Chapter 25

July 6th, TA 3020

"This is ridiculous."

Though he would not have worded it so harshly, Elladan could not help but concur with Taniel that their present occupation had less in common with a sane approach to finding the boy than with Dúnwen's desperate attempt to ward off the moment where everyone, himself included, would have to face the bitter truth.

Though the war had been over for over a year, the lands north of the Poros still crawled with deserters from both camps, bandits and marauders by chance or choice that both Ialeth, the Steward of Lebennin and Forgam of Lossarnach, had been striving to eradicate. Ithilien had not been spared the blight of their incursions either, if Faramir's letters to Legolas were to be believed; and if such men, driven by despair and even baser appetites, had ventured close enough to Bar-Lasbelin to happen upon a stray child….

Meeting Mehreen's beseeching eyes over the apprentice healer's shoulder, Elladan kept his mouth shut.

It was not like there was anything better than he, or anyone else around him, could do tonight. Rangers more skilled than himself now scoured the woods, leaving no leaf unturned in hopes of finding a small footprint beneath it. A messenger galloped through in night towards Osgiliath, to warn against the opening of the portcullis lest the boy's body was lost to sea; another towards Emyn Arnen to petition Faramir's aid, should Déordred re-emerge in South Ithilien in some twisted jest of fate.

All that remained was to hope, and to beg for help whatever Vala one happened to favor. Elladan, for his part, knew whom to petition as his lips moved in a silent prayer in the stillness of the summer night, loath to disturb Dúnwen's song.

Stay awake, don't rest your head, don't lie down upon your bed….

Her voice rose and fell in a prayer of her own, hoarse with exhaustion and sorrow. What little knowledge of Rohirric Elladan possessed allowed him to grasp the meaning of the lullaby: she enjoined her son to hold on, wherever he may be.

While the moon drifts in the skies. Stay awake, don't close your eyes.

A fitting song indeed, that more than one mother must have murmured to a son long since grown as he sank beyond her reach while she pretended that all was well. That he would return safely.

That he would heal from his wounds.

Did Dúnwen's heart already know what her mind yet refused to acknowledge?

Something tore inside Elladan's chest as he watched her slowly shuffle down the path that led to the stream, supported by Bruiven and Redhriel, a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders and belted around her thin waist – the Steward's final condition for letting her out of the Houses. Even so, Redhriel's lips remained stubbornly pursed with disapproval as much as the helplessness she was unwilling to let show. Were Elladan to meet her gaze, he would have read her disappointment for having trusted Mehreen's whim rather than her logic; a stranger rather than his own kind.

Mehreen, whose presence had been forgotten by everyone else as she trailed behind the small procession, keeping to the darkness as she nibbled on her lower lip.

Whatever had possessed him to hearken to her plea?

Had Elladan allowed his attention to wander away from the search, he would have been forced to admit he no longer not know what to make of her…and of his own decision. What Taniel had declared to be madness had so far proved fruitless indeed, though not even the strong-tempered apprentice had found it in her to refuse a mother her wish. Mehreen's confidence, so compelling but an hour ago, had dwindled into little more than her usual willfulness and, while it could pass for a quality under a more benevolent light than that of the waning moon, the longer Elladan listened to the dwindling volume of Dúnwen's voice, the more the darkness robbed him of what hope Mehreen had awoken inside his heart.

Though the world is fast asleep, though your pillow's soft and deep….

"Your son loves you," Mehreen had said. "If anything can lure him out of hiding, it's the sound of your voice."

Stay awake, don't nod and dream.

Enough was enough, Elladan decided, picking up the pace to join the head of the procession in time to see Dúnwen stumble and lean heavily on Bruiven's arm. Once they reached the stream he would send them both back to their respective beds, regardless of the pleading looks Mehreen could well give him. Not even what reluctant gratitude he may feel following her pleading in his favor justified tormenting the poor woman a moment longer; a plea that he had avoided dwelling over, ashamed of his behavior and oddly troubled by the intensity of his emotions when it came to Mehreen.

Elladan flexed his right hand, summoning the will to carry out his decision; yet instead of the courage Elladan had hoped for, the gesture brought back the memory of Mehreen's weight upon his arm. Light and heavy at once, the evanescent touch of her small fingers remained as present as the packed earth beneath his feet, or the buzzing of cicadas in the surrounding shrubs and, just like that incessant noise, it was undeniable. Should Elladan close his eyes, he would see her in front of him once more, her scent filling his lungs – a rich, heady perfume in which the dewiness of jasmine incense mingled with the sweetness of caramel. When he opened them again he sensed her presence, radiating a feeble warmth that his own body had so readily lent her.

Twice already she had ended up in his arms; there would not be a third.

