The Best Portion
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,860
Reviews:
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0
Currently Reading:
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,860
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Best Portion
Title: The Best Portion (1/6)
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Characters: Elladan/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Warnings: AU.
Beta: Jay of Lasgalen. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Summary: Written for Melethen for the Ardor in August fic exchange. Elladan and Legolas finally sail and find joy in Valinor.
That best portion of a good man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. ~William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Elladan woke with a gasp of pain, and strong hands instantly held him still at his shoulders. “Do not try to move, my lord. You took a nasty blow from that warg,” a deep voice said.
The half-Elf opened his eyes as the memories crashed in on him. A tall man, a man of Gondor from the looks of his dark hair and grey eyes, looked down on him in concern. Elladan had been on his way back to Ithilien. . .to Legolas. . .when he heard of a settlement of Men being preyed upon by a pack of wild wargs, descendants of those loosed with the destruction of their Orc handlers over one hundred years ago. He was unwilling to leave the opportunity of ridding the land of any remaining evil and knew Legolas would understand his delay. He had arrived in the midst of an attack and immediately entered the fray, fighting alongside the men of the settlement, his great sword singing. Nearly all of the beasts had been destroyed when he saw the small child, huddled in terror against the fence, and a large warg heading her way. “The little one, is she alive? Did I save her?” he gasped out.
“Aye, my lord, she is well, thanks to you.” The man reached for a glass of water sitting on the bedside table and gently raised Elladan’s head so he could take a refreshing drink. When the Elf had drunk his fill and nodded his thanks, the man laid Elladan’s head back on the pillows. “I am Berior, and the child you saved is my daughter, Ivorien,” he said. “She keeps asking if you are awake yet, so I imagine you will see her soon. She waits without with my wife, Anwareth. You are in my home, humble as it is, and we are honored to care for so brave a warrior. With your help, we lost no one and the entire pack is finally dead. Never have I seen someone fight as you did. There is no way to thank you for helping us. . . for saving her.” The man’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Have you much pain? We have no healer here and I suspect your ribs are badly broken from the blow, but we will do what we can to aid you. You hit your head when the beast knocked the breath out of you, but it does not appear as bad as your chest.”
Elladan cautiously took a shallow breath, the pain telling him how badly his ribs were broken. His head hurt, but nothing like the pain that filled his chest. “My horse?” he whispered, trying not to breathe deeply.
“He is safe in my barn, my lord,” the man answered. “He has been curried and given food and water.” Berior frowned as he watched Elladan. “Would you breathe better if you tried to sit up, my lord?”
Elladan nodded and allowed the man to help him rest his back against the pillows. Moving was agony and he bit his lip to keep from crying out, but he knew it would ease once he had bound his chest tightly – and for that he needed to sit. Even with his Elven healing abilities, it would take him at least a month to mend – or more, since he intended to leave to join Legolas by the next day and would do his bruises and cracked ribs no favor in doing so. He instinctively trusted Berior, sensing that this was a good and honorable man. Thanking the Valar that he had not been on his own when he encountered the wargs and had met these good people, he said quietly, “I am Elladan and I thank you for helping me. I am a healer. There are supplies in my saddlebags to bind my chest and herbs for the pain. Can you bring them to me?”
“They are here in the room, my lord,” Berior said, rising carefully from where he sat next to Elladan on the bed.
Elladan looked around the room for the first time, quickly taking it in, and realized he must be in the bedroom that belonged to Berior and his wife. It was plainly furnished, but what he could see was well made and clean. Clothing was hung neatly on pegs behind the door: a woman’s dress in serviceable gray, a man’s tunic in the same hue, and white nightgowns. A large, carved chest against one wall probably held more blankets and clothing. A small dressing table with water pitcher and bowl sat against one wall. The comfortable bed was easily roomy enough for the couple and their child. Following Berior with his eyes, he saw his belongings neatly stacked in a corner. His sword had been cleaned until it shone and stood against the wall beside his bow and quiver. His saddlebags lay atop his bedroll. “For how long was I unconscious, Berior?” he asked.
Berior looked out of the window. “A few hours,” he answered. “It was mid-morning when the attack began, and the sun is now beginning its slow descent.” He brought the saddlebags to the bed and said, “If you will tell me what to get, my lord, it will save you moving as much.”
