Chapter 10

Anteruon looked in horror at the ragged wound in Elrohir’s left leg. "Your knife, Legolas," he ordered, "quickly." Turning to Elladan, who had settled the elf-knight’s head in his lap, he said, "I must open the wound, to rid it of as much poison as possible. It will be a swift pain, my friend. Talk to him."

Taking the razor-sharp blade from his brother, Anteruon quickly cut away the torn leggings, then, without a pause, cut two intersecting slashes into the spider wound. So sharp was the blade and so sure the prince’s movements that Elrohir felt little pain, save the fierce burning of the venom.

As Anteruon began manipulating the opened flesh, squeezing out blood and clear yellow-green fluid, Elrohir gripped his brother’s hand tightly. "I love you, tôren," Elladan said softly, stroking Elrohir's pale face soothingly. "Stay with me.

"Love you, el nín," the elf-knight gasped, as a wave of nausea rolled over him. "Where is ‘Las?"

"I am here," Legolas answered, his calm voice belying the fear swirling in his chest. Forcing back the tears that threatened, he clasped Elrohir’s other hand, interlacing their fingers. "You will be fine, ‘Roh. Once my brother finishes with his play, we will get you to the healers."

A weak smile flitted across Elrohir’s face, "Aye, I am due a rest, anyway." Closing his eyes against another wave of nausea, the elf-knight pulled Legolas’ hand to his face, pressing his lips to the palm. "I love you, anor nín," he whispered. "I am sorry."

Seeing his brother’s facade begin to shatter, Anteruon interrupted gruffly, "There is no need for speeches, peredhel. You will have many years to apologize. We should head for the Halls now." Motioning Legolas aside, he said quietly, "You had best warn the healers, tôren. You are much faster than I. Elladan can carry him, and I will watch for spiders and act as a guide."

Legolas opened his mouth to argue, then shut it abruptly, realizing Anteruon was right. Dropping a swift kiss on Elrohir’s sweat-streaked face, he whispered, "I love you, rohir nín. Do not leave me." With a quick embrace for Elladan, he was gone, disappearing swiftly among the trees.

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~Imladris 2151 III~

The Hall of Fire was filled with light and song. Elrond sat by the great hearth, the sharp planes of his face thrown into vivid relief by the flickering flames. "Come Glorfindel, sing us another," he prodded, his devilish grin lending him a startling likeness to his own sons. "Gildor has yet to hear the latest of your accomplishments."

A murmur of agreement sounded from the surrounding elves and the leader of the wanderers nodded, a mirthful ring in his voice. "Aye, do, cousin," Gildor urged, his deep blue eyes sparkling. "I see you have become learned in things other than warfare." When Glorfindel cast a glance at the chief minstrel, his kinsman chuckled. "Lindir will not mind," Gildor insisted, restlessly worrying his own golden braids.

The minstrel smiled, his mithril-pale eyebrows raising slightly. "Nay, I do not mind, híren," he agreed in his light, musical tones. "To be the sole entertainer in Imladris would be quite a heavy load. I am not at all adverse to sharing the burden."

Smiling, Elrond listened as Glorfindel began a familiar tune in his rich baritone, the melody quickly supported by Lindir’s harp. As the words washed over him, Elrond was suddenly aware of a presence...a gentle, yet persistent pull in his mind, as though someone struggled frantically to reach him. Frowning, he rose abruptly from his chair to find Erestor at his side. "What is amiss?" the advisor asked quietly.

"I felt a touch, as though someone is attempting a connection," Elrond answered, already headed for the door, "but the distraction is too much. I must have quiet."

Following his liege to the study, Erestor closed the door, then waited silently, his hand on Elrond’s shoulder. With perception born of long experience, he noted the link forming and closed his eyes, lending his own considerable mental strength to Elrond. Though unable to discern a message not intended for him, Erestor shivered as a chill ran through his body, and the feeling of foreboding grew as Elrond stiffened perceptibly, his profound mental focus faltering. The connection broke suddenly, and Elrond raised both hands to his face, drawing a deep breath. Erestor dropped to his knees beside the chair, slipping a comforting arm around his friend. "What has happened, híren?" he probed gently, shoving back his own rising dread.

As Elropnd uncovered his face, Erestor instinctively held his breath. The depth of pain that flared in the twilight-grey eyes was heartrending, and the chief advisor immediately thought of Ereinion. He had not seen such anguish in Elrond’s eyes since the high king fell. Panic striving with his reason, Erestor grasped his companion’s arm firmly. "Elrond? Please, gwadoren," he said, unconsciously returning to the long-ago endearment, seldom used since the fall of Gil-galad, when Elrond had become, willing or no, the uncrowned successor to his liege-lord and lover. "What has happened?"

"It is Elrohir," Elrond answered hoarsely, his face rigid. "He has been attacked by a spider. Thranduil’s healers have done what they can, but he remains unresponsive." Closing his eyes against a rush of tears, Elrond said tightly, "We must leave at once if there is to be any hope, however small."

Embracing his lord swiftly, Erestor rose to his feet. "I will inform Glorfindel and he will stir up a guard, while the servants pack. Would you have me go, or remain here?"

"I wish to have you with me, gwadoren," Elrond replied, returning the endearment with a firm arm-clasp, "But Celebrian will need you here. I would have you stay and manage the valley in my stead. Gildor will remain, I am sure."

