Princes Three: Darkness Unforeseen

Chapter 8

Elrohir was gone.

The unease that assailed Elladan at the realization multiplied

tenfold as a quick glance around the chamber proved Legolas absent,

as well. The elder twin moved to rise from his mother’s side,

motioning for one of the apprentices to take his place, only to

find his hand caught in a desperate grip.

“Do not leave me, ‘Adan,” Celebrían pleaded, her eyes clouded

and voice slurred by the potent pain draught. “I am afraid.”

“I am here, Nana,” Elladan soothed, his worry for Elrohir

momentarily pushed aside as he knelt once more by his mother’s bed.

“I will stay until Ada has finished preparing your tonic.”

“’Rohir?”

“He has left the hall for a bit,” Elladan said noncommittally.

“He will return.”

“He hurts so,” Celebrían murmured, her eyes fluttering against

the pull of sleep, “...is...so quick to joy, so quick to

despair...so like Elros, they say...”

Elladan’s mouth went dry at the implication. “Do not worry for

‘Roh, Nana,” he managed. “I will look after him.”

Returning with the herb-infused tea, Elrond sat carefully on the

edge of the narrow bed. “You must try to drink, love,” he urged

gently. “It will aid the healing.” Slipping one arm beneath his

wife’s frail shoulders, he nodded slightly at Elladan, who quickly

shifted the pillows to support Celebrían’s body.

A slight grimace crossed the Lady’s face as she relaxed against

the soft mound, but she drank obediently from the cup pressed to

her lips, slowly downing nearly half the contents before turning

her head weakly. “No more,” she whispered.

“Later, perhaps,” Elrond agreed, setting the cup aside as he

drew a deep breath. “The bandages must be changed, then we shall

let you rest,” he said, his voice taking on the brisk tones of the

experienced healer, though his hands still trembled. Casting a

questioning look at Elladan, he added, “I will have Idhren assist

me...”

“Nay,” Celebrían refused, her hand tightening on Elladan’s once

more. “’Adan will stay.”

The elder twin returned the gentle pressure. “Nana, I do not...”

he began, then looked pleadingly at his father as words failed.

“The injuries are severe,” Elrond explained carefully. “And

they are...widespread. It is perhaps not wise that ‘Adan should

remain.”

Celebrían’s gaze turned not to Elrond, but to her firstborn.

“You have seen the wounds?”

“Aye,” Elladan admitted reluctantly. “But you were unaware, and

my skill was needed.”

“You are still needed,” she whispered, her eyes pleading. “Stay

with me.”

The soft clearing of a throat drew Elladan’s attention to the

foot of the bed, where Anteruon stood watching sympathetically.

“If Lady Celebrían will allow it, I will assist with the dressings,

gwador. You need simply remain at her side.”

“Nana?” Elladan asked, unable to keep the hopeful edge from his

voice.

“Aye,” Celebrían answered slowly, “it is enough that you are

here.”

What followed would live forever in Elladan’s memory, try as he

might to banish it. Despite the pain draught, despite the tonic,

despite the skill of the hands that tended her, Celebrían’s

suffering was dire to behold. Wounds were washed and packed,

scratches and bruises coated with soothing unguents. Through it

all she struggled to swallow her whimpers and moans, though tears

of pain streaked her cheeks, and she gripped Elladan’s hands as if

they were her only hold on sanity.

“It is almost over, Nana,” he promised hoarsely, supporting

Celebrían on her side that the wounds on her back might be tended.

“Almost over.”

It was then, his cheek pressed carefully to Celebrían’s bruised

face, that Elladan sensed the rush of shame and despair, rising

like a tide to wash away all hope. Taken by surprise, he first

thought the emotions to be his mother’s, then the darkness vanished

abruptly, as though cut off by a slamming door, and he realized

with horrible certainty from whence it came.

Elrohir.

‘Roh? Elrohir?

His urgent calls were met with a chilling silence, and he raised

wide eyes to meet Anteruon’s concerned gaze. “Elladan?” the crown

prince prodded cautiously. “What ails you?”

“I must go...” Elladan began, his words drowned in a

heartrending wail as Celebrían’s control broke at last and she

began to struggle feebly against the hands that held her.

“Go where?” Anteruon demanded bluntly, disturbed beyond

niceties by the tears that now rolled freely down Elladan’s cheeks.