“Please, just Elladan.” The half-Elf attempted to smile at the man, but even that hurt. “If you open the saddlebags, you will find a roll of white cloth for bandaging. I will need it to bind my chest. There are also small leather pouches full of herbs. If you bring them out I can choose the ones for pain, and perhaps your good wife would brew them into a tea for me.”
Berior nodded and searched the saddlebags for the bandages and herbs, laying them out on the bed. Elladan pointed out the pouch with the herbs for his pain and the man left the room with it, taking it to his wife. When he returned, he placed the unused pouches back in the saddlebags and set it on the floor. “I have seen broken ribs bound before, my lord. Will you allow me to assist you?” he asked.
Elladan nodded and attempted to sit up straighter. Before he was able to force himself up, Berior was helping him sit. Elladan gave the man a grateful look and carefully lowered the sheet from his chest. His tunic and shirt had been removed, and he grimaced at the sight of the brilliant red bruises that covered his front from his waist to below his neck, knowing they would still be a vivid purple by the time he joined Legolas. With skilled fingers he probed his chest, searching for dangerous multiple breaks and was relieved to find none. Each rib except the topmost and two bottommost was cracked but firmly in place, and he blessed his sturdy heritage of Elf, Maiar, and Man.
The man bound his chest tightly with surprisingly gentle and steady hands. Elladan murmured his thanks and leaned back against the pillows, drawing a shallow experimental breath. The pain was greatly lessened, although the bandages were constricting. Perhaps he would avail himself of Berior’s hospitality for two or three days instead of one. Legolas was already going to have his head for getting hurt anyway; he might as well take an extra day or two to heal more. Truth be told, he really didn’t think he was ready to get back on his horse and resume his journey.
A soft knock sounded and Berior opened the door to admit his wife and daughter. Little fingers gripped her mother’s skirts tightly, but the small child nonetheless looked up at Elladan bravely and smiled. Berior took the tray Anwareth carried and set it on the bedside table, seeing she had brought not only the injured Elf’s tea, but a thick soup and bread for both of the men.
Anwareth immediately went to Elladan’s bedside and dropped to her knees, with Ivorien beside her. Taking one of the Elf’s hands, she kissed it, and with tears in her eyes, said, “Thank you for saving my daughter, my lord.”
Elladan grasped the woman’s hands in his own, and said quietly, “Please . . . it was. . .” He almost said, ‘It was nothing,’ but stopped himself in time. It was a child’s life and he knew he had saved her, so he said instead, “It was my honor, my lady.”
“I was on the other side of the village with the women when the attack came. Ivorien was with her father and they would not let me go to her.” Tears ran down Anwareth’s face, and she kissed Elladan’s hand again.
“It is over now, my lady,” Elladan said softly. “The wargs are gone and Ivorien is safe.” Returning her gesture, he drew Anwareth’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
Berior placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Perhaps Lord Elladan would like his tea now, my dear?”
Anwareth drew her hand back and quickly wiped her face with her fingers. “Yes, yes, forgive me,” she said, quickly rising and bustling to the tray. She handed Elladan the cup of tea. “Will you take some food as well, my lord? I have brought hot soup and fresh bread for you and Berior. He has stayed by your side since he brought you here and has not eaten since this morning either. He has not even let me bind the wound on his arm yet. I am sure you must both be very hungry and it will be some hours before the evening meal, which I hope you will allow us to take with you. You are quite bruised, and we do not think you should rise from the bed for some time.”
Berior groaned. “Woman, you are babbling, and it is naught but a scratch,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. He seated himself in the simple wooden chair beside the bed and lifted his daughter to his lap.
Elladan looked at the couple and smiled as he sipped his tea. The love between them was evident, and he was thankful he had heeded his instincts and ridden to the settlement. Speaking slowly and drawing shallow breaths, he said, “I would be most grateful for some food, but only if you and Berior stop calling me ‘my lord’ and address me as Elladan. I am beholden to your hospitality after all, and I fear I have ousted you from your own room. I insist you take it back before the night – I will be quite comfortable on a floor somewhere with my bedroll.”
“Indeed you will not!” Anwareth said. “We have already discussed it, and you will stay in the bed. I will make a bed for Berior on the floor beside you so he will be near should you need anything in the night, and I will sleep with the children in their room for as long as you are with us, which we hope will be for as long as it takes for you to heal.”
“Truly, Berior,” Elladan said, addressing the man, “I will be fine on the floor. Were it not for what happened I would be sleeping on the ground with my horse beside me.”
