many drawers, laying out one instrument after the other upon a thickness of linen while keeping them out of the couple's sight.

Later. There would be time to speak later. Biting back an angry retort, Elladan turned to the Senior Herborist. "Administer the tincture. She is hemorrhaging, and I expect the worst is yet to come. Then bring poppy juice…enough of it."

"Save…them." A brush against his sleeve drew his attention before even Ferwen had spoken, rasping out the plea with what remained of her strength. Her swarthy skin had grown grey with bloodloss, sunken eyes widened in pain and fear. "Save our children."

All of a sudden, he was stricken by her resemblance with Mehreen. Though she was younger, and of traits less fine, there was a likeness in the shape of her face that reminded him of her. In a different life, it could have been Mehreen lying before him, spent in her effort to push out the very heirs she had been bred to produce.

"I shall save you all," Elladan vowed, his eyes stinging with the injustice of it. Ignoring Redhriel's outraged – albeit silent – stare, and Bruiven's astonishment, he seized her free hand and pressed it against the last clean spot upon the bed. "Hold on," he advised her. "Hold on for your son, and your daughter. Whatever happens, do not let go."

oOoOoOo

Silence had fallen upon the room.

The sheets dripped their crimson ransom onto the stone, Ferwen's blood upon them not yet dry. The sounds outside were muffled, the light dimmed as the day quietly came to an end, whether Elladan willed it or not. The sun would not set on many a living thing, tonight; such was the law of life and death, both implacable and merciful.

But Ferwen, Lerdil and their twins would live to see another day.

Slumped against the foot of the bed, Elladan let out a bitter laugh – something between a snort and a sob. He had fought until the end, transgressing every single rule he had imposed upon his students, going as far as to infuse the boy with some of his own strength, provided he took his first breath. Which he had, opening his small, rosebud-like mouth to suck in a gulp of air, releasing in exchange a feeble wail that stirred Ferwen out of her poppy-induced lethargy, and prompted his sister to do the same.

A fine example of moderation he made…and yet, were Elladan given the choice, he would do it again, his father's teaching cast aside for that one pitiful squeak.

He missed his brother.

The bond between Ferwen's children had stirred inside his chest a longing he had striven to sunder, and which he had thought hanging by a thread where Elladan himself was concerned. Then he had lain the boy beside his sister in the simple crib Redhriel had wheeled into the room, only to watch them find each other across the expanse of mattress despite barely being able to move.

He missed his brother…

…Though, in all fairness, Elrohir might not. After all, it had been Elladan himself who had left, and what had seemed like a sensible, and even warranted decision, now looked more like a coward's flight, abandoning his twin before he was abandoned. By now it was too late to contact him; Elrohir's attempts had become as scarce and weak as a newborn's cry. That very morning, Elladan has expected another attempt, shielding himself against in, only to be met with nothing but emptiness and silence.

Elrohir had given up.

Soon, Elladan told himself as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, he would find the energy of picking himself up and dragging his carcass down the corridor and up the stairs of his loft. Belatedly he remembered Legolas' invitation to a hunting trip to the woods nearby, close enough to the settlement in case anything happened, and far enough to forget his worries, if only for the afternoon.

So much for forgetting….

"You look terrible."

Elladan chuckled, wincing at the dull ache that awoke inside his chest from the sheer terror of losing the twins along with the mother. His hands had grown numb, so that he no longer felt the roughness of stone beneath him, nor knew whether it was cold or warm. Transitory sensory numbness, his father had called it; a fine subject for a book of his own, having experienced more than his share of it – more, in any case, than his father would approve of. Oh yes, Elladan might do just that, like Lahtaro and Tinwendil, and have someone, someday, use his work as a doorstop.

He turned to catch a glance of Legolas sitting down beside him with his legs stretched out, ankles crossed as he claimed the other foot of the bed for himself.

"You look good," he croaked out. "Sunshine suits you. Or is it your new turnip-and-celery regimen?"

"If you insist on insulting my culinary choices, you leave me with no option but to tattle to Godwyn you said that."

"If she intends to feed us yet another celery stew, by all means, go ahead. I would rather face her wrath than swallow another spoonful."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the voices outside, mingling with the bell that tolled over the Great Hall, calling the end of the workday. Two women stopped beside the door of the room, oblivious of their presence inside, to exchange news of their families, trading names of grandchildren they were looking forward to meeting.

"I have not forgotten," Elladan said eventually. "As you can see," he gestured to the puddle that congealed in the gap between the stone tiles, "Today has been unexpectedly busy."

"Nor have I," Legolas murmured, sliding a small package across the floor.

Elladan grabbed it with tingling fingers, both curious and moved by Legolas' gesture. Unwinding the leather string that held together what looked like a box upholstered in brown leather, he opened it to find two compartments – one for sheets of parchment and one for the pencils, kept in place by tiny golden claws.

"I have noticed you took up drawing again," Legolas stated in a suspiciously flat voice, so that Elladan slanted a look at his face for signs of teasing, "and thought this might be of use, should you find yourself confined to that hut of yours."

"Legolas, I…."

Words failed him. Elladan stared at the gift in his lap, overwhelmed by gratitude. His eyes prickled and his throat hurt, constricted by a lump that had not been there moments ago. He ought to say something, to thank his friend properly for such thoughtfulness, and yet all he could do was sit there and bawl.

