Radiant Shadow

by erobey

Unbeta'd

Disclaimer: Tolkien created the characters and settings, just the story here is my own.

italics = thoughts

(elvish translation)

A/N: Written for the Royal
Mirkwood Home
Valentine's
Fic Challenge 2006. AU, of course. Dedicated to AnarIthilien
with much
respect and admiration.

Introduction: Homecoming on a Moonless Night

The last of the night lingered,
clinging to the heavens with such peculiar tenacity that he wondered if
the day would be grey and tired, as old in manner as Arda truly was.
Elrond frowned, holding aside the heavy damasked draperies shielding
his bedroom from the open air of the second story porch. The sky did
indeed look heavy, laden in layers of sullen clouds that refused to
show so much as a chink for the dimming stars to peep through. He
sighed; this was not going to be a good day. Deep in his marrow he felt
it; Elladan and Elrohir would be coming home and to this event was
attached the inexorable tension of nervous nameless dread building in
his mind.

He moved out onto the spacious balcony overlooking his beloved refuge
and tasked himself to conjure a positive demeanour. Did he dare
to count the number of times he had experienced a joyous sensation in
the half-lit dawn? It seemed almost a challenge to fate to try and in
the irrational part of his mind he could imagine events growing worse
in inverse proportion to the number of pleasing recollections he might
produce. Yet he cherished highly each memory of those happy
homecomings and tallying them was a far better enterprise than
accounting his sons' less resplendent returns to Imladris.

What father could tire of it, though he might see it a thousand times?
Indeed, in the days since their adulthood, Elrond had taken to breaking
fast on the balcony, hoping to hear not the cheerful notes of a lark or
the warbling song of a finch but the tumult of galloping hooves and his
sons' shouts of triumphant glee or, rarer, a merry song from days of
old when it was yet the spring-time of the elven folk, long long years
before ever they were conceived.

They always returned at dawn; it was their custom, their habit. Neither
ever felt the need to explain it and Elrond had not been curious enough
to ask the reason. Or perhaps he was too fearful to hear it spoken.
They understood without the words: 'Look for us at minuial, as Anor
first breaks the horizon we shall be there.' There was no need
to vocalise that which action had ingrained into unshakeable
anticipation.

It went both ways; they came to expect that he would as faithfully be
watching for them. It was the first thing they did, tip their heads up
to seek his eyes, each one smiling in his own distinct way that was
uncannily identical to the other's. Should they ever ride through the
gate at dawn and find their Adar not seated there, what doom would that
express to their hearts?

It had happened, of course, but Imladris was more fortunate than some
places, more protected, better concealed. Seldom had Elrond failed to
be at his post to welcome Elladan and Elrohir back to the Last Homely
House.

Likewise, few had been those dark times when their advent occurred at
some other hour: the deeps of the night, the subdued shadows of
gloaming, or the stark brightness of noon, barely able to sit the
horses or worse, one bearing the other insensate in his arms. Those
were not the sort of events a parent would choose to recall, for those
are the ones that rob a father of sleep and promote begging the Valar
to spare him the pain of such loss, to spare his children any pain
whatsoever.

'Give it to me instead,' Elrond pleaded with regularity as
consistent
as Arien's daily journey. Is any parent unfamiliar with this desperate
entreaty to the unseen forces haphazardly shaping fate? Elrond was
accustomed to strife and sorrow, had known loss and defeat, despair and
grief enough to humble mountains. This morning it was not a
request. 'Let such not visit them, Mighty Eru, preserve them
in
eternal ignorance of anguish or want.'

A futile exercise, to be sure, yet he could not refuse to enact it,
this ritual of bargaining for their protection. His soul spoke it with
every dawn while awaiting their arrival and again whenever they rode
out from Imladris to defend the weak and the innocent, to avenge their
mother's torment, to assuage their unearned guilt.

I wonder, what prayers do they quietly recite? What haggling have
they
done with Manwë and Vairë in the first heartbeats of a
journey's beginning? Each beseech the very same thing, I would warrant:
'Protect my brother from all harm and when this task is done return him
safely to our home. If it is just, let me be by his side. If not then
make me his shield and blind his heart to the sorrow my demise must
generate.' Something very like that, surely, for so did I pray for
Elros' safekeeping and he, mine until the day of his passing.