“Please,” Berior answered, “allow us to do this for you, my . . .Elladan. You honor us by letting us care for you and in this way we may repay a tiny bit of the debt we owe you.”
Elladan would have sighed if it wouldn’t have hurt him. “Very well, though there is no debt you owe me,” he acquiesced. “I thank you both for your hospitality.” He watched the child on Berior’s lap, who was watching him. She had her parents’ dark hair and grey eyes, and looked to be about four years old. She was altogether a lovely little child. “And is this the beautiful little Ivorien?” he asked. The child giggled and seemed to have recovered completely from her fright – at least for the time being. He knew it was probably a good thing that her mother would sleep with her for the next night or so. “Greetings, Princess,” he said softly.
Berior nodded and smiled. “This is our youngest child, a gift when we least expected it,” he said fondly. “Her brother is sixteen and is out with the other young folk repairing the damage done to the fields today. I am certain he will be home in time for the evening meal and you will meet him then.”
Elladan finished his tea and handed the cup to Anwareth, accepting a bowl of soup in return. The woman placed a rolled up blanket on the Elf’s lap and set the tray on it so he would not have to hold the bowl up and strain his chest. Elladan nodded to her gratefully and dove into the soup and bread with relish. Nothing stirred his appetite like a good battle, injury or no injury. When he and Berior had eaten their simple meal, he said, “I will see to your wound now, if you will bring out my healing supplies again.” As tired and sore as he was, Elladan was always a healer first.
“’Tis nothing, my lord,” Berior replied. “Barely a scratch.”
Elladan glared at the man, who reluctantly rose to fetch the saddlebags once more. “Then let us see it remains so. Anwareth, come and watch what I do so you can change the bandages. Were there others injured this morning as well?”
“Several deep scratches from the beasts’ claws, like mine. The worst is a bite to a man’s leg,” Berior replied.
Elladan nodded. “After we are finished here, send for the man with the bite to come to me so I may tend his wound. Perhaps Anwareth can take the salve I will give you and dress the other injuries from the beasts. I will tell you how to make more of it. It will speed the healing of all kinds of wounds.”
~~~*~~~
The mid-morning sun shone over Ithilien. Legolas walked the deck of the grey ship, inspecting it once more, checking a knot here and a wooden nail there. He had just called to Gimli when he suddenly doubled over in pain and collapsed onto the deck. He was filled with a sense of dread, knowing that he was feeling what Elladan was enduring. Fear and pain nearly stopped his breath, and he felt his heart skip. The flowing of his blood became as loud drums sounding in his ears. Overcome with pain and nausea, his entire body broke out in a hot sweat.
The Dwarf sprinted to the Elf’s side, dropping to his knees and lifting his friend’s head onto his lap. “Legolas! What is it? What ails you?”
Legolas whimpered, clutching at his chest. “Elladan,” he whispered plaintively. “Elladan….what has happened to you, my love?”
~~~*~~~
After he finished bandaging Berior’s wound, Elladan instructed Anwareth what to do to treat the wounds of the other villagers and make more salve. He tended to the man with an ugly, deep bite in his leg, and then slept soundly for nearly five hours, allowing his body to begin healing. When he awoke, he felt much refreshed. Certainly the pain was still there, and even small movements – like breathing – could bring a wave of intense pain. But he was an Elf, and in his three thousand years he had endured much worse.
The family took their evening meal of hearty meat, vegetables and bread in the bedroom with Elladan, keeping their guest company in the hope of distracting him from the pain of his injuries. They were joined by Berior and Anwareth’s son, Caladir, who was tall and bright, and plied Elladan with questions until his parents told him to cease and allow the Elf to eat his dinner.
“You like books and stories,” Elladan said, looking at the lad knowingly. Learning in Aragorn’s realm had flourished, and it was not unusual for even humble families to possess a book or two. Caladir nodded. “I know many stories,” the Elf continued. “If your father is willing, perhaps he can spare you tomorrow, and while you bear me company I will tell you some of them.”
Berior nodded. “That would be kind of you. Elladan, do you have any family near that we should get word to that you are here?”
Elladan shook his head. “My people are leaving these shores,” he said. “I parted from my twin, my grandfather, and my law-father many days ago. They will have reached the Grey Havens by now to take ship to the Undying Lands. Círdan has returned to Middle-earth to bear them hence. My parents already await us there. I go to North Ithilien to meet my mate and we will take sail together – the last of the Elves to leave Middle-earth. The call to sail is strong in us now. It is time.”
