Arwen does not exist and Celebrían is long gone. We'll just say that Gilraen's eyes are brown for the sake of argument.
Vilya, the Elven Ring of Power that Elrond holds, is the clever wind for which this series was names after.
Also understand that the Elves are speaking in the Common Tongue so that Aragorn can understand them. Try to imagine them speaking in Elvish when he's not there. All Elvish words that I do use are translated in the [text] afterward. Things will be wrong.
Rated PG
Reona
Running for the Light
The rain fell in hard sheets from the sky, the dark clouds of the storm blocking all light from the moon or stars. A fierce wind whipped through the trees, tearing off leaves and pieces of bark and tossing them into the air. A searing flash of lightening lit the forest in a burning white, revealing the form of a woman running through the woods. She wore a rough spun dress dyed blue and a wet veil covered her dark hair, useless in its drenched state. The right side of her clothing was darkened by the bloodstain that spread from a broken arrow shaft lodged in her flash. On her left side she cradled a bundle to her shoulder protectively. The women stumbled as something caught at her foot and fell partially against a tree. There she stood for a moment, panting into the darkness as she gathered her strength.
The woman spat out a mouth full of rainwater, tasting the copper of blood on her tongue, and searched the blackness with wide eyes. She strained her ears for any sound of followers and then lurched from the support of the tree, dragging her feet along the ground as she forced herself to move forward. Pain burned up her right side and she clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. On she walked, holding the blanket covered bundle against her shoulder.
At last she came to a stone pillar and sobbed as she leaned against it. A benevolent face carved into the stone looked down upon the tired human below it, pity in its granite eyes. The woman scrambled up some steps and then fell to her knees in a garden courtyard. She allowed herself to fall forward onto the ground, her bundle next to her. A small boy's face, blood seeping from under his dark hair, peeked out from inside the blanket cocoon. The woman gasped in breath and let loose a plaintive cry into the night.
Elrond Peredhil sat straight up in bed, suddenly wide awake and trembling. Lightening flashed into his room and the house shook with rolling thunder. Wide silver grey eyes pierced the shadows of the night, keen ears straining against the silence. A gust of wind battered the glass of the balcony doors and the half-Elf sprang from his bed. He grabbed a cloak and quickly slipped on shoes before bursting out of the door to his room and racing down the hallway.
"Glorfindel!" Elrond cried as he clasped his cloak around his shoulders. "Glorfindel!"
A door slammed open and a disheveled blond haired Elf appearing the hallway. "Elrond? What's wrong?" demanded Glorfindel.
Elrond raced to him and Glorfindel caught the seemingly distraught dark haired half-Elf. "Glorfindel, gather the other healers and met me in the west courtyard." Elrond breathlessly ordered. He wrenched himself from the blond Elf's hold and took off down the hall.
Glorfindel, confused, called after him. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Do as I say!" yelled Elrond as he rounded the corner and disappeared into the shadows.
Glorfindel, eyes wide, raced in the opposite direction to do as he was told. He ran past a stunned Elladan and Elrohir that had emerged from their rooms at their father's shouting. "Follow him!" he yelled at them. The twins started and then followed their father.
Only his natural Elven grace kept Elrond from falling on the stairs. The stones were slick with water and the night was darker than normal for no stars or moon shone. He followed his instincts, the insistent call that told him something was very wrong. He raced to the small west courtyard where his feelings were pulling him to but stopped cold as he entered the archway.
Lying on the stone of the courtyard was the woman in the blue dress, unmoving as the rain beat down upon her. Elrond, forgetting to put up his hood and now completely soaked, hurried over to her and knelt. He rested one hand on her shoulder and was heartened by the groan the woman voiced. "Shh, don't move." he warned as the body shuttered.
The woman coughed and her head turned, one familiar brown eye rolling up to look at him. "Elrond?" she whispered.
Elrond gasped and lowered his face closer to the woman. "Oh Valar! Gilraen?" he cried. Before him on the ground lay none other then the wife of Arathorn, current heir to the throne of Gondor and descendant of Elros, Elrond's own twin brother. This was a member of the family that Elrond watched over and gave sanctuary to in his home, the family which he loved most completely other than his own.
Gilraen's lovely brown eyes were clouded with pain and her face was unnaturally white. "Arathorn, he…" A cough shook the small body before him and Elrond tried to hush her but she drew in breath to speak again. "We were attacked…he is dead." Elrond gasped and his eyes grew wide in disbelief. Gilraen's eyes rolled to the bundle that the half-Elf had not noticed. "Aragorn…" she whispered before going limp.
"Gilraen?" cried Elrond. Her eyes were closed and her breath was very shallow. The half-Elf looked to the bundle and gasped again at the small face he found within. Aragorn was Arathorn's son; this must be the child. Carefully, Elrond took the child and held him against his chest. The small human had blood on the side of his face, obviously from a head wound that kept him unconscious. But the child shivered in the cold and Elrond knew that he would be fine. The half-Elf rested his free hand on Gilraen's cheek, frowning as he let his healing energy spread into her.