Elrond shuddered and mentally shied from the image of his twin, a sharp
surge of panic firing through his heart and doubling its rate. It was
an ill omen to think on Elros when he held such fear for his sons'
return. With a dreary sough the Lord of Imladris conceded defeat; once
his brother entered his thoughts it was just as if Elros was yet living
so vivid were the memories and so true the silent interchange between
their minds. He never could banish these re-enactments; they were gifts
and in a corner of his heart Elrond believed they genuinely came at his
brother's prompting. Wherever men's spirits fled when their bodies
failed, he had to hope it was a place connected to his reality. Elros
could not be lost to him forever.

Elros had not hastened to his end nor had he dreaded it. When asked
about preferring a human life he replied that he was ever an adventurer
and here was a temptation he could not resist: a place where elves
could not go. Mortality was of his own choosing, not because he wearied
of the world or despaired of peaceful existence. He would know what
secrets Eru had kept even from Manwë.

The Gift took him from Elrond and the pain was just as biting now as it
had been the day his brother exhaled his final breath. A chilling sight
it had been, and a recurrent nightmare, watching the light of intellect
die away in Elros' grey eyes.

Elros' choice was inconceivable to the lore-master, for he deemed it
too finite a division. Yet for the first Númenorian King
mortality had granted a freedom to his actions and a lightness to his
heart while he was living that Elrond could perceive even if he could
not comprehend it. Indeed, it was many thousands of years after Elros'
demise before Elrond began to even glimpse his brother's reasoning and
the nature of his joy in such a fleeting existence.

Every instant of his life was crammed with a heightened intensity of
experience, everything made more profound for its very rarity, for its
ephemeral beauty. 'Enjoy it now,' Elros' eyes sparkled as he spoke,
'for this moment will never be again, though you live unto the ending
of the world.'

Elrond smiled, recalling his confusion over this. He might indeed know
the same event an uncountable multitude of times throughout his
unending life and could not see an absolute benefit in experiencing a
sensation but once. If something brought enjoyment and happiness, was
it not best to promote such to occur over and over? Then again, it must
be better to fend off a catastrophe, no matter how uncommon it might
be, acting to prevent its recurrence.

'They are the same things, adversity and prosperity, merely
viewed from different perspectives,' Elros would try to explain. 'All
of this,' and here he would sweep his gnarled hand out over the
glory
of his human Kingdom, his long snowy hair accentuating his age-etched
brow, grey eyes still fierce and piercing. 'All of this is but a
part
of it, the Music, and the sombre notes do not detract from the
magnificence of the symphony but give it fullness and enhance its
beauty.'

Enlightenment came to Elrond upon the birth of his sons. Never again
would that instant be his, that moment when he looked for the first
time into their innocent new-born eyes, heard their lungs exhale their
indignation to be parted from the safety of their mother's womb, felt
the feathery weight of their tiny bodies in his hands. Though overjoyed
in their nativity, he had wept inconsolably. It was days before
Celebrian would believe his promise that there was nothing amiss with
them, that her babes were strong and healthy.

That was almost an Age ago; why remind me of this again, muindor?
Did I
not learn that lesson well? Have I not watched over them with such
intensity that it drove them from home at times?

"Elrond? Is something wrong?"

The quiet voice startled the elven Lord and he turned sharply to find
Erestor there, tray in hand, peering at him in evident concern. "Nay, I
do not think so, or perhaps something is about to go wrong; I know
not," a sigh and then: " I have just been communing with Elros."

"Ah," the seneschal set the tray upon the table and took a seat as was
his habit. "It is the twins, then. Was the vision specific or one of
those teasing riddles Elros so loved to devise when he was still with
us bodily?" Mentally the worthy cohort of Imladris' Lord prepared
himself. The morning's conversation would revolve around one topic
only: the Choice. It was not Elrond's need to talk
about it that vexed him but that there was nothing Erestor could do to
ease his kinsman's fears.

"The vague, 'guess and I will give you clues' sort. My only
certainty is that they will arrive today, dawn has not brought them
through the gates, and thus I am concerned." Elrond sat as he uttered
these statements and reached for his mug of tea, blowing across its
tawny surface before tasting it.

