Elladan stumbled, catching himself against the trunk of a very large, very ancient oak tree. Long ago, Elves had taught the trees to speak. He was not the first Elf to have passed by this tree, to receive comfort or companionship in its presence- being this close to Imladris, it was accustomed to their presence. He sensed its distress at his condition, but he could not take the time to reassure it nor to be reassured.
It was becoming only harder to keep pushing himself onward.
The tree had helped him somewhat. His spirit felt lighter, if only slightly.
The wound in his leg throbbed with each step he took and it was only growing worse. He was starting to consider the possibility that he had been poisoned, but still he could not afford to linger.
Not when the life of his twin was at stake.
He couldn't lose another family member to the torment of Orcs. He couldn't live through that pain again. Thoughts of his gentle mother renewed his strength. For her sake, he would rescue Elrohir; he would not allow one of her sons to follow in her footsteps.
She would not want that. She would be unable to bear it!
Elrohir had not responded to any of his pleas, but he knew that his twin still lived. He would feel it in his very being if he were no more.
Elrohir was still alive, for now at least, but he was weak and in distress if he hadn't responded to any of Elladan's attempts to reach him.
He had to keep pressing forward.
He took another step and felt himself waver. His vision slid out of focus and he dropped to his hands and knees in the slick mud. He had only just barely managed to catch himself from falling face first into the muck. His head was pounding.
He knew not how long it was that he lay there senseless before he woke to a hand tapping his face. He stirred with a moan, attempting to bat the hand away, but whoever it was was awfully persistent. They wouldn't leave him alone.
When Elladan finally cracked his eyes open with a moan, he found himself staring into the worried face of Glorfindel.
The warrior visibly sagged with relief when he saw Elladan was conscious. "Elladan," he was supporting him with an arm around his shoulders and he clasped his hand firmly, offering a wordless comfort in the moment, "you are safe. We will see to it that you are taken care of."
"Elrohir?" Elladan latched on the sleeve of Glorfindel's tunic. "Have you found him? Is he safe?"
Glorfindel gently gripped his wrist, but didn't make him relinquish his hold. "Not yet."
"No. You don't understand." He felt dizzy with fear. He had to make Glorfindel understand that it was Elrohir who was more important now. "Leave me. They've hurt him. He needs you."
"We are going to rescue Elrohir," Glorfindel said and his voice was hard, though it was not directed at Elladan. "But I would make a poor rescuer if I sent you back to your father without making sure you were not on the verge of death."
That didn't matter.
Surely, Glorfindel must realize that time wasted with him was more time for the Orcs to work their evil. Why did he still linger? "Did you not hear me? They've hurt him! I must…" He struggled to sit up but Glorfindel did not let him.
He did not know which would be worse: a brother who was dead or one who was damaged so badly that he could find no more joy in Middle Earth and followed his mother's footsteps across the sea.
If his brother chose to sail, then so must he. He would not be apart from him for any length of time. Until then, he would simply pray that the Valar had mercy.
"You must let us see to your wounds," Glorfindel said again. He possessed some skills in the way of healing, but it paled in comparison to Elrond's. "I will go after Elrohir. He will be saved. I promise you."
His words did much to set Elladan's heart at ease. When Glorfindel promised something, he meant it.
He beckoned for one of the Elves who had accompanied him to come forth- a capable guardsman by the name of Midhanar. "I leave him in your hands. See to it that he is well taken care of."
He rose and Midhanar bowed his head deferentially, taking Elladan from him. "I will guard him with my life."
Glorfindel allowed himself a small smile, clasping the younger Elf's shoulder briefly. "We shall see that it does not come to that."
His eyes met Elladan's. Within them, he saw the promise of safety. Glorfindel would not fail them.
He had protected them since they were Elflings. If he said he would get Elrohir back, then he would.
And while he trusted Glorfindel with his life and with Elrohir's life, he wanted nothing more than to join him on his crusade, but he knew that in his present condition he would be nothing but a hindrance.
Glorfindel rose to his feet, cast one last look at Elladan, before he mounted Asfaloth and urged him on.
Elladan followed him with his eyes until he could no longer see him.
"It is fortunate that we are not so far from Imladris. The wound is poisoned." Midhanar was unwrapping the sloppily tied bandage from around his thigh. The wound was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly. "I can do what I can here to see that it doesn't become worse." At his side, he carried a satchel, which he opened. From within, he retrieved healing herbs, which he crushed and applied to the wound.
Almost immediately, Elladan felt relief as the herbs worked to draw out the poison and the tension bled from his shoulders. Once this was done, he rebound the wound with a fresh bandage.
Midhanar looped his arm around his back and helped him climb to his feet. "I apologize," he said quietly. "I know this must hurt."
It did pain him, but Elladan clenched his teeth and made no sound to betray his discomfort.
He did not say what must have been weighing on his mind, what Elladan was sure they all must be thinking. What he had thought and voiced to his brother when they had stumbled upon the first signs of their enemy.
There should not be Orcs this close to Imladris. That there were raised grave concerns that would have to be addressed the moment his brother was safely returned to them- they were less than a day's ride out and had been returning home from time spent hunting these very same beasts with the Rangers of the North when they'd stumbled across the pack that had wandered down from the mountains.
Instead, Midhanar led Elladan to one of the horses and assisted him into the saddle. When he made to mount behind him, Elladan protested, "I can ride by myself. Surely, you've brought enough horses."
Midhanar gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'm sure you could, but, should you fall from the horse, Lord Glorfindel will have my head for not preventing it. We must get you back to your father. There is no time to waste."
Elladan conceded. His pride was not worth making this any harder.
Midhanar hopped up onto the horse behind him. He tugged on the horse's reins, directing them in the direction of Imladris.
