Tears of the Night

Elladan firmly believed the Valar were aiding him in his flight to Imladris. The horses seemed to have more energy within them and did not need to be rested as often as he had thought. One of the men Aragost had sent with him had some measure of healing skills and thus was able to aid him in keeping Elrohir’s wounds cleaned and bound.

Few did the group pass as they took the road. When it appeared they might come upon someone, they sought to go around through the forests that surrounded them, but there were still times when they roared past groups of children playing in the dirt who still watched them in amazement and confusion.

Elrohir’s moaning cries for their naneth lasted for much of the journey, accompanied by calls for their father and for Arwen. Much to his own shame, Elladan learned to become accustomed to the sounds that came from his wounded twin and blocked them from his conscious mind.

It was not until the group had almost reached the Bruinen that the moans stopped and true terror engulfed him.

They had stopped briefly to rest the horses and again change the bandages on Elrohir’s wounds. Baran, the man who assisted him in this task, stopped midway through binding the wound on his left side to stare down at the wounded Peredhel.

“What is it,” Elladan asked distractedly as he continued to bind his brother’s other wound. “We must move on soon. We-”

“Elladan, Elrohir makes no sound. He has fallen silent and his skin grows more pale than the moon above us. His eyes have closed.”

Elladan’s grey eyes riveted onto his twin’s face and saw the Man was correct. A thin sheen of sweat covered Elrohir’s face, even on his closed eyelids. The only indication of life within him was how his lips were parted slightly to draw air into his lungs. But that in itself was not much comfort, for his breaths had grown shorter and shallower as time passed them by.

“Finish with his wound,” he ordered grimly. “We must continue on.”

The band continued on in silence, but with an additional urgency. The reality that the younger son of Elrond was truly dying spurred them on with all the more energy.

Just as they reached the Fords of Bruinen, Elladan shouted loudly in Elvish, identifying himself and those who road with them. He was not entirely sure if he heard the returning call, but he cared little. He did not pause as their horses smashed into the water.

As they entered the lands controlled by his father, Elladan began to feel some measure of relief. The moment they had crossed the river, Elrond had undoubtedly sensed their impending arrival with one who had been wounded. Elladan did not know if he would know it was his own son who was being brought in to be healed, but he knew his father would be ready for their arrival.