"Did you know that Fengel asked Eadrun to marry him?" As Elladan grunted a non-committal reply, Legolas continued, unfazed, staring at the opposite wall as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. "Me neither. It seems the two have been seeing each other in secret for the better of the last six months. Mistress Meldis says Eadrun was worried about what her family might have to say about her pledging herself to someone…less than whole, and Fengel wanted to earn some money beforehand, so that they could buy a house and settle down. Oh, and Dommiel's sister has had her first child. A boy, it seems, plump and healthy. I expect Dommiel will want to visit in the near future, most likely sometime before winter."

"I shall speak to Redhriel about her replacement." Elladan grunted as he pushed himself off the floor, imitated by Legolas. His moment of weakness was now behind him and though his chest still ached, the hollow within had been filled by something warm and cozy, akin to a cup of mulled wine by the hearth in the company of a friend. "Oh, and Legolas? Thank you."

"For filling you up on the latest gossip? You are most welcome. There is certainly more, all you have to do is ask Mistress Meldis…."

"For keeping company to a curmudgeon like myself…and for the drawing kit. I am very touched."

"Then put it to good use." Laying a hand upon Elladan's shoulder, Legolas gave it a cautious squeeze. "Eru knows you have done enough for this place and its people. Perhaps it is time you started to live for yourself."

"Yes, well." Wondering how much of his latest creations Legolas had seen, and which of them could have prompted such concern on his friend's part, Elladan almost asked him outright what he meant. Though it was entirely like Legolas to do just that, and Elladan was not certain he wished to hear everything his friend found amiss with his current way of life. "That seems like way too much hassle, if you ask me. Whatever happened to exploiting your people mercilessly? Now that seems like a sane approach."

They exited into the corridor; the two women were long since gone, replaced by none other than Pumpkin, who wound itself around Elladan's ankles, purring for attention in apparent forgetfulness of their last encounter. "You greedy little demon," Elladan chided him as he knelt to sink his fingers into the soft orange fur, remembering how scrawny and feral the tabby had been when they had first found him, hunting for mice in the ruins of the manor. Now it was a well-fed, demanding skunk that strutted about with its tail raised high, reigning over the Houses and its kind-hearted womenfolk. Speaking of which, he almost expected to see Mehreen barreling from around the corner in chase of the cat, and was disappointed when nothing happened.

"Have you yet spoken to your Hopeful Three?"

Elladan scowled, and sent Pumpkin off with a last pat upon the rump. "To Annahad and Taniel, yes."

Bruiven was another matter. There was more to discuss than his motivation alone, such as his unexplained absence during the beginning of Ferwen's labor, and his failure to see the signs of sickness in her swollen hands and feet. Even now, when the mother and her children were safe and resting under Redhriel's supervision, Elladan seethed at the thought of what could have happened, had she not sent for him as soon as the pains had begun.

"I shall see him tonight." Pull him from the dinner table if needed, and ask him what could have possibly been more important than his patients.

Mehreen is what, a small voice whispered into his ear – a voice much like Elladan's own, sour with resentment, and which he ought to silence once and for all. He did not own her, no more than he had a right to police whom she spent time with and who made her laugh in the way Elladan thought only he could.

The sound had stung deeper than any insult he had ever heard.

"…Liberty of writing to Nordil in your stead," Legolas was saying as they turned the corner. He was steering Elladan towards his study, rightfully fearing he would frighten his people by his disheveled, gory appearance. "The work they have done in such a short time is remarkable, and…."

"My Lord Elladan!"

Ríndir appeared before them, breathless and bewildered, his green tunic covered in dark smears which, even to Elladan's tired eyes, looked suspiciously like blood. A group of healers passing by gave him an odd stare; one of the women took a step towards him, meaning perhaps to ascertain whether he had been wounded, yet Ríndir drew back, all but stumbling in his haste.

"No! Stay away!" he panted, raising an arm to keep her at a distance, his eyes imploring and frightened. "My Lord…you must come with me."

"I shall go," Legolas declared at once. "You stay here and rest. I can…."

"No, Legolas. It is you who must stay." His attention now focused on Ríndir, Elladan took in the nature of the stains, shaped like small fingers, and the spray of bloody mucus upon his collar. "Fetch Redhriel. Tell her to send a team downstairs. And you," he told the shaken healer, "Lead the way."

His stomach twisted in dread upon understanding there would be no rest in the days to come. Not for him, nor for anyone else.

The plague had come to Bar-Lasbelin.

Summary:

Elladan struggles to deliver the twin children of Ferwen, one of his younger patients, as time is running out due to Ferwen's pre-existing condition. Bruiven, who is Ferwen's assigned healer, only shows up half-way through the birth, much to Elladan's anger as he had expected Bruiven not only to detect the signs of Ferwen's sickness, but also to be present when she went into labor.

The children are born healthy, after all, but their proximity triggers Elladan's longing for the bond he once shared with Elrohir, since today also happens to be their birthday.

As he sits in the empty room, numb and spent from having once again tapped into his own power (despite having previously cautioned his apprentices against doing just that), Legolas visits him with a birthday gift (a drawing kit) and distracts him from his gloomy thoughts. When Elladan finally feels strong enough to leave the room, the two share a few words in the corridor, before being interrupted by Ríndir.

The young ranger is in obvious distress, and covered in blood. He begs Elladan to come with him to the border of the settlement, upon which Elladan understands that his greatest fear has just became real: the plague has come to Bar-Lasbelin.