Berior nodded, understanding what Elladan said, but sad nonetheless to hear that all of the Elves were leaving. “How long will your mate wait for you?” he asked.
“Wait?” Elladan smiled. “Forever,” he said quietly. “No matter how strong the call, my mate would wait for me forever.”
“I have heard it said that now that King Elessar has passed, the Elven Prince Legolas is building a ship to sail from Ithilien down the Anduin, and that he is taking his friend the Dwarf with him,” Anwareth said.
Elladan nodded. “Aye. Legolas is my bonded mate,” he said softly. “I go to sail with my husband and our friend Gimli, and I must leave here and continue my journey by the day after tomorrow.”
“But why did you not all go to the Grey Havens to sail in the last ship?” Berior asked.
“Because of the Dwarf,” Caladir said quickly. “Prince Legolas was afraid that Círdan the Shipwright would not take him on his ship. And you are the son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, foster-brother to King Elessar and brother of Queen Arwen.”
Elladan looked at Caladir, and then at Berior. “This is a bright lad you have, my friend. A very bright lad.”
~~~*~~~
Gimli carried Legolas into the small cottage they had built along the banks of the Anduin many years ago. The Elf’s state worried him, especially when Legolas seemed to have trouble breathing. Several hours passed while Legolas lay in what seemed to be a trace, mumbling to the absent Elladan. Gimli could do nothing but sit beside him, holding his friend’s hand and stroking his brow.
Legolas suddenly blinked and stared at the Dwarf.
Gimli heaved a great sigh of relief seeing lucid blue eyes looking up at him once again. “What has happened, Legolas?” he asked quietly.
“Elladan is wounded. . . injured. . . I know not which. But he is alive and his pain is not so great now. I must leave. . .find him. . .”
"And what will happen if you miss him on the road and he finds his way here without you?" Gimli asked gently. "No, Legolas. You must await him here. You must trust in his strength." Haunted blue eyes looked up at him.
Tbc…
Berior: Protector
Anwareth: Awe
Ivorien: Crystal
Caladir: Light
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Characters: Elladan/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. The great Master Tolkien’s estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I’m done playing with them.
Warnings: AU.
Beta: Jay of Lasgalen. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Summary: Written for Melethen for the Ardor in August fic exchange. Elladan and Legolas finally sail and find joy in Valinor.
That best portion of a good man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. ~William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Elladan woke with a gasp of pain, and strong hands instantly held him still at his shoulders. “Do not try to move, my lord. You took a nasty blow from that warg,” a deep voice said.
The half-Elf opened his eyes as the memories crashed in on him. A tall man, a man of Gondor from the looks of his dark hair and grey eyes, looked down on him in concern. Elladan had been on his way back to Ithilien. . .to Legolas. . .when he heard of a settlement of Men being preyed upon by a pack of wild wargs, descendants of those loosed with the destruction of their Orc handlers over one hundred years ago. He was unwilling to leave the opportunity of ridding the land of any remaining evil and knew Legolas would understand his delay. He had arrived in the midst of an attack and immediately entered the fray, fighting alongside the men of the settlement, his great sword singing. Nearly all of the beasts had been destroyed when he saw the small child, huddled in terror against the fence, and a large warg heading her way. “The little one, is she alive? Did I save her?” he gasped out.
“Aye, my lord, she is well, thanks to you.” The man reached for a glass of water sitting on the bedside table and gently raised Elladan’s head so he could take a refreshing drink. When the Elf had drunk his fill and nodded his thanks, the man laid Elladan’s head back on the pillows. “I am Berior, and the child you saved is my daughter, Ivorien,” he said. “She keeps asking if you are awake yet, so I imagine you will see her soon. She waits without with my wife, Anwareth. You are in my home, humble as it is, and we are honored to care for so brave a warrior. With your help, we lost no one and the entire pack is finally dead. Never have I seen someone fight as you did. There is no way to thank you for helping us. . . for saving her.” The man’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Have you much pain? We have no healer here and I suspect your ribs are badly broken from the blow, but we will do what we can to aid you. You hit your head when the beast knocked the breath out of you, but it does not appear as bad as your chest.”