As Erestor started to leave the study, he was struck with a second wave of foreboding. Turning back to Elrond, he asked quietly, "What of Elladan? Did Thranduil say how he fares?"

Elrond shook his head slowly. "He is not well. Legolas is with them, but it will be no matter." Raising his head to meet Erestor's gaze, he said, "If Elrohir passes to the Halls, Elladan will fade. I will lose them both."

"You will lose neither, Elrond," Erestor said with quiet assurance. "Prepare for your journey, híren, and comfort your lady. I will see to everything else."

By the time Erestor had ordered the packing of food and supplies, Glorfindel and his hastily assembled troop were dressed and waiting for Elrond. Drawing Glorfindel aside, Erestor kissed him lingeringly. "Be safe," he whispered, "and look after Elrond. He is too silent."

"I will," Glorfindel promised, embracing Erestor tightly. "Do not worry. I will be safe for the both of us."

Lifting his eyes to Glorfindel's face, Erestor said, "Remember of what we were speaking, yes? Do not let a chance slip by unused."

"I would wait until you were there..." Glorfindel began slowly, only to be interrupted by his lover.

"It is likely to be another century or more before that happens," Erestor pointed out with a small smile. "It is alright, melethron."

"We will see," Glorfindel replied cautiously. "I will promise no more." Catching sight of Elrond, he sighed, "It is time to go." Kissing Erestor soundly, he strode quickly to his horse, swinging lightly to Asfaloth’s back. With a final word to Erestor, Elrond nodded and Glorfindel led the way to the gates and the company passed through them under the starless sky.

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~Mirkwood 2151 III~

Elrohir lay ominously still, even the shuddering convulsions of his body’s reaction to the spider-venom left behind as he weakened further. A week had passed. Seven days in which Legolas and Elladan had sat helplessly beside the elf-knight, refusing to leave his side, eating only bites of food brought to the healing chambers, washing quickly by turns in a tub near the fireplace.

Anteruon entered cautiously and looked around the room, frowning as he realized the younger twin was alone. Elrohir should not be without Elladan. Where was the blasted healer? Where was Thranduil? Bursting through the door into the medicine room, Anteruon barely registered his father's presence, all his attention focused on one question as he grabbed the startled apprentice’s tunic.

Thranduil glowered, grasping his eldest son’s arm. "What are you..."

"Where are they?" Anteruon spat, each word etched in ice. Shaking off his astounded father’s hand, he lifted the unfortunate healer bodily. "Where are his brother and mine?"

"I...I...they would not rest, híren. Iit was only...a sleeping draught..." the terrified young elf spluttered.

"WHERE?" Anteruon bellowed, his furious gaze locked on the limp form in his grasp.

"In the ward, híren, just next door," the apprentice managed. "It was only a sleeping..."

"Go get them, son," Thranduil interrupted sharply. "I will handle this." As the crown prince rushed out of the room, the king turned a scathing gaze on the unfortunate healer, his voice dangerously soft, "You fool! Have you been so long with your plants and potions that you have forgotten all else? Did you listen to nothing your master said? They are twins! You have separated your patient from the half of his soul that is unharmed."

Turning abruptly, Thranduil strode after his son, leaving the mortified elf to ponder his mistake.

Anteruon was trying unsuccessfully to rouse a restless Elladan when Thranduil entered the ward chamber. "There is no time for that," the king said, lifting the elder twin in his arms. "Get your brother, Anteruon, and hurry."

Elladan stirred drowsily, shifting as Thranduil laid him beside his twin. "’Roh?" he murmured, snuggling closer to the still form, "I am here, tôren."

The king watched anxiously, relieved to see some slight movement, as though the elf-knight were drawing strength from his brother. Placing a hand on each dark head, his heart faltered. Elrohir was burning with fever, rivulets of sweat streaking his face and neck. The elder twin was icy cold, his skin dry as parchment.

As Anteruon gently laid his brother on the other side of the injured elf, Legolas reached out sleepily, draping one arm across Elrohir to rest his hand on Elladan’s hip. "’Tis alright, rohir nín...el nín," he mumbled, slipping back into a drugged rest.

Looking at the three, Thranduil was struck by a sharp stab of fear. ‘There is more than one life at stake,’ he realized suddenly. ‘Elladan will surely follow, if Elrohir passes. Then what of Legolas?’

As though reading his father's thoughts, Anteruon said quietly, "Are they bound, Ada?"

"Nay," Thranduil answered slowly, "at least not by rites." Reluctantly remembering the ease with which Legolas could communicate with the twins, Thranduil added, "But there are many different kinds of bonds. I would say they are entwined in some way."

"How long before Lord Elrond arrives?" Anteruon asked soberly, his hopes, too, pinned on the Noldo healer and loremaster he had so recently scorned.

"Another week, perhaps a few days less," the king replied. "It is not impossible to make the journey in two weeks, even without fresh horses, and I have sent a party of guards with extra mounts to meet them at the foot of the mountains."

"So, we wait?" Anteruon queried, his face troubled.

"Aye," Thranduil agreed, squeezing his son’s shoulder. "We wait."

*~*~*~*~*

el nín - my star
rohir nín - my knight
tôren - my brother
híren - my lord
gwadoren - my sworn brother
melethron - lover