"Still no sign of the boy?"

Morion had joined them, watching their progression with barely veiled pity, though he said nothing of that such an attempt inspired him. Elladan shook his head, as much to confirm his guess as to banish the unbidden thoughts. Dúnwen's voice was now a mere whisper, so that even Elladan strained to make out the words.

Stay awake, don't nod and dream.

Eredhwen had been right. It did smell like rain and, as on cue, the forked tail of lightening lashed across the sky.

"Well, someone at least will be happy," Morion muttered under his breath. "Though this particular prediction coming true is ill-timed indeed."

Elladan did not respond, counting out the seconds until the thunder rolled in from the South. The wind picked up, ruffling the canopies of the surrounding trees and tearing through the undergrowth, carrying the scent of rain. The old, abandoned treehouse that clung to one of the pines with the help of a few rusty nails, no doubt built by the previous owners of the manor for one of their sons, creaked in the gale. How it had managed to withstand the previous storm was beyond him.

"My Lord…."

Either Bruiven's arm had grown tired of his burden, or it was his heart that had grown weary of witnessing Dúnwen's needless, unending plight. Still, he cast him an imploring glance, unwilling to speak up against his decision yet no longer able to sustain it.

Redhriel had no such qualms. "Taniel is right. However…brave this attempt, Dúnwen is no longer in a state to bear it." One arm looped under the woman's, she held the shawl in place with the other to prevent the rising wind from tearing it free.

"No, please! I can continue!" Straining her vocal chords, Dúnwen forced another verse of the lullaby from her bluish lips; her voice quivered and broke, betraying her before the rest of her body did.

"Enough."

Another flash of lightening; the storm was closing in, the boughs swaying with increasing force, creaking in protest and filling Elladan's nostrils with their resinous blood. Behind Dúnwen, standing alone upon the narrow path, Mehreen shut her eyes, her jaw clenched against what Elladan guessed to be tears of guilt. He sensed rather than saw the tension in the hands that she wrought against her chest as the gale whipped her hair about her face. He did not have the heart to blame her. He, too, had wanted to believe that a plan relying on something as pure and raw as motherly love could work, just as he had once believed that a son's love could guide their mother back towards the light.

"It was worth a try, but now we must hurry back."

"Modor?"

The small voice had all but drowned out by the howls of the wind. Dúnwen had not heard it, but Morion had. He was the first to leap off the path to call the boy's name, the others joining in. Even Taniel, who had been growing increasingly sullen overnight, lent her young voice to the chorus of calls, all trace of bitterness vanished.

"Déordred!" they called out, searching the darkness with renewed vigor.

"Up there!"

It was Bruiven who first spotted the boy, pointing towards the old treehouse that rocked ominously against the scaly trunk, right beneath the lowest branches of the old pine. A small, dirty face emerged from a hole between the rotting planks, Déordred's expression hopeful beneath the grime as though unaware of the danger.

Morion swore. "By Aulë, how did he get up there?"

Dúnwen blanched. What relief the sight of her son had brought was just as quickly quelled by the realization of the peril he was in. She slumped in Redhriel's arms, whimpering with anguish. "My son," she wheezed with all the strength she could muster, "save him, I beg you!"

Elladan sprang up to the pine, feeling the very first droplets upon his face as the storm breathed down his neck A moldy rope hung from the mouth of the treehouse, whipping the trunk mercilessly; it would not hold his weight.

Another strike of lightening. Both the rope and Elladan were soaked within seconds as the skies finally unleashed their wrath.

Inside the glistening treehouse, Déordred winced, retreating in haste as the rain slapped his tender skin. The house dropped, sliding a good three feet down the trunk in a groan of metal. The boy shrieked and, somewhere nearby, Mehreen's voice echoed him.

An ear-splitting crack of thunder shattered the night, the blinding white light showing in a stark, cruel manner how high from the ground Déordred still was. The slope was gentle in this part of the woods; the pines grew tall and scarce, free to unfurl to their full potential, and long ago had they begun their journey upward.

A perfect lightening rod, if there ever was one.

Elladan hesitated, squinting against the downpour. Calculating the odds of making the ascent against those of dislodging what remained of the nails holding the treehouse into place. To coax Déordred out of there would take time – something they no longer had. Already the rotting wood sagged under his weight. Before he could attempt a climb, however, or caution anyone else against doing so, Morion leapt up, preceding him onto the trunk. Upon his boots glistened claws of steel, tied to his knees and feet by leather straps.

"Give me your hand!" he bellowed over the cries of the storm.

Huddled inside the treehouse Déordred shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. Grasping the edge of the roof, Morion attempted to climb inside, only for the wood to slip from beneath his fingers as it lurched down once more.