"So I see." Erestor studied his friend closely. "You do not feel their
loss, though, so that is promising. Mayhap it is not they who are in
peril but someone close to them."

"Not Estel," Elrond shook his head emphatically, "although he is the
most likely to be in need. Neither is Arwen suffering, nor her grandparents,
for surely Galadriel would communicate such to me at once. Everyone
else dear to them is here."

"That we know of, yet they lead lives for long years away from Imladris
and there must be many mortals and elves they have befriended."

"I do not refute it, yet I say we would surely know of anyone so close
to their hearts."

"Perhaps it is someone new and there has not been time for word to
reach us. Half the letters never make it."

"Nay, it is something more. Whatever is happening is affecting them
both deeply. I fear it is due to the Decision."

Erestor sighed and set his spoonful of blueberries back in the bowl of
curds. "They would not make the Choice without speaking with you about
it."

"They would if they had no other option, a life or death situation or…"

"Nearly every day they confront such conditions, Elrond, and have never
been forced to choose thus. And I think we have narrowed it down quite
succinctly now, do you not agree? Elrohir has chosen his fate and
remains among the First Born. It is for Elladan you fear, as it has
always been. What is different this time?"

"I do not know for certain Elrohir's decision; it is just something I
saw in his eyes when Celebrian's boat sailed from Mithlond. He has yet
to declare himself to me."

"The last time we discussed this it was agreed that he refrains from
making any announcement so as not to pressure his brother."

"I am thinking now that was a foolish assumption. What chance is there
he could conceal such a major decision from Elladan? They share one
mind, are nearly of one soul."

"Did you know the moment Elros chose or did you have to hear it from
his lips?" challenged Erestor, for he knew this answer better than
anyone. He had been there to witness Elrond's desolate and bitter
condemnations, his charges of abandonment and betrayal. He had refereed
the brothers' heart wrenching arguments and consoled each in the
aftermath of tears and curses. No, Elrond had not had a clue what Elros
had chosen until the moment the words were spoken. Or rather, Elrond
had convinced himself that his elder brother would never leave him,
refusing to ever consider the possibility.

Elrond scowled and rose from the table, the morning meal untouched, but
said nothing more. What was the point in arguing with Erestor when he
could never win? Instead he dressed for the day and wandered out into
the grounds of his estate, avoiding contact with his household and
brooding over his sons' fates.

As was generally the case, Erestor's assessment was the correct one.
Elrond had not worried over Elrohir nearly as much over the
accumulating years since their birth. The youngest was always
lighter of heart and less likely to bury hurts to his soul. Elrohir was
quick to anger but even quicker to offer forgiveness or to ask for it
as the circumstances warranted. He was the one more likely to be hasty
in judgement but that was because his instincts proved true more often
than not. He possessed a knack for sizing up a situation and reading
hearts.

Few could deceive him and yet fewer still could genuinely say they knew
him. If queried, people would remark on his winning smile and generous
spirit, or his strength in battle and cleverness in tactics. Elrohir
remained friendly with everyone until given reason not to be, yet this
affability was more a shield for his inner self than a courtesy to
others. Elrond expected Elrohir to choose early the life of the eldar,
sure that his hesitation to speak had to do with Elladan's indecision
rather than his own.

Elladan, on the other hand, moved through life like an advancing storm.
Introverted and taciturn, moody, silent and brooding in expression of
deep emotion, people tended to avoid the elder of Elrond's sons. He was
called distant and unfeeling but such descriptions could not be more in
error. Elladan was steadfast, strong, and true. He never wavered from
his chosen course yet would step between his brother and harm without a
second thought. His heart he kept hidden from all save those who had
earned his trust, and that was a favour won with only great effort.
Despite his seemingly dour personality, there were few elves in Arda
more dauntless and fervently optimistic. No circumstances were ever
hopeless in Elladan's eyes, there was always a way to overcome the
odds, surrender was never an option.

So very like Elros.

