"Elrond? Elros?" Gil-Galad called softly. It appeared that neither peredhil was yet awake. Not surprising, since dawn was only now blooming across the horizon. The healer and Lord of the Forest accompanied the young High King into the peredhil's tent. They darted soundlessly for Elrond's cot on the far side of the enclosure. Elrond murmured incoherently in his sleep. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his forehead. Master Beteg bent to take Elrond's pulse while Gil-Galad focused on pushing his son into a deep healing trance.
"His heart races!" Master Beteg mumbled in surprise as he continued his examination. His brow creased in worry as the examination continued. "Sire, how long have you noted these symptoms?"
"For at least several weeks." Ereinion's voice was tinged with frustration as he paused a moment to regain his bearings. The King was exhausted from the night's efforts of keeping the dark dreams away from his beloved. "I guarded his sleep on our journey here and was able to push him into a healing trance on two occasions. He seemed to improve the next morning. But my heart fears that those efforts, seemed but temporary, a fleeting respite in the face of a persistent ailment."
"Herutaurë," Beteg bowed in deference. "I have not detected these types of disruptions to the fëa before. Can you offer any insight?" The ancient elf Lord bent forward to assess the sleeping peredhel, laying his hand gently over his forehead.
"I have never examined his ancestors up close. Curious," the ancient elf shook his head. Confusion and surprise warred in his normally unreadable visage. "His spirit truly reflects his mixed ancestry."
"What are you doing?" Elros's shout made them jump. His voice was full of suspicion and fear. "Leave my brother alone!" he stalked towards them.
"Peace Elros," Gil-Galad noted the dagger that glinted in Elros' hand. He motioned for the others to back away from Elrond and held his hands up in peace. "It is I, Ereinion. All is well."
"Move away from him," Elros ordered, shaking in rage. I will not let you hurt him." Implicit in his tone was his agony at having failed his brother before. Gil-Galad motioned the others to retreat well away from Elrond and moved in between them and Elros, all the while speaking soothingly to the startled elf.
"Elros, your brother is fine. He is only sleeping." Gil-Galad approached cautiously as Elros squatted protectively near his brother's head to assess him.
"He does not wake for me!" Anger now edged the unsettled voice.
"I was worried for him and pushed him into a healing trance," Ereinion said softly. "He will wake near noon." The hand holding the dagger dropped suddenly, much too near Elrond for Gil-Galad's comfort.
"Elros, put down the knife." Though softly spoken, Ereinion's command was clear.
"You are taking him from me." Elros eyes flashed. "He should be coming with me!"
"Elros, it was your brother's choice."
"Choice!" Elros laughed bitterly. "Was it? He is not safe here. He would be safe with me."
"Neither of you is going anywhere for a long while." Ereinion groped for a different tactic. "You are both unwell. Let us help you."
"Who are they?" Elros motioned with his dagger to the other two.
"I am Master Beteg, I treated your brother many years ago at Hovaspind, when he was injured during a retreat." The healer did his best at this distance to assess Elros' state of mind.
"We sang songs of healing, songs of power last night." The ancient elf Lord reminded him gently. Elros shivered at the memory of the music - music that had tantalizingly soothed the aches of his soul, however, briefly. Gil-Galad took advantage of the distraction to swiftly disarm Elros.
"Peace, Elros. It is I, Ereinion. You know I would never do anything to harm you or Elrond." Elros looked at the others with a mixture of confusion and ill-suppressed anger.
"Who are they? Why does Elrond not awaken?" He asked again suspiciously as if he had not understood the prior conversation.
"He was pressed into healing duties yesterday, and I thought he would recover faster with extra rest. You know how stubborn he is. Maybe rest would do you good as well." Ereinion frowned slightly when he saw Elros stiffen and step away towards the door.
"Why is it so quiet here?" Elros brow furled in confusion.
"What do you wish to hear? The trees? The sea?" Gil-Galad was not quite successful at masking his worry.
