Chapter 11

Elladan looked much younger than his two millennia, his clouded grey eyes holding Thranduil’s pleadingly. "I do not understand, híren," he said wearily. "The fever has passed. Why does he not wake?" His voice nearly breaking, he added, "I can no longer feel him."

Thranduil sighed, wrapping the elder twin comfortingly in his arms, as though Elladan were one of his own children. "What do you know of the spiders, young one?" Thranduil asked, meeting the question with another, in true elvish fashion.

"Little, I suppose," Elladan replied. "I know that their poison is often deadly. The tales say they are descended through many centuries from the dark creatures of the earliest ages."

"The tales are true," the king said gently. As a look of horror spread over Elladan’s face, he went on, "The giant spiders of Mirkwood are not true spawn of Ungoliant’s daughters, yet they are evil none the less. Their poison affects not only the body, but the soul, as well."

"Will he wake?" Elladan demanded, once again meeting Thranduil's gaze.

"I...please, Elladan...wait for..." the king began, stumbling over the harsh words.

"Will he wake, híren?" Elladan repeated, tightening his desperate hold on Thranduil's arm.

"I do not know," Thranduil admitted, his voice defeated. "I have not seen one return from the shadows after so long. But Elrond will arrive at any time, and we must place our hope in him."

A lone tear trickled down Elladan’s cheek as he stroked his brother’s face. Moving his hand to the golden hair spread like a gossamer blanket across Elrohir’s chest, Elladan gently tucked a braid behind Legolas’ ear. "I would not have us leave this world, when we have so recently found such a treasure," he whispered softly, as though speaking thoughts aloud.

Unsure that the words were intended for his ears, unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Thranduil contented himself with holding Elladan snugly, as though his embrace could prevent them all from slipping away.

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

Barangolas rushed toward the gates, his shrill whistle alerting the guards to his presence. As the barrier swung silently open, he caught sight of his eldest brother. "Anteruon!" he called, "They are here! Lord Elrond’s party approaches."

"Send some grooms for the horses, tôren," Anteruon directed, "then tell Ada. I will bring them to the healing hall."

As he dismounted at the gates, Elrond was astounded to see Thranduil’s eldest - arrogantly reserved at their previous meetings - racing toward him at a great pace. "Lord Elrond," the crown prince gasped, managing a slight bow before he seized the peredhel’s arm urgently. "Please, come with me, híren," Anteruon directed, tugging impatiently at Elrond's arm. "I will take you to them."

Elrond motioned for Glorfindel to follow, and Anteruon set off at nearly a run for the healing hall, dragging the others with him. "The fever has broken, but Elrohir does not wake," he offered grimly, striding into the healer’s rooms.

Elrond’s hope faltered as he entered the chamber where his son struggled to survive. Elrohir’s face was drawn and grey, his eyes dark-ringed. Legolas lay curled against the elf-knight, his fingers tangled tightly in Elrohir's unbound hair, as though he could prevent his lover’s passing by physical restraint alone. Elladan sat close against Thranduil, seeming to draw strength from the woodland king’s embrace. He clasped his brother’s hand, murmuring half-heard endearments that tore at Elrond’s heart.

"Elrond! Glorfindel!" the king said, suddenly aware of the visitors’ presence. Rising to greet his friends, he embraced Elrond warmly. "Forgive me," Thranduil said hoarsely, his proud head drooping. "I have failed to protect what you entrusted to me..."

"Nay, Thranduil," Elrond interrupted, clasping the king’s arm, "There is no need for blame here. Only healing."

"Elrond is right, my friend," Glorfindel agreed, squeezing Thranduil's shoulder reassuringly. "It was naught you did, or could have done."

Returning the touch, Thranduil smiled faintly. "I am glad you came, Glorfindel. It has been far too long."

"It has, indeed," Glorfindel answered, holding the king’s emerald gaze. "Far too long."

Sitting down beside Elladan, Elrond wrapped his eldest son in a warm embrace. Turning his head into his father’s shoulder, Elladan finally allowed his tears to fall unchecked, sobs wracking his body. "Hush, now, 'Adan," Elrond crooned, as though talking to an elfling. "We must see what is to be done. I will need you, and Legolas, too."

Awakened by his lover’s distress, Legolas sat up, reaching for Elladan’s hand. "What would you have us do, híren?"

"First I must speak with the healers," Elrond replied soberly. "Anteruon said the fever had passed."

"If I may, Lord Elrond," the chief healer offered hesitantly, moving to the bedside. At Elrond’s nod, he continued, "’Tis not a usual case of spider-venom illness. In most cases, the fever breaks before the body is exhausted and they survive, or it does not, and they pass. The soul-sickness takes them before their body can recover. Lord Elrohir’s fever lasted for nine days - a great length of time - and I held little hope. Yet now the fever has broken, but he will not wake. He seems unable to leave the shadows."

"I fear your may be right," Elrond said with a sigh. Drawing a deep breath he smiled grimly, "But there is no profit in guessing." Laying his hands gently on Elrohir’s head, he closed his eyes, reaching into his son’s mind. Long minutes passed in which Elladan and Legolas grew more and more alarmed, seeing the deepening frown on Elrond’s face.