Elladan cautiously took a shallow breath, the pain telling him how badly his ribs were broken. His head hurt, but nothing like the pain that filled his chest. “My horse?” he whispered, trying not to breathe deeply.
“He is safe in my barn, my lord,” the man answered. “He has been curried and given food and water.” Berior frowned as he watched Elladan. “Would you breathe better if you tried to sit up, my lord?”
Elladan nodded and allowed the man to help him rest his back against the pillows. Moving was agony and he bit his lip to keep from crying out, but he knew it would ease once he had bound his chest tightly – and for that he needed to sit. Even with his Elven healing abilities, it would take him at least a month to mend – or more, since he intended to leave to join Legolas by the next day and would do his bruises and cracked ribs no favor in doing so. He instinctively trusted Berior, sensing that this was a good and honorable man. Thanking the Valar that he had not been on his own when he encountered the wargs and had met these good people, he said quietly, “I am Elladan and I thank you for helping me. I am a healer. There are supplies in my saddlebags to bind my chest and herbs for the pain. Can you bring them to me?”
“They are here in the room, my lord,” Berior said, rising carefully from where he sat next to Elladan on the bed.
Elladan looked around the room for the first time, quickly taking it in, and realized he must be in the bedroom that belonged to Berior and his wife. It was plainly furnished, but what he could see was well made and clean. Clothing was hung neatly on pegs behind the door: a woman’s dress in serviceable gray, a man’s tunic in the same hue, and white nightgowns. A large, carved chest against one wall probably held more blankets and clothing. A small dressing table with water pitcher and bowl sat against one wall. The comfortable bed was easily roomy enough for the couple and their child. Following Berior with his eyes, he saw his belongings neatly stacked in a corner. His sword had been cleaned until it shone and stood against the wall beside his bow and quiver. His saddlebags lay atop his bedroll. “For how long was I unconscious, Berior?” he asked.
Berior looked out of the window. “A few hours,” he answered. “It was mid-morning when the attack began, and the sun is now beginning its slow descent.” He brought the saddlebags to the bed and said, “If you will tell me what to get, my lord, it will save you moving as much.”
“Please, just Elladan.” The half-Elf attempted to smile at the man, but even that hurt. “If you open the saddlebags, you will find a roll of white cloth for bandaging. I will need it to bind my chest. There are also small leather pouches full of herbs. If you bring them out I can choose the ones for pain, and perhaps your good wife would brew them into a tea for me.”
Berior nodded and searched the saddlebags for the bandages and herbs, laying them out on the bed. Elladan pointed out the pouch with the herbs for his pain and the man left the room with it, taking it to his wife. When he returned, he placed the unused pouches back in the saddlebags and set it on the floor. “I have seen broken ribs bound before, my lord. Will you allow me to assist you?” he asked.
Elladan nodded and attempted to sit up straighter. Before he was able to force himself up, Berior was helping him sit. Elladan gave the man a grateful look and carefully lowered the sheet from his chest. His tunic and shirt had been removed, and he grimaced at the sight of the brilliant red bruises that covered his front from his waist to below his neck, knowing they would still be a vivid purple by the time he joined Legolas. With skilled fingers he probed his chest, searching for dangerous multiple breaks and was relieved to find none. Each rib except the topmost and two bottommost was cracked but firmly in place, and he blessed his sturdy heritage of Elf, Maiar, and Man.
The man bound his chest tightly with surprisingly gentle and steady hands. Elladan murmured his thanks and leaned back against the pillows, drawing a shallow experimental breath. The pain was greatly lessened, although the bandages were constricting. Perhaps he would avail himself of Berior’s hospitality for two or three days instead of one. Legolas was already going to have his head for getting hurt anyway; he might as well take an extra day or two to heal more. Truth be told, he really didn’t think he was ready to get back on his horse and resume his journey.
A soft knock sounded and Berior opened the door to admit his wife and daughter. Little fingers gripped her mother’s skirts tightly, but the small child nonetheless looked up at Elladan bravely and smiled. Berior took the tray Anwareth carried and set it on the bedside table, seeing she had brought not only the injured Elf’s tea, but a thick soup and bread for both of the men.
Anwareth immediately went to Elladan’s bedside and dropped to her knees, with Ivorien beside her. Taking one of the Elf’s hands, she kissed it, and with tears in her eyes, said, “Thank you for saving my daughter, my lord.”