"Elrond," Elros voice was tinged with some other power. He paused, suddenly surprised that his brother had not responded.
"Do not worry. Elrond will awake refreshed at lunch. Let us help you, Penneth." Ereinion caught his foster son in a powerful gaze. "Share with us what it is that troubles you. We can not aid you if we do not know what is wrong." Elros stiffened at Gil-Galad's words.
"You can not aid us." He choked as he rubbed his chest and stepped towards the door.
"You are unwell. Do not leave alone. Can we summon Beleford or Glorfindel to accompany you?" The King reasoned, but Elros darted out the door. The Lord of the Forest stayed the King with a gentle touch on the arm. Gil-Galad met the powerful eyes squarely, their ancient wisdom lending him strength.
"Take care of this one. I will see the other is well-protected. There must be some explanation." The low baritone was deceptively soft, its understated power. Ereinion bowed slightly in deference to the ancient being. Across the way a dark elf, cloaked in a dark green mantel also bowed to the two kings. This clandestine guardian wordlessly acknowledged the order to protect the departing peredhel.
"My King." Master Beteg whispered. Gil-Galad turned to find the healer bent over Elrond. "I mean no disrespect to your sons, but."
"You have a diagnosis?" Gil-Galad eyes narrowed.
"If I were to take their symptoms together, as if they were one patient instead of two." The master healer's voice trembled slightly as if he feared the King's reaction.
"Your professional opinion."
"But for the deep wounds of the fëa, I would say their symptoms are consistent with one who is addicted to poppy syrup and suffers from withdrawal." Gil-Galad closed his mouth tightly to prevent himself from gasping in disbelief.
"Could such an addictive draught inflict wounds to the fëa?" The deep timber rumbled behind Gil-Galad.
"No," Beteg admitted. "I am at a loss to explain that."
"And these scissions to the fëa? Are they potentially mortal?"
"In time, I fear it will prove so Herutaurë." Beteg's eyes glistened slightly. He had grown to like the gangly adolescent who had emerged into a quietly self-assured young adult.
"You believe his brother suffers from a similar ailment?"
"Yes, though perhaps it is not quite as advanced."
"I think it is equally advanced." Gil-Galad updated them on the disquiet that emanated strongly from Elros over the week's council session. "I assumed its origin is an after effect of the war. Perhaps something they both experienced?"
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"Once Mithlond is stable and settled, we will send out scouts to map the topography of these new lands." Oropher brought the discussion to a close. "The Sindar will seek forest homes. This I promise."
Most of the others, including his brothers, exited the tent, but Thranduil remained in hopes of finally having a chance to speak to his father alone. There was not much privacy in the camp, and instincts told him that privacy was important for the delicate discussion.
"Adar, Naneth wishes to depart for the beach. She prepared a picnic."
"An afternoon on the beach will do us all good. You left Aurmîr?"
"Last night's songs were a balm to her spirit. She seemed much improved, though Orophin promised not to leave her side."
"The songs were a balm to all." Oropher turned to study his son. "But you have worries yet unvoiced?"
"Perhaps we can speak of them as we walk." Thranduil motioned in the direction of the beach. "I wish to speak of the peredhil. I fear something is amiss."
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"We could probe his mind in an effort to discern the origin of this illness."
"Tis a breach of trust." Gil-Galad flatly rejected this course of action. "Whatever its cause, it is not yet life-threatening. Elrond has always been completely honest with us. I would not breach his trust unless there were no alternative. This is not some addiction to a healing draught."
"How can you be so sure?" The Forest Lord probed.
"I know Elrond very well. The source of this ailment must be something neither of the peredhil can comprehend." He paused, considering the other explanations. "Alternatively, perhaps it is a problem that they can not find a solution for. Indiriel and I will seek answers once he awakens."
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The bright winter sun cheered the spirits of Oropher's family even as the gentle swish of the waves calmed their hearts.
