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 parents, 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

A/N: Written for the Royal Mirkwood Home Valentine's Fic Challenge 2006. AU, of course. Dedicated to AnarIthilien with much respect and admiration. Fairly standard 'Legolas gets captured, tortured, rescued, and wooed' story. Takes place sometime after TA 2980 but before the Ring Quest, thus Aragorn was often in the wilds among the Rangers but had already pledged his heart to Arwen. Assumes Legolas is young but grown up just because I prefer it that way. Leönalta as one of the Valarindi attached to Námo is purely the writer's invention. Allusion made to Elros and Elrond as twins, with Elros vaguely implied as the elder twin, based on Tolkien's notes published posthumously in "The Lost Road and other Writings", pg. 161.

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

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