Celebrian had warned Elrond often during the elder twin's youth that
this comparison was inaccurate. Nay, according to her Elladan was
exactly like her husband in personality. How the Lord of Imladris had
scoffed at that and even now, thinking on it, he snorted and shook his
head. Not because he still disbelieved her words but rather in
bemusement over his own blindness, for of course she had been right.
Elrond sighed and found his steps had carried him up onto the high
canyon wall overlooking the western approach to the hidden vale,
seeking with his keen sight any sign of his sons' return.

Dusk was accumulating within the sky, coating everything with a filmy,
eerie haze of half-lit colours and shortened depth before he relented
to Glorfindel's insistent pestering and returned to the house. Elrond
declined to eat with them and took root on the balcony, a lamp lit to
provide enough light for reading, which he pretended to do when both
his old friends insisted on waiting with him. They had brought books
along too and all three sat there in silence, never turning a page, as
the hours passed.

It was nearly midnight before the cacophonous pounding of hooves ended
their vigil and drew them to their feet, all racing down the stairs and
out to the courtyard to confront this doom, however bad it might be.
They expected some new tragedy to weather and braced for it: one or the
other of the twins must be upon the very borders of Námo's
realm. In utter relief they beheld both Elladan and Elrohir tall and
strong upon their chargers' backs. So great was Elrond's joy to
see them both leap from their horses with equal grace that he scarcely
took notice of the tightly wrapped figure Elladan carried in his arms.

Elladan did not stop to greet his father, racing instead for the
healing wards, Elrohir only two strides behind, calling for aid. The
three elder lords followed, Elrond at the fore, and he entered the room
in time to see his eldest son gently lay his burden down and then kneel
beside the bed. Elladan took up a pale, limp hand within his and
squeezed, then leaned close to pull back the thick woollen cloak
covering
this unknown person, placing a kiss upon the forehead and murmuring
soft encouragement into the elf's ear.

Elrond was so surprised he froze in the open doorway for a second,
staring, before turning to Elrohir for explanation. The second-born of
the twins only smiled sadly and motioned for his father to go to them.
When he did, Elladan rose and faced Elrond, still clutching the slender
fingers of the wounded elf, his fair features marred with tense
desperation.

"You must heal him, Ada," he said quietly. "As you love me, do not let
him die."

The longing and urgency in his eyes was so intense it stole away
Elrond's breath and quelled any words he might think to say. Behind
him, Glorfindel and Erestor's sharp intake of air upon hearing
this was plainly audible. The advisors wisely retreated to give the
family privacy and room to make the healing, knowing Elrond would
explain when it was appropriate to do so.

Elladan returned to his place on his knees as a weak groan broke from
the bed.

That was enough to jolt Elrond into action and he hastened to learn the
seriousness of the damage. There was no clothing to remove and he found
that was a blessing, though a disturbing one, for the battering was
severe.

The renowned healer discovered three broken ribs and a fractured wrist
that had also been bound in coarse rope so tightly the circulation had
been stopped. One leg was nearly black from hip to ankle due to
multiple compound fractures and two festering wounds that were
poisoning the flesh. A foul stench arose form those injuries and Elrond
worried if the damage had already gone too far to salvage the limb. He
continued his examination, cataloguing the damage in a sombre and
toneless voice.

The elf had been throttled, beaten, burned, whipped, stabbed with
arrows, and violated. Elrond had not seen evidence of torture this
horrendous in many centuries, especially on someone yet living. Though
he was a seasoned warrior, veteran of some of the most vicious battles
in history, and a physician to whom the most hopeless cases had been
entrusted, the sight of these injuries turned his stomach. It crossed
Elrond's mind that it would be better for this unfortunate creature had
he not survived to know the extent of his defilement. A glance at
Elrohir's woeful countenance revealed this was something he had also
considered.

A sharp cry erupted from the victim's throat as Elrond probed the deep
and nastily infected puncture in his left thigh. He thrashed against
Elladan's hold, quite strongly despite his debilitated state, and
Elrohir stepped in to help keep him steady so that the gash could
be thoroughly drained and packed.

All the while, Elladan maintained a constant converse with the patient.
"Do not stir yet," he consoled, hoping to ease the fears the treatment
provoked in the febrile mind. "Sleep, you are in the best of care now.
No one can harm you." He whispered softly these promises of peace and
freedom, safety and comfort, companionship and family. "I will stay
beside you and when you awaken I will be here. You are not alone."