"An excellent afternoon," Oropher whispered in his wife's ear and drew her back into his arms. Their small picnic somehow seemed extravagant, punctuated as it was with laughter.
"They are enjoying themselves, are they not?" Gellir turned her head sideways to catch her husband's cheek with her lips. Their four offspring were forging sandcastles together. At times, one or another would sport suspiciously wet eyes, for special memories would surface of Rúmdir's teasing over sandcastle contests in years past.
"He would have loved this," Gellir whispered as tears of both joy and sadness slid down her cheek. A lone figure was approaching their little gathering but paid them no attention. They were focused on the surf, feet skimming the waterline. Thranduil was surprised to recognize him.
"Elros!" Thranduil waved to catch their attention. Silver eyes, anguished yet powerful, gazed back without recognition. The peredhel blinked stupidly and turned immediately back towards the sea, his pace too fast for leisure. Thranduil exchanged a pointed look with his father. A forest elf followed silently behind the peredhel. Before long, others approached and called out.
"Have you seen Elros?" Lord Glorfindel was slightly out of breath, and the man with him looked concerned.
"You will need to run to catch him." Thranduil pointed at the now-distant figure.
"Thank you!" Glorfindel called as he and Beleford began to jog.
"You remember something? You have observed this before?" Thranduil crouched next to his father.
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"Lúthien, are you well?" Oropher cried out in worry as he dropped to his knees beside his prone friend. He could all but feel the pain that suffused her visage and forced tense twitches from her body. He deftly slid his arms underneath her and quickly rose, intent on getting her to her parents as fast as possible. He had traversed but several dozen steps when Melian hurried over to them.
"Sell-nin." She called aloud as Oropher delivered his friends into her Naneth's arms. Then Melian began to sing. Light and song wove a comforting net around them. Oropher was nearly too frightened to breathe as he watched his friend's pained features. But gradually, her Mother's song gave comfort and soothed away the pain. Lúthien settled into a peaceful sleep. "Come, Oropher."
"My Lady?" The young elf rose in confusion and followed his queen. The beautiful Maia was much stronger than she looked and easily cradled her grown daughter in her arms as they crossed from the gardens into the castle. No one they encountered appeared to notice them, and they passed through the busy outer chambers unimpeded. Even the guards at the entrance to the family wing seemed oblivious to their passage, and the grand doors swung open of their own accord. Oropher halted at the entrance to Lúthien's room and watched silently as Melian settled her sleeping daughter into bed. The enchanting Queen bent to lovingly kiss her daughter's forehead and stroke the dark silky hair.
"Sleep sell-nin (my daughter)." A brilliant light seemed to pass between the two.
"Did Dior also experience this?"
"Little love I had for Dior, for I was plagued by dreams of our tragic end." Oropher sighed. "He was charismatic and wise but brash and headstrong, much like young Elros. The four years that he ruled Doriath were ones of great turmoil for me from the very moment he and Nimloth arrived and revealed the Silmaril set upon that accursed Nauglamir to the horrible slaughter that ended the kingdom. But he could not have made any other decision. One can not negotiate with madmen."
"But Elros has matured."
"Yes, and now that I am an Adar five times over, I understand that this brashness was more a sign of his youth than any sign of darkness. The jewel was his connection with his parents. Its allure and song were rich and melodious. It was only natural that the grieving son should treasure it. Alas, Dior Eluchil had no time to mature. He was but thirty-six when he perished, too young to have come into his heritage as a child of the Maiar, bearing a quarter of Maiar blood. "
"He was not even an adult by the count of elves!" Thranduil gasped.
"But an adult by the count of men and all other measures. He matured quickly according to the count of men, maybe because he was truly half-man, unlike Elrond or Elros. Perhaps it is Elros who most resembles his grandfather." Oropher paused momentarily as he considered elves that might have some knowledge of Lúthien's adolescence. Queen Melian was a great healer and kept her daughter's illness private. The list was as short as the list of elves that might have the ability to contact a Maia. "Find Cirdan. He may be able to help."