Elladan grasped the woman’s hands in his own, and said quietly, “Please . . . it was. . .” He almost said, ‘It was nothing,’ but stopped himself in time. It was a child’s life and he knew he had saved her, so he said instead, “It was my honor, my lady.”
“I was on the other side of the village with the women when the attack came. Ivorien was with her father and they would not let me go to her.” Tears ran down Anwareth’s face, and she kissed Elladan’s hand again.
“It is over now, my lady,” Elladan said softly. “The wargs are gone and Ivorien is safe.” Returning her gesture, he drew Anwareth’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
Berior placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Perhaps Lord Elladan would like his tea now, my dear?”
Anwareth drew her hand back and quickly wiped her face with her fingers. “Yes, yes, forgive me,” she said, quickly rising and bustling to the tray. She handed Elladan the cup of tea. “Will you take some food as well, my lord? I have brought hot soup and fresh bread for you and Berior. He has stayed by your side since he brought you here and has not eaten since this morning either. He has not even let me bind the wound on his arm yet. I am sure you must both be very hungry and it will be some hours before the evening meal, which I hope you will allow us to take with you. You are quite bruised, and we do not think you should rise from the bed for some time.”
Berior groaned. “Woman, you are babbling, and it is naught but a scratch,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. He seated himself in the simple wooden chair beside the bed and lifted his daughter to his lap.
Elladan looked at the couple and smiled as he sipped his tea. The love between them was evident, and he was thankful he had heeded his instincts and ridden to the settlement. Speaking slowly and drawing shallow breaths, he said, “I would be most grateful for some food, but only if you and Berior stop calling me ‘my lord’ and address me as Elladan. I am beholden to your hospitality after all, and I fear I have ousted you from your own room. I insist you take it back before the night – I will be quite comfortable on a floor somewhere with my bedroll.”
“Indeed you will not!” Anwareth said. “We have already discussed it, and you will stay in the bed. I will make a bed for Berior on the floor beside you so he will be near should you need anything in the night, and I will sleep with the children in their room for as long as you are with us, which we hope will be for as long as it takes for you to heal.”
“Truly, Berior,” Elladan said, addressing the man, “I will be fine on the floor. Were it not for what happened I would be sleeping on the ground with my horse beside me.”
“Please,” Berior answered, “allow us to do this for you, my . . .Elladan. You honor us by letting us care for you and in this way we may repay a tiny bit of the debt we owe you.”
Elladan would have sighed if it wouldn’t have hurt him. “Very well, though there is no debt you owe me,” he acquiesced. “I thank you both for your hospitality.” He watched the child on Berior’s lap, who was watching him. She had her parents’ dark hair and grey eyes, and looked to be about four years old. She was altogether a lovely little child. “And is this the beautiful little Ivorien?” he asked. The child giggled and seemed to have recovered completely from her fright – at least for the time being. He knew it was probably a good thing that her mother would sleep with her for the next night or so. “Greetings, Princess,” he said softly.
Berior nodded and smiled. “This is our youngest child, a gift when we least expected it,” he said fondly. “Her brother is sixteen and is out with the other young folk repairing the damage done to the fields today. I am certain he will be home in time for the evening meal and you will meet him then.”
Elladan finished his tea and handed the cup to Anwareth, accepting a bowl of soup in return. The woman placed a rolled up blanket on the Elf’s lap and set the tray on it so he would not have to hold the bowl up and strain his chest. Elladan nodded to her gratefully and dove into the soup and bread with relish. Nothing stirred his appetite like a good battle, injury or no injury. When he and Berior had eaten their simple meal, he said, “I will see to your wound now, if you will bring out my healing supplies again.” As tired and sore as he was, Elladan was always a healer first.
“’Tis nothing, my lord,” Berior replied. “Barely a scratch.”
Elladan glared at the man, who reluctantly rose to fetch the saddlebags once more. “Then let us see it remains so. Anwareth, come and watch what I do so you can change the bandages. Were there others injured this morning as well?”
“Several deep scratches from the beasts’ claws, like mine. The worst is a bite to a man’s leg,” Berior replied.
Elladan nodded. “After we are finished here, send for the man with the bite to come to me so I may tend his wound. Perhaps Anwareth can take the salve I will give you and dress the other injuries from the beasts. I will tell you how to make more of it. It will speed the healing of all kinds of wounds.”