As though to test the truth of the words, the broken warrior forced
opened his eyes a fraction and focused them unerringly upon Elladan's.
Elrond watched as his son positively beamed back into the agonised blue
orbs, seeing the intelligent coherence therein. A minute twitch of
swollen and cracked lips gave proof the injured ellon was equally
pleased. His lids drooped as consciousness fled, but his hand remained
tightly wrapped around Elladan's. The elder twin shared his smile with
his father and brother as they returned to their painstaking labours.

By then they had turned the insensible elf on his side and Elrond was
washing the inflamed and oozing lashes that covered his posterior from
the base of his scull to the backs of his knees. There was dirt and
offal ingrained into the overlapping cuts, though it was plain the
twins had paused long enough in their flight to remove the worst of it.
Where the flesh was not lacerated it was so deeply bruised the elf's
skin colour was transformed into a darkly mottled purple and green hue.
Elrond shook his head and sighed, certain everything they were doing
would be for naught.

Hours passed; how many they could not determine, too engrossed in the
healing to mark their passage. The helpless creature began to return to
cognisance and emitted a thin wail with nearly every exhalation as
Elrond strove to cleanse him of the foul remnants of the sexual
assaults, both inside and out. A harsh sob drew the healer's attention
and he looked up, alarmed to find Elladan weeping openly.

Elrond's soul twisted in both commiseration for Elladan's languishing
misery and tormented anger to see his indomitable eldest thus bowed,
head against that of the wounded elf, spilling tears upon the strained
and terror-marred face only to kiss them away and murmur tender
entreaties, pleading for the suffering soul not to fade. Elrohir and
Elrond again shared their doubts and worry silently as the father laid
a hand on his first-born's shoulder to gain his attention.

"Ion Iaur, (Eldest Son) mayhap it is best to let him go. This is not
something…"

"Nay!" Elladan hissed, his eyes livid in anger and accusation. "Do not
suggest such things! He is not meant to fade. He will heal; you will
see!" He went back to work, ignoring his father and brother, carefully
cleansing the patient's matted hair, searching for any undiscovered
contusions or trauma to the head.

The elf could not long bear the pain the efforts to help him caused and
became senseless once more. With a weary sigh Elrond resumed stitching
up an ugly knife wound, an oblique slash to the side that had spared
his
liver but not the spleen. That needed to be scooped out and he was glad
the wretched being was too deeply removed from reality to experience
the surgical procedure.

Dawn was breaking by the time they concluded their ministrations and
the elf was as clean and well-cared for as the lore-master's skill and
the grace of Vilya could promote. He rested fitfully, awareness rising
and falling with the depth of his agony and the height of his fever.
Elladan would not leave the bedside, keeping to his spot on the floor.

That Elrond would not permit and with Elrohir's help dragged a second
bed alongside. With a glance that informed of both his gratitude and
his exhaustion, Elladan kicked off his boots and climbed into it, never
releasing the patient's hand from his. Realising no explanations were
likely to be tendered until everyone had recouped their energy, Elrond
ushered Elrohir out, giving a last look at Elladan before closing the
door.

The younger twin and the elven Lord ambled down the corridor side by
side, heading for their rooms, and joined gazes a third time.

"Who is this elf?" Elrond queried, unable to wait.

"That is Legolas," Elrohir shrugged listlessly and yawned.

"What is he to your brother?"

"I know not for certain how it came about, Ada, but Elladan loves him."

At this the Lord of the Valley halted and gripped his son's arm, fixing
him with a stern glare of remonstrance. He was not in the habit of
permitting such mockery by his offspring, stressful night or not.

"It is the truth," Elrohir insisted with weary petulance.

Elrond swallowed, trying to make room in his trachea for air to speak.
"For how long?"

"He has been in our company five days."

Elrond could do naught but stare dumbly; this was so ludicrous he would
have laughed had the elf's condition not been so ravaged. Elrohir had
to tug his father into motion, a faintly indulgent smile ghosting over
his lips. He left him by the door to his bed chamber, promising to
explain what little there was to tell later.

And thus did Legolas enter their lives, proving Erestor's argument both
correct and erroneous all at the same time.

Continued