“Let me help you, my friend. Please.”

“It is ‘Roh,” Elladan whispered. “Something is wrong.”

“Where?” Anteruon asked, already on his feet as he waved over an

apprentice to assist Elrond.

“I do not know,” Elladan replied bleakly. “I believe he is with

‘Las.”

Stifling the oath that threatened, Anteruon squeezed Elladan’s

shoulder reassuringly and hurried from the chamber.

**********************

Legolas struggled in vain to remain calm. “Do not lie to me,

‘Roh. I have seen the leavings!”

“I do not lie,” Elrohir returned, his eyes narrowing. “I

do not deny my part in it all. But you do not know of what you

speak. It is between ‘Dan...”

“It would seem as though ‘Dan had little to do with it,” Legolas

hissed, losing the battle with his rapidly rising temper. “I saw

the marks of your teeth...you bit him, Elrohir...”

“As have you!”

“Not like this,” Legolas retorted sharply. “The nape of his

neck...it looks as though he was taken not by a lover, but by a

warg! I have never seen the like on a living elf. Have you?”

The flicker of unease that crossed the elf-knight’s face did not

go unnoticed.

“You have not seen your own handiwork, have you?” Legolas

demanded in amazement. “You do not even know for what you ask

forgiveness.”

“I have seen,” Elrohir answered shortly, “though not...”

“Not his neck?” the prince broke in, his voice cold. “Have you

seen the tracks of your teeth on his thighs, ‘Roh? Or the bruises

left by your fingers on his hips?”

Elrohir’s eyes blazed at the reminder of what had brought them

to this pass. “You have seen sights to which you had no

right, wood-elf,” he snarled. “You took...”

“I took nothing!” Legolas spat out, stepping closer. “I

but accepted what was offered me, Elrohir. I did naught but

treasure what you had already cast aside!”

Had Legolas reined in his ire, had he really looked at

the elf before him, he would have seen the crumbling of Elrohir’s

defenses. He would have seen the broad shoulders slump and the

glittering grey eyes cloud with remorse. He would have heard the

elf-knight’s agonized whisper.

“I know.”

But Legolas neither saw nor heard, caught up in an outpouring of

the helpless frustration that he had suppressed since his arrival

in Imladris. Blind to the despair of his lover, he vented his

anger with bitter accusations and scathing words.

Anteruon heard the raised voices even before he reached the

chamber, marked the sudden stilling of Elrohir’s protests and the

remorseless lash of Legolas’ tirade. Bursting unannounced through

the door he halted, taking in both Legolas' spiraling vehemence and

Elrohir’s eerie silence. A few quick strides brought Anteruon

within grasping distance, and he closed a restraining hand on his

brother’s arm, pulling him away from Elrohir’s motionless form.

“Legolas!”

“Let me go!” Legolas barked, seemingly unaware of who held him.

“I will not,” the crown prince refused, his voice determinedly

quiet. “We have not come so far to have you destroy all in a fit

of childish rage.”

“You do not know what he has done,” Legolas ground out,

pulling against the firm grip.

“Nay, I do not know what he has done,” Anteruon retorted with

rising exasperation. “Nor, I might add, do you.” Cutting

off his brother’s rebuttal with a sharp shake, he snapped, “I may

have envied Elladan much over the years, but I certainly do not

begrudge him the care and coddling of the two of you!”

Anteruon drew a deep breath and continued more calmly. “You are

here to succor, Legolas, not to divide. Whatever has happened,

whatever must be said or unsaid, it is between the twins, tôren.

Leave it there. Do not let your misplaced anger tear down the

bridge they have struggled so to build.”

For the first time Legolas focused on his brother. “Where is

‘Dan?”

“He is with Lady Celebrían. He sensed Elrohir’s distress and

wished to aid him, but could not leave his mother. I came to see

what was amiss.” Risking a glance at the elf-knight’s rigid face,

Anteruon felt a shiver of apprehension. “You must not do this,

tôren,” he said urgently, squeezing Legolas’ arm. “It will be the

death of them both. Have you forgotten the sight that greeted our

arrival?”

“Nay,” Legolas answered hoarsely, tears welling as his temper

cooled and he took in Elrohir’s forlorn stance. “I have not

forgotten.”

