Princes Three: Darkness Unforeseen

Elrohir went still, distrusting his own senses, as though the slightest sound or movement might bring waking and prove it all a dream. Celebrían’s eyes pleaded with him, her mouth moving soundlessly, and in a rush of understanding he reached for the carafe that sat at the bedside, his hands shaking as he poured a splash of water in the glass. “Here, Nana,” he breathed, the very saying of the name bringing fresh tears to his eyes. “Let me help you.”

The water dribbled unnoticed on both coverlet and gown as Celebrían drank greedily, easing her parched mouth and throat. Falling back, exhausted, she focused again on her son. “’Rohir,” she rasped, so quietly that even Elrohir’s keen ears strained to make out the words. “My son.”

“Aye, Nana,” Elrohir answered, reaching out uncertainly to touch one pale cheek.

“You weep,” Celebrían whispered, covering his hand with her own frail fingers. “Why?”

“’Tis no matter now,” the elf-knight soothed, gently taking her hand in his own. “You are back with us...”

A sharp whimper cut through Elrohir’s quiet words as Celebrían’s face blanched further, her hand tightening on his. “I hurt,” she gasped, her eyes widening and then fluttering closed as the spasm passed.

Elrohir’s reaction was instant and unthinking, his father’s promise of help aplenty forgotten.

‘Dan...Elladan! Come quickly!'

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

Elladan sat up abruptly, then scrambled to his feet, Elrohir’s near-panicked call ringing in his head. “I must get to the healing hall,” he said, jerking on leggings and tunic haphazardly. “Something is amiss.”

“Shall I come with you?” Legolas asked, pulling on his own leggings rapidly. “Is it your mother?”

“I fear so,” Elladan replied, already heading for the door. “’Roh is distressed.”

Shoving his feet into his boots, Legolas followed swiftly, pulling a fully fastened tunic over his head as he went. Despite his worry, Elladan grinned as they hurried toward the healing hall. “Thranduil would be appalled,” he teased. “His son, bare-chested and unbraided in public, in the middle of the day.”

“And you are so much finer?” the prince retorted, glancing at Elladan’s rumpled clothing and ragged braids with some amusement. “It requires little imagination to explain our state, ‘Dan.”

Any response was cut short as they arrived at the door to Celebrían’s sickroom. Elladan’s eyes widened as he took in the scene. “Get Ada, ‘Las,” he ordered hoarsely. “He is likely in his study.”

“Is she...”

“Aye,” the elder twin answered, his eyes never leaving the figure on the narrow cot. “She is aware.”

As Legolas sprinted off toward Elrond’s private office, Elladan moved quietly to his brother’s side, one arm slipping instinctively around Elrohir’s waist. “She is in pain, ‘Dan,” the younger twin said helplessly. “I did not know what to do.” Leaning into the comforting embrace, Elrohir stiffened suddenly, taunted by the faint scent of sandalwood and woodsy musk that rose from Elladan’s skin. A wave of despair rushed over him anew and he attempted to move away.

Elladan’s arm tightened around his brother, his other hand moving to Celebrían’s cheek. To his relief, her face was only faintly warm. “Nana?” he whispered uncertainly, “Can you hear me?”

“’Adan,” Celebrían murmured, her eyes opening to settle on Elladan’s face. “How long?”

“About a fortnight,” Elladan answered, reluctantly releasing Elrohir and reaching for a small vial that sat on the table beside the bed. Sprinkling a few grains of the pure white powder into a sip of water, he swirled the cloudy liquid until it cleared and turned pale green.

“This will ease the pain,” Elladan promised, supporting Celebrían’s head as he tipped the bitter fluid into her mouth with practiced skill. “Ada will soon be here.”

“’Adan?”

“Aye, Nana?” he replied, leaning forward to press the softest of kisses to the furrowed brow.

“Why does ‘Rohir weep so?”

Elrohir tensed as though ready for battle, and Elladan turned to look at his brother, only to be met by a determinedly averted gaze. Uncertain, he paused, and Elrohir spoke abruptly into the silence. “I am well, Nana.”

“You are not,” Celebrían whispered, raising one thin hand to cup her younger son’s face. “Neither of you is well, and I would know the cause before I rest.”

“We have been anxious for you,” Elladan offered, thinking half the truth better than none. “There is naught...” His uneasy attempt at evasion ended when Celebrían’s hand moved to his cheek, forcing him to meet the searching grey gaze, and for a unnerving moment it seemed as though Galadriel stared back at him from his mother’s eyes.

“Oh, young ones,” Celebrían sighed, tears welling as she looked from one son to the other. “Nay.” She reached down and placed Elrohir’s unresisting fingers in Elladan’s upturned palm, covering both bow-callused hands with her own. “Your strength is here. In your bond. Do not let the darkness take it from you.”

Risking a glance at his brother, Elladan saw not anger, but hurt and shame flickering in the clouded depths of the elf-knight’s eyes. He closed his fingers slowly around Elrohir’s hand, relief flooding his soul as the gentle grip was hesitantly returned.

The door of the chamber swung open, and a fraught silence descended as Elrond paused uncertainly, his face alight with a cautious hope, before turning questioning eyes on his eldest son. Elladan nodded slightly, and Elrond hurried to the bed, sinking to his knees at Celebrían’s side.

Legolas stood framed in the doorway, supporting Arwen as she wept openly. His compassionate gaze hardened almost imperceptibly as he met Elrohir’s eyes, and the elf-knight flushed, looking away even as Elladan’s arm curled protectively around him once more.

Elrond saw none of this, his whole being focused on the fragile form of his wife. Reaching out one trembling hand, he cupped Celebrían’s face, his breath hitching as he looked into her dark-ringed eyes. So much pain, so much fear...and yet underneath gleamed the blessed light of sanity. “Brí?” he whispered, still afraid to believe.

“Aye,” Celebrían breathed, her eyes fluttering, heavy with both exhaustion and the effects of the pain draught.

Burying his face in his hands, Elrond wept.