“Where are we? How did I get here?”
Elrohir thought he had never been so happy in his young life as he was at those first, hoarsely whispered words. “Praise the Valar,” he breathed as he knelt beside Elladan’s cloak-draped form. “You are awake.”
Elladan moved to sit, gasping in surprise as his right side refused to cooperate, a stab of nausea-producing pain rushing from shoulder to fingertips before spreading dully across his chest.
“Nay!” Elrohir barked, easing his brother back to the ground. “You must not move it, ‘Dan.”
Elladan’s eyes widened perceptibly, a hint of panic stirring in their depths. “I must not move what?”
“Your arm,” Elrohir explained, brushing Elladan’s hair back from his sweat-damp brow. “It is broken, tôren. And likely your ribs, too.” Tucking his own rolled cloak more comfortably under his brother’s head, he added, “I have sent Nínim for help.”
“He is a dog, ‘Roh.”
“And Glorfindel will realize something is amiss, and follow him here.”
More alert now, Elladan’s mind turned back to the foremost riddle. “But I do not understand. How came I to fall?”
A rather awkward silence ensued.
“’Roh?”
“We were climbing the largest Thônvelui...do you remember?”
“Aye,” Elladan agreed slowly, “to see if the hawk had yet hatched her nestlings.”
“That is right,” Elrohir replied, shifting uneasily. “What else do you recall?”
“Nothing.”
“Perhaps you should just rest,” Elrohir suggested hopefully. “Help will arrive soon.”
“And when it does, I intend to know what has left me in need of rescue!” Elladan snapped. “What happened, ‘Roh?”
Elrohir sighed in defeat. “There was a branch...you worried that it would not hold us both...”
“Aye! I remember!” Elladan broke in excitedly. “You said it was sturdy enough for ten elves.”
There was a weighty pause.
“In fact, it was not.”
*A/N: “Thônvelui” is an invented species of evergreen. It roughly translates as ‘Sweet Pine’.