Elladan's heart skipped a beat as he positioned himself beneath, prepared to catch Déordred if he got the chance. Taniel cursed somewhere nearby, while Bruiven murmured reassurances into Dúnwen's ear.

"Déordred, you must come out!" Elladan urged the boy, in hopes that a familiar face would convince him to obey. A stream of cold water ran down his hair and into his collar, his feet long since immersed in mud. "Come out now!"

It was then that smelled her again over the sharp, metallic tang of lightening, before her sleeve brushed against his.

Mehreen came to stand beside him, shivering as the wind plastered her hair to her cheeks, her thoroughly sodden dress clinging to a flat stomach. "Remember the story in the book I showed you?" she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard over the noise. "Remember the heroes, upon their horses, fighting under the mountain?" A small, unconvinced nod. "Before that happened, there was a hero, in a place called Laketown, who killed a dragon as big as this tree. Would you like to know what happened after?"

Elladan slanted an incredulous look towards her; not only because now was hardly the time to tell stories, but also because over centuries of dwelling beneath Erebor, Smaug had grown considerably fatter than one lonely, albeit tall, conifer. He was not about to correct her, however, seeing how Déordred slowly inched forward, casting wary glances towards Morion.

"He shot him from the city tower…and then he climbed back down! He was very, very brave." Mehreen paused to catch a shaky breath. "Your mother too is very brave, you know. She's been looking for you all night. Do you think you can be brave as well, if only for a moment?"

The boy's lip quivered. He must be exhausted as well, and hungry. Would he even have the strength to seize Morion's outstretched hand?

"You must crawl out. Slowly. Don't look down!" Mehreen urged him, wavering as she, too, reached the end of her endurance. "That's it. Now reach out and take his hand!"

Above, perched on all fours upon the edge of the narrow platform, Déordred squeezed his eyes shut, reaching out under the downpour with a grimace of discomfort. The dark circles under his eyes stood out against the paleness of his skin; never before had he resembled his mother as much as then.

"You can do it!"

The treehouse creaked and tilted; a strangled scream tore from Dúnwen's lips as it ripped free from the pine's embrace and plummeted to the ground. Elladan flinched as Mehreen's hand grasped his in a gesture of comfort – an involuntary one, unless she had already forgotten what he had done to her.

"I have him!" Morion yelled over the clatter, clutching the weeping boy to his chest.

Mehreen's fingers, slick with rain, trembled with cold and nerves, and Elladan found himself squeezing back as relief washed over him. Relief, and a lot of rain.

"Can we go back now?" Redhriel asked in a clipped tone, her auburn hair painted black by the downpour, hanging pitifully from what had once been an impeccable bun as she wiped the water off her face with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Get them back to the Houses!"

Elladan could not help but grin as he yelled out the order. He was drenched from head to toe, lukewarm water squelching in his boots with every step and trickling down his chin in icy rivulets…but Déordred was saved, presently smothered by the urgent kisses of a mother who had not seemed so happy in months.

"He owes you his life," he told Morion, disentangling himself from Mehreen to clasp a hand to the young elf's shoulder, trying to ignore the cold tingle left by her touch. What reproach he had been keeping for later regarding Morion's recklessness had vanished, insignificant in the light of Dúnwen's joy.

"In truth, it is my fault as much as the boy's," Morion admitted sheepishly as he stared at the pile of sodden wood jutting from the mud, shoving a plank away with the tip of his boot. "Caelben had bid me dismantle the thing months ago."

"Then perhaps should you find the time to rebuild it, but lower…and sturdier."

Chortling, Morion only shook his head and wandered off, the claws he had swung over his back gleaming in the night, following the small group in which Bruiven, Taniel and Redhriel urged Dúnwen and Déordred up the trail with various degrees of patience.

For a moment Elladan stood unmoving, allowing the rush of the wind to pass through him and steal what tension had built up under his skin. Then, realizing there was but one person left to be herded back towards the warmth and safety of her room, Elladan turned in search of Mehreen…

…Who had disappeared.

First the boy, now this.

She could not have gone far – not in this weather and her weary state. Swearing under his breath Elladan took off after her, searching the woods for a now familiar form. Yet the path towards the Houses was empty, save for the group accompanying the mother and her son – now but a small blot in the distance, appearing in between flashes of white.

Elladan turned right, onto the trail that led to the women's dormitory.

It was a narrow, seldom-taken path. Be it out of force of habit or a long-ingrained instinct, the women of Bar-Lasbelin favored the easier, less secluded ways towards their usual destinations such as the washery or the Great Hall, disdaining this particular track. The wind whistled amongst the pines that gradually left place to beeches, their overgrown boughs hiding the path from view, dripping with rain and shedding leaves that swirled above ground, so that even Elladan hesitated more than once regarding the direction to take. The gale pushed him back and led him astray, hindering his progress.