~~~*~~~
The mid-morning sun shone over Ithilien. Legolas walked the deck of the grey ship, inspecting it once more, checking a knot here and a wooden nail there. He had just called to Gimli when he suddenly doubled over in pain and collapsed onto the deck. He was filled with a sense of dread, knowing that he was feeling what Elladan was enduring. Fear and pain nearly stopped his breath, and he felt his heart skip. The flowing of his blood became as loud drums sounding in his ears. Overcome with pain and nausea, his entire body broke out in a hot sweat.
The Dwarf sprinted to the Elf’s side, dropping to his knees and lifting his friend’s head onto his lap. “Legolas! What is it? What ails you?”
Legolas whimpered, clutching at his chest. “Elladan,” he whispered plaintively. “Elladan….what has happened to you, my love?”
~~~*~~~
After he finished bandaging Berior’s wound, Elladan instructed Anwareth what to do to treat the wounds of the other villagers and make more salve. He tended to the man with an ugly, deep bite in his leg, and then slept soundly for nearly five hours, allowing his body to begin healing. When he awoke, he felt much refreshed. Certainly the pain was still there, and even small movements – like breathing – could bring a wave of intense pain. But he was an Elf, and in his three thousand years he had endured much worse.
The family took their evening meal of hearty meat, vegetables and bread in the bedroom with Elladan, keeping their guest company in the hope of distracting him from the pain of his injuries. They were joined by Berior and Anwareth’s son, Caladir, who was tall and bright, and plied Elladan with questions until his parents told him to cease and allow the Elf to eat his dinner.
“You like books and stories,” Elladan said, looking at the lad knowingly. Learning in Aragorn’s realm had flourished, and it was not unusual for even humble families to possess a book or two. Caladir nodded. “I know many stories,” the Elf continued. “If your father is willing, perhaps he can spare you tomorrow, and while you bear me company I will tell you some of them.”
Berior nodded. “That would be kind of you. Elladan, do you have any family near that we should get word to that you are here?”
Elladan shook his head. “My people are leaving these shores,” he said. “I parted from my twin, my grandfather, and my law-father many days ago. They will have reached the Grey Havens by now to take ship to the Undying Lands. Círdan has returned to Middle-earth to bear them hence. My parents already await us there. I go to North Ithilien to meet my mate and we will take sail together – the last of the Elves to leave Middle-earth. The call to sail is strong in us now. It is time.”
Berior nodded, understanding what Elladan said, but sad nonetheless to hear that all of the Elves were leaving. “How long will your mate wait for you?” he asked.
“Wait?” Elladan smiled. “Forever,” he said quietly. “No matter how strong the call, my mate would wait for me forever.”
“I have heard it said that now that King Elessar has passed, the Elven Prince Legolas is building a ship to sail from Ithilien down the Anduin, and that he is taking his friend the Dwarf with him,” Anwareth said.
Elladan nodded. “Aye. Legolas is my bonded mate,” he said softly. “I go to sail with my husband and our friend Gimli, and I must leave here and continue my journey by the day after tomorrow.”
“But why did you not all go to the Grey Havens to sail in the last ship?” Berior asked.
“Because of the Dwarf,” Caladir said quickly. “Prince Legolas was afraid that Círdan the Shipwright would not take him on his ship. And you are the son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, foster-brother to King Elessar and brother of Queen Arwen.”
Elladan looked at Caladir, and then at Berior. “This is a bright lad you have, my friend. A very bright lad.”
~~~*~~~
Gimli carried Legolas into the small cottage they had built along the banks of the Anduin many years ago. The Elf’s state worried him, especially when Legolas seemed to have trouble breathing. Several hours passed while Legolas lay in what seemed to be a trace, mumbling to the absent Elladan. Gimli could do nothing but sit beside him, holding his friend’s hand and stroking his brow.
Legolas suddenly blinked and stared at the Dwarf.
Gimli heaved a great sigh of relief seeing lucid blue eyes looking up at him once again. “What has happened, Legolas?” he asked quietly.
“Elladan is wounded. . . injured. . . I know not which. But he is alive and his pain is not so great now. I must leave. . .find him. . .”
"And what will happen if you miss him on the road and he finds his way here without you?" Gimli asked gently. "No, Legolas. You must await him here. You must trust in his strength." Haunted blue eyes looked up at him.
Tbc…
Berior: Protector
Anwareth: Awe
Ivorien: Crystal
Caladir: Light