Princes Three: Darkness Unforeseen

Interlude: Flickering Light

~Imladris 2509~

“Will he forgive me?”

Glorfindel gave his companion’s query the contemplation it

deserved, though the answer was never in doubt. “He loves you,

‘Rohir. Aye, he will forgive you. But can you forgive him?”

It was obvious that Elrohir’s earlier relief, his calm in the

aftermath of such an emotional outpouring, was giving way to doubt

and bitter self-reproach. In his mind, images rose unbidden. Pale

skin marred and grey eyes glimmering with pain more emotional than

physical. A blue-green gaze clouded with shame and remorse.

Echoes of his own scathing anger assailed him. How quick he had

been to turn on Legolas for hurts inflicted in the thrall of grief.

Hurts that were little more than midge-bites compared to the pain

Elladan had endured at his own brother’s hands.

“Forgive him what?” Elrohir sighed, his eyes closing as though

to block out the accusing memories. “It is ‘Dan who bears the

bruises, as you so vigorously pointed out but a brief time ago.”

“Forgive him for being imperfect,” Glorfindel replied, his eyes

turning from the cheerfully crackling fire to study the younger

elf’s drawn face. “For being fallible and uncertain. For being

only Elladan.”

“Not ‘only Elladan,' ” Elrohir whispered, meeting

Glorfindel’s compassionate gaze. “My Elladan.”

“And that is enough.”

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

~Misty Mountains 2509~

Legolas sat nearly motionless, his hair gleaming like molten

gold in the light of the watchfire. All around him elves talked

and sang quietly, but the prince’s attention was fixed with

frightening intensity on the elongated sphere that he rolled

between trembling fingers.

An oval of pure mithril, found trampled into the blackened

ground.

Watching his brother closely, Anteruon tried to find courage in

the absence of a funeral pyre at this site. Surely no elves had

died here...and yet...

Legolas added the mithril bead to one of his own forebraids, his

eyes almost challenging as they met Anteruon’s concerned gaze.

“Tomorrow we should reach the valley.”

“Aye,” Anteruon agreed, nodding slowly. “Legolas, I...”

“They are alive,” Legolas said flatly. “I would know.” His

gaze dimming,
he searched his brother’s eyes, seeking reassurance, and his voice

trembled.
“Surely...surely I would know?”

“You would,” Anteruon replied stoutly, struggling to hide his

own uncertainty. “Come and rest, tôren,” he urged. “You must

preserve your strength for the morrow.”

“Legolas!”

Tiriadon’s voice rang out suddenly, bringing the two princes to

their feet. “Come with me, my friend. We have found something

just off the trail.”

“What is it, Tiri?” the prince asked warily, unwilling to trust

his ears. The guard’s captain sounded almost...almost...

“You must come see, and judge for yourself,” Tiriadon insisted,

grabbing a flaming brand and leading the way into the shadows

outside the fire’s glow.

At first Legolas saw little to explain his friend’s apparent

excitement. The ground here was stained with the blood of orcs, as

was the path. He smothered a startled oath as the flickering torch

revealed the black mouth of a cave, the opening guarded by a

horrible sentry.

The head of an orc, a single blue-and-grey fletched arrow

protruding from each of the empty eye sockets, had been impaled on

a stake driven into the ground.

His heart hammering in his chest, Legolas moved closer, his eyes

fixed not on the ruined face, but on the carelessly carved pole,

where a crude bow glimmered blue and silver in the glow of the

torch, dancing jauntily in the cool nighttime breeze.

A bow of leather lacing dotted with beads of mithril and lapis

lazuli, tied into a mocking declaration of triumph.

Legolas blinked back tears of blessed relief.

They were alive.

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

~Imladris 2509~

Elrond stared unseeingly into the flames, his thoughts dark, his

strength nearly exhausted. Though her fever had at last broken,

Celebrían’s eyes remained empty and dull. She neither spoke nor

moved, her fragile hold on life sustained seemingly against her

will by those who cared for her.

‘How much longer?’

The question echoed silently, unanswered. How much longer could

he hold her here, keep soul and body together? Even with Elladan’s

able assistance, even with all the knowledge and lore Imladris had

to offer, he was fighting a losing battle.

The urge to give up, to join her in oblivion was nearly

overwhelming.

“Ada?”

The tentative sound drew him from his brooding, and Elrond

looked up into worried grey eyes.

“’Adan?” he replied, the name both question and greeting.

Moving to one end of the divan, he patted the seat beside him in

invitation. “Can you not sleep, young one?”

Elladan shook his head somewhat sheepishly as he sat down beside

his father. “’Roh has ridden out with Glorfindel. It is difficult

to rest without him.”

Elrond nodded, squeezing his son’s arm comfortingly. “I know.”

They sat silently, watching the dancing flames for untold

moments before Elladan spoke. “Do you miss him all the time, Ada?”

“Every day, aye,” Elrond said soberly. “But I no longer think

of him every hour.” A smile that did not quite reach his eyes

touched Elrond’s face. “I have lost much in my life, 'Adan, but I

have gained much, also.
I would not trade you, what I have now, for what might have been.”

Elladan studied his father’s profile closely, a feeling of

unease washing over him. Elrond looked tired. Tired beyond the

effects of lost sleep, tired beyond even the workings of worry and

stress. Lines never before noticed radiated from the corners of his

eyes, marked his forehead, bracketed his mouth.

He looked old.

Reaching out impulsively, Elladan caught his father’s hand,

interlacing their fingers in a gesture of affection from long ago.

“Perhaps we could rest together, Ada? Here before the fire?”

Elrond looked at his son in surprise. “If you wish,” he agreed,

raising one arm to allow Elladan to move closer. “You used to

tangle your fingers in my hair while you slept,” he said with the

ghost of a smile, resting his cheek on top of the dark head tucked

into his shoulder.

A moment later he chuckled softly as one furtive hand burrowed

into the unbraided length of his hair, the rush of genuine

amusement bringing unexpected tears to his eyes. “I love you,

‘Adan,” he whispered, settling more comfortably into the soft

pillows.

“I love you, Ada.”

The drowsy murmur warmed him, body and spirit, and Elrond slept.

*~*~*~*~*

tôren – my brother