Elladan did not answer him save for a tight-lipped nod.
Midhanar placed his hand on the young Elf's shoulder. "Have faith in Lord Glorfindel," he offered, unsure of what else there was that he could say. He had never been the best at offering comfort. "He will get your brother back safely."
Glorfindel had taken with him a small contingent of Elves when he had separated from the rest, leaving Elladan in Midhanar's capable hands and dividing their company in two.
He had been relieved beyond words to find the elder twin alive, though injured. He prayed that he would find Elrohir in the same condition, though he had prepared himself for the worst.
He remembered the state Celebrían had been in when the twins had brought her home. That was not something he would ever forget. Nor would the pain of her family be something he would ever forgive.
The orcs were easy enough to track; they had trampled everything in their path, taking no care to be secretive.
They had tracked them for miles when he pulled Asfaloth up short. He had spied bodies. They were scattered about, evidence of a fight.
Was this the result of infighting? Or something else?
And what had happened to Elrohir in the midst of it?
Heart in his throat, he urged Asfaloth forward, dismounting when he was still some distance from the carnage. He hurried forward, counting fourteen- no, fifteen dead.
Surely, Elrohir could not have done this on his own.
"Elrohir!" he called. Please. Answer me. He picked his way among the corpses. His hand lingered on the hilt of his blade, though he saw no reason yet to draw it.
No living creature stirred.
"Captain?" one of his warriors ventured. They had drawn up their horses, but none moved to follow him.
Glorfindel did not immediately answer him.
It was so silent here. An eerie stillness hung over the forest.
It reeked of death.
He sucked in a tremulous breath.
Thousands of years and a second life couldn't erase a city's fall, but it shouldn't have taken a handful of slain orcs to bring those memories to the forefront of his mind.
He had seen worse battles in the time since he had returned, but this… This was something different and it smote him straight through the heart.
Contrary to popular belief, he did feel fear.
The tale of his slaying of the Balrog had become almost romanticized in its retelling over the centuries: he was the fearless hero, the one who had faced a demon of Morgoth without faltering, who had defended the refugees of Gondolin without fearing for his own life, who had paid the ultimate price in service to that great city and its people and been rewarded for it with rebirth.
He had felt fear on that mountain pass, fear for the innocent men, women, and children who would perish if he failed in his duty to protect them.
He was afraid now, afraid for the twin he had yet to find and for the twin he had left behind. He did not have the luxury of pretending there was no chance Elrohir was dead.
He'd thought he had prepared himself for that possibility, but now that he was about to confront it, he felt himself falter.
Glorfindel felt a responsibility towards Elrond's family. He had been by the Peredhels' side since long before the twins had first entered the world. It was from him that they had learned sword fighting and archery.
He had failed in that duty once before when orcs had taken Celebrían. There wasn't a day that went by where he didn't wish that he had chosen to ride with her escort on that fateful day, but the road to Lórien was supposed to be safe.
No one could have predicted what was to happen.
Glorfindel stumbled on the figure almost before he had realized it was there. He cursed himself for getting so caught up in his memories.
He was hidden at least partially by the shrubs and it seemed to Glorfindel that the low hanging branches of a nearby tree had dipped even lower to shield him.
Elrohir had curled around himself, bound wrists tucked underneath his chin. His dark hair was splayed around him. An orcish blade lay just beyond his fingertips. It did not take much reflection to surmise what had happened here.
It was almost unbelievable, a single Elf pitted against fifteen foes, but the evidence was right before his eyes.
Glorfindel dropped to his knees and pressed two fingers to the flesh of Elrohir's throat, breathing a sigh of relief when he detected a pulse.
It was weak, but where there was life, there was hope.
Gently, he slid his arms around Elrohir's shoulders and eased him upright, much in the same way he had with his brother. He grimaced at the tight bonds around his wrists and unsheathed a blade with which to cut them.
The ropes had left the flesh beneath them chafed and bleeding. One side of Elrohir's face had been left swollen and bruised. His hair and clothes were matted with blood.
Righteous anger swelled within him at the sight.
The orcs were lucky they were already dead else they would have faced his wrath.
His fingers itched to draw his sword against an enemy that no longer breathed. There was no one left to take revenge upon, however, so he focused his attention on the one who needed it.
"Elrohir." He cupped the younger's cheek, turning his face towards his. "Hear me, young one. You're safe now. They can no longer touch you." He closed his eyes and concentrated, pouring what strength he could into the young one's fëa.
But Elrohir still did not wake and Glorfindel scooped him into his arms, cradling him as gently as if he were a babe. He carried him back to Asfaloth, meeting the questioning eyes of the waiting Elves with a reassuring look.
"Is he…?" One of them was brave enough to be the first to speak. His wrath must still have been evident on his face.
"He is alive," Glorfindel answered. Their potent relief was evident on their faces, but they didn't have time to linger. "Help me get him on the horse. We must take him back to his father."
Obediently, the Elf dismounted and aided Glorfindel in getting Elrohir onto Asfaloth's back.
And all the while, Elrohir did not stir, but when Glorfindel's hand passed over his forehead, he detected no sign of a fever. Nor did Glorfindel detect any fell aura that might be the reason for the younger's unconsciousness.
He would need his father.
Quickly, Glorfindel mounted behind Elrohir, wrapping an arm around the younger's waist to keep him from sliding from the saddle.
Elrohir's head lolled against his shoulder.
Glorfindel grit his teeth and urged Asfaloth forward. "Hang on, little one." He had not felt the need to refer to either of the twins as such for many a year until now. "We shall get you home."
If Elrohir was aware of him, he made no acknowledgement.
Glorfindel pushed Asfaloth to go faster.
At this rate, they would outpace the rest of his warriors- there was not a horse in Imladris that could keep up with Asfaloth.