Finally breaking the link, Elrond looked drained, his eyes clouded. "He should have passed before this day," he whispered. "The tie between body and spirit is nearly severed." Looking at Elladan and Legolas, he continued, "We must draw him back now, if it is not too late. I need both of you. I can not be both caller and healer. It will take all my strength to bind his spirit once it returns." Placing their hands on Elrohir’s head, he covered them with his own, then ordered, "Call him. Use your mind, just as though he were well. I will show him your memories, that he might find his way back."

‘Roh? It is time to come back, tôren. The fever is passed.

Aye, it is time, rohir nín. ‘Dan and I are here. Come back to us.

Their words meeting with silence, Legolas and Elladan focused instead on their memories, drawing up pictures of time spent together...laughing, playing, loving.

Come back, melethen. Do not leave me, please.

Feeling the rush of Elladan’s memories, Legolas searched desperately for anything that would lead his lover back. As more erotic scenes began to flood his mind, the prince let them flow without censure. Scenes from the bathing pools at Imladris, waterfalls, black silk sheets, and soft furs in firelight...all washed through his mind in waves. Briefly wondering if Elrond was actually seeing the memories, or merely channeling them, Legolas felt a flush spread over his face, and the tips of his ears begin to burn.

You are sweet when you blush, ‘Las.

His eyes flying open, Legolas found himself staring down into amused grey eyes. Tired, dark-ringed, and sunken...but amused. Tears welling in his own eyes, he glanced across the bed to see Elladan smiling broadly, his cheeks wet with tears.

"It was thoughtless of you, tôren, to rest so long," Elladan teased, his breath hitching as he leaned down to rub his cheek against Elrohir’s face.

"It is good to be back," the elf-knight rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "How long?"

"Ten days, rohir nín," Legolas replied, brushing a kiss over one starkly prominent cheekbone. "You will owe us heavily when you are well," he joked gently, before burying his face in his lover’s neck.

"Love you, 'Dan...'Las...Ada," Elrohir mumbled drowsily, his eyelids already drooping as he slid into a deep healing sleep.

Elrond pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, his own eyes shimmering. "Mae govannen, 'Rohir," he said softly. "I love you." Rising from the bed, he urged Legolas and Elladan down. "He must sleep, and you should remain close. Lie down and rest. I will keep watch."

Thranduil, his eyes suspiciously bright, came to the bed, running a gentle hand over the three tousled heads. "I will have a light meal sent up," he offered, and Elrond gratefully accepted. Looking at Glorfindel uncertainly, the king asked, "Will you remain here, or join us in the pavilion?"

"I will join you, if I may, Thranduil," Glorfindel answered quickly. Moving to the bed, he laid a hand on each pale forehead in turn, before looking to Elrond. "If you do not need me, híren?"

Smiling slightly, Elrond waved a hand toward the door. "Nay, I do not need you, gwador. Go and relax. It was a hard ride."

Thranduil spared one last glance for the trio curled tightly together on the bed. Turning to his other sons, he motioned toward the door. "Come," he urged. "They need peace, and we have guests."

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

"How is Erestor?" Thranduil asked suddenly, fixing Glorfindel with an intense stare. The two sat on the ledge of a courtyard fountain, sipping miruvor - a gift from Elrond - and talking amicably, their conversation becoming more and more intimate. Uncomfortably intimate, as Thranduil reasoned it.

Glorfindel chuckled, his sapphire-blue eyes twinkling. "You remind me of my lover to stave off unwelcome advances?"

Much to his dismay, Thranduil found himself blushing for the first time in many centuries. "I merely asked after Erestor," he said quickly. "I did not mean to imply..."

"Erestor is well," Glorfindel broke in, taking pity on his companion. "He very much regretted that he could not accompany us." Pausing for a moment, he added, "He very much regretted not seeing you."

"It would have been good to see him, also," Thranduil said, perhaps a shade too warmly, eager to change the subject. "It has been many years since we met." As Glorfindel arched his eyebrow in amused interrogation, the king went on, "Just as it has been many years since I saw you, my friend."

Glorfindel nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just as it has been many years since you saw me, Thranduil?"

No longer able to ignore the other elf’s gentle teasing, Thranduil raised a hand in surrender. "No, Glorfindel, not just as it has been many years since I saw you." Breaking into a reluctant grin, he said, "The last time I saw Erestor, he did not stand naked on my balcony. Nor did he leave me bruised for days."

Shaking with mirth, Glorfindel retorted, "What a shame. Perhaps we can remedy that."

At the king’s look of utter amazement, his companion chortled delightedly. "You could join us, yes?" His eyes sparkling, Glorfindel leaned closer. "Honestly, Thranduil," he purred wickedly, "Have you not ever wondered exactly what Legolas does with his twins?"

*~*~*~*~*

rohir nín - my knight
tôren - my brother
mae govannen - well met
híren - my lord
gwador - sworn brother