“Whatever you imagine he has done...whatever he has

done...he suffers, too,” Anteruon counseled gently, releasing his

brother. “Go to him, Legolas. I will be in my suite, if you need

me.”

The soft thud of the closing door drew no more response

from Elrohir than had Anteruon’s presence. He stood silently, his

head dropped, his whole being curled inward in defeat.

Abandoned.

The thought whispered through Legolas’ mind, bringing with it a

swell of guilt, and he moved slowly toward his lover. “’Roh?”

The softly spoken entreaty went unacknowledged, though Elrohir

was vaguely aware of the prince’s approach. “Please, rohir

nín,” Legolas whispered, reaching out cautiously. “I have once

again let my temper rule my tongue. I was angry and I have barged

in without cause. Elladan said it was over, to let it be, and I

heeded him not. I am sorry.”

Elrohir looked at him, then, and the hurt shimmering in the

dulled grey eyes was painful to behold. “It is no more than I

deserve,” he rasped. “I have destroyed all that ever mattered.”

“You have destroyed nothing,” Legolas disagreed, his hand

tightening on his lover’s arm. “You are wounded and confused, as

is ‘Dan. But you are stronger than this, ‘Roh. We are

stronger than this.” Taking Elrohir’s hand, the prince urged his

reluctant lover into the chair before the fire. “Tell me,” Legolas

said simply, weaving the elf-knight’s unresisting fingers through

his own.

“I feared for him,” Elrohir began unsteadily, his voice little

more than a whisper. “He tried to shut me out, to protect me, but

I pleaded with him to let me in, to let me share the burden,

and...and he did.” Elrohir raised a tortured gaze to Legolas’

face. “I had never known such hopelessness, such utter despair. I

did not know what else to do, ‘Las. I had nothing else to offer

against such anguish.”

Legolas nodded slightly, his stomach knotting at the guilt in

Elrohir’s eyes.

“I did nothing against his will, but I...I was not...not gentle.

And the very roughness seemed to soothe him,” Elrohir said. “Or

so I chose to believe.”

“’Dan believed it as well,” Legolas offered, wanting to reassure

but wary of interrupting his lover’s tale.

“For a time,” Elrohir agreed, a bitter smile curling his lips.

“I cannot say when the line was crossed...when the brutality ceased

to be something he sought and became punishment inflicted for

imagined failings.” Tears welled in the elf-knight’s eyes. “Did

he tell you our soul has not fused since Nana was taken?”

“He told me nothing, save that the blame was as much his as

yours,” Legolas answered quietly, struggling to hide his dismay.

No wonder the chasm between the twins had grown so impossibly wide.

“I was furious with him, with myself,” Elrohir whispered, “with

everything and everyone. I knew it foolish, but still I felt

betrayed when Nana did not wake, and he had not even the energy to

comfort me. He would not strike back, no matter how hard I pushed,

no matter how senseless my rage nor how savage the taking.”

“Until last night,” Legolas breathed.

“Aye,” Elrohir nodded. “Erestor and Glorfindel had seen the

ruinous path we were on, and schemed to separate us for a time.”

He snorted wryly. “I nearly killed Glorfindel, and I thought I had

released my anger, I thought the worst over, until I returned last

night to find Gildor’s scent on my pillow.”

“Surely you did not truly think...” Legolas began carefully,

only to be cut off by a bark of self-depreciating laughter.

“I did not think at all,” Elrohir sighed ruefully, “and the lack

almost cost me my nose. Though the blow brought me to my senses.

We talked after you left us...talked as we had not in a fortnight.”

“And in my anger, I nearly ruined it all again,” Legolas

murmured.

Sobering, Elrohir lifted a hand to his own bruised face. “Nay,

your accusations were just. This is but a shadow of what I

deserve, ‘Las.”

“That is for ‘Dan to decide,” Legolas answered, the hint of a

smile flickering across his face as he leaned over to press a

chaste kiss to Elrohir’s swollen mouth. “But I will be here to

pick you up when he is done.”

Legolas stood slowly, extending a hand to his lover. “Come,

rohir nín,” he said firmly. “I believe we are wanted in the

healing hall.”

*~*~*~*~*

gwador – sworn brother


tôren – my brother

rohir nín – my knight