Whatever had possessed her to leave alone?

Her pride and stubbornness, here is what. Even Morion's rashness had not vexed him as much – perhaps because he trusted the elf to know what he was doing. Elladan pressed on, unable to keep the worry out of his heart. If the tremors in Mehreen's hand were any sign, chances were she would not reach her bed unaided, and Elladan had no wish of writing back to her father explaining he had lost his precious daughter. He went as far as to prepare himself for the worst; the only sensible thing to do given the circumstances. Yet the thought of her bleeding out somewhere in the forest depths, dainty toes curled up in eternal stillness, the pulse at the base of her throat slowing into nothing…twisted his guts with unexpected force.

Elladan staggered, diving beneath a branch yet unable to avoid the slap altogether as his knees buckled under the unseen impact.

Pull yourself together!

He halted, bending over to lay a hand upon the carpet of leaves. The scent of sweet jasmine wafted to his nostrils.

Mehreen.

Had Elrohir been here, they would have found her already. They had always been better together than apart, their bond combining their respective talents into an all greater than the sum of two. Yet still Elladan refused to call upon his brother.

Somewhere beyond the Hithaeglir, in the warmth of his bed, Elrohir now tossed and turned, gripped by a sudden unease that belonged to his twin. Elladan willed his wife-to-be to soothe his trouble and, perhaps, even make him forget Elladan had ever existed, just as Elladan strived to forget what they once had, and which had changed beyond his desire or control.

"Mehreen!" he called out, saying her name for the first time with the intention of seeing her again. It sounded as foreign as before, but also compelling, as though able to summon her to his side. His people believed that names had power, Elladan reasoned as he scrambled through the woods; hers should be no different. "Mehreen!"

A low, miserable moan sounded somewhere ahead. The scent grew stronger, undaunted by the storm.

Mehreen lay on her side across the path beside a fallen branch, one arm bent against her stomach, the other trapped beneath her body. Had the branch been any bigger, she would be dead, Elladan realized with a pang of dismay as he knelt beside her to study the shallow gash above her brow, oozing a bright red blood diluted by the rain. Alerted by his touch Mehreen stirred, slowly waking from unconsciousness; unless he acted quickly, she may well cause irreparable damage to herself.

Injuries to the spine, in particular, were as treacherous as they were difficult to spot at first glance.

"Do not move," Elladan commanded, the healer in him taking over once more. Cupping her cheek, he slid his fingers down her neck, probing for broken bones or tearing, releasing a breath he had not realized he had been holding upon finding nothing but healthy muscle and unmarred skin.

Mehreen's eyes fluttered open, raindrops clinging to her lashes like so many tears. "What happened?" she slurred, trying to push herself up.

Many a terse reply sprang to Elladan's lips, yet he chose the most merciful of all. "You helped save that boy's life. Now do not move, I said. You are in no state to walk." Pulling his hand away with a vague regret, he tilted his head so as to ascertain the best way to proceed. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold. And stupid."

"Good. That, at least, means you still have some sense about you."

Her pretty face twisted in a half-hearted scowl. "I was simply trying to…."

"…Sneak away unnoticed? Amidst a storm? Allow me to understand. You fear to be alone with a man yet wander away on your own where anyone or worse, no-one can find you?" Upon hearing his voice rise, filled with pent-up concern and annoyance, Elladan took a deep breath, softening his tone so as to sweeten the pill of what he was about to say. "Now I shall have to carry you back, whether you like it or not."

Just as he had expected, Mehreen's eyes snapped open at his words, her muscles tensing with alarm. "There's no need for that. I can…."

"Absolutely not."

"But…."

"You will not make two steps before falling back down, and I would prefer getting you – and myself – out of the storm before dawn." He pushed the hair plastered to his forehead out of his face. "Trust me, nor more than you do I wish to do this, but you have left me with no other choice."

Snaking an arm beneath her knees and another around her shoulders, Elladan picked her up, this time surprised at how heavy she was. True, the water that imbued her clothing lent a substance to her frame, all slender limbs and long bones, but at least she felt…real. Fragile in a way that called for gentleness rather than distance. Meant to be touched rather than admired from afar.

A strange longing stirred inside his stomach, but Elladan discarded it at once upon seeing her eyes drop closed once more. "Stay awake," he urged her, suddenly afraid of a concussion. "Stay with me."

And as he made his way back to the Houses of Healing, Dúnwen's song sprang to his lips.

Stay awake, don't close your eyes.

A.N.: some of you may have recognized the lullaby lyrics from "Mary Poppins".