Sound from just outside the courtyard brought Elrond's head up and several Elves rushed in, including the healer Meneréiel. Quickly the Elves fell to work as Elrond spoke of the situation. Aragorn was past over to one of the lesser healers as Gilraen was lifted and borne into the house. The storm continued on, its thunder sounding like mad laugher.
It took several hours for the arrow shaft and head to be removed from Gilraen's body. The crude weapon of orc design had to be carefully cut out as the bindings came apart, risking the arrowhead becoming lodged inside Gilraen. The bed on which the lady lay was stained red with her blood as the healers worked to save her life. But poison had entered the woman's blood and had coursed through her veins for many hours before she had reached the safety of the valley. Even as the healers bound the wound upon Gilraen's side her heart continued to slow.
Carefully, Gilraen was moved from the soiled bed and placed in a clean room. She was cleaned as best they could and then fed spoonfuls of tea laced with herbs. Leaving the others to clean the room where they had done the surgery, Elrond sat by Gilraen's bedside. He stared at the pale features of the woman who had loved Arathorn, the once defiant eyes now closed. He lay one tired hand softly upon her forehead and tried to use his healing abilities to ease her physical pain and lighten her dreams.
Noise at the door turned his head and Elrond looked at his worried sons, who had loved this family as much as he. "Is there no hope, Ada?" asked Elladan.
Elrond turned his head away sadly, his hand still resting on Gilraen's forehead. "Nay, she is dying even now." He took his hand from the woman's head and rested his hands in his lap, feeling the drain of using his abilities sorely this night. "Elladan, Elrohir. Come morning I wish for you and some of the Guard to ride out and find Arathorn's camp. There may be survivors." Elrond said. He turned his head a little, looking at his children out of the corner of his eye. "Then hunt down the band of orcs responsible for this."
The twins nodded. "We'll leave now, Ada." said Elrohir.
Elrond glanced toward the window and saw the lightening of the eastern sky, though it held no joy for him this morn. "Go then." he said. He heard his sons clatter from the House of Healing and resettled his gaze to the white features of Gilraen. He sat for some hours as the sun rose in the cloudy sky, calmly watching Gilraen's breath slow. Sometime later, he saw her breath stop completely and let it go. Elrond leaned down and put his lips close to the dead woman's ear. "Sen im gwesto. Aragorn innas tela tîn maranwe. Lle daerant ilinnas no nedh ilmaer." [This I swear. Aragorn will fulfill his destiny. Your sacrifice will not be in vain.]
Elrond pulled the sheet over Gilraen's face and stood from the bed. Solemnly, he walked from the room and made his way over to another room, where Aragorn had been placed. He hand reached for the latch when he noticed it was shaking. He pulled back and stepped away. A single tear made its way down his cheek as he pressed his forehead to the wall beside the door, his shoulders trembling. For a moment the half-Elf stood there, overwhelmed.
Stepping back, Elrond wiped at his face and smoothed back his hair. Finally, he was able to open the door and step inside. Glorfindel and Meneréiel, a healer Elrond himself had trained, were both in the room and looked up at him with a question in their eyes. Knowing what they wanted, he softly shook his head. Glorfindel lowered his eyes as Meneréiel sighed.
Upon the single bed of the room, seemingly lost among the blankets covering him, lay Aragorn. His face was cleaned but bruised and he was fast asleep. The she-Elf healer smoothed the linen and turned from the bed. "He had a slight bump on his head, my lord, that's all. We've given him some warm tea and made him comfortable. He should awake before long." reported Meneréiel.
Elrond nodded, dredging up a small smile for the other healer. "Hennad, Meneréiel" he said. [Thank you] Meneréiel curtsied and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Elrond slowly turned back to where Glorfindel sat. "Does he seem alright?" asked the dark haired half-Elf.
Glorfindel smiled sadly and nodded. "He's been resting peacefully enough but I'm no healer." he answered. He watched as Elrond approached the bed and hesitantly placed one hand softly on top of the child's head. Glorfindel glanced away and saw the sky turning blue through the window. "I suppose you have already sent the twins out." he said.
Elrond nodded as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed. "I suspect they are already gone." he muttered. "I just hope there are survivors so that we may know what completely happened." He was slightly mortified when another tear fell from his silver grey eyes.
Glorfindel stood and pulled Elrond from the bed. The half-Elf turned his face away, but the other Elf would have none of that. Glorfindel captured Elrond's cheek and raised his eyes. "It is alright to cry, Elrond." he whispered. A following tear rolled down the half-Elf's cheek, until a steady spring shower fell from his eyes. Glorfindel pulled Elrond close and held him. "It is alright to mourn." he continued. "There is no shame in your feelings and no reason to hold them inside."
Elrond began to cry in earnest; mourning the child's parents, mourning his brother's descendants, mourning the woman he could not save, and mourning the man he didn't have a chance to save. Glorfindel led the trembling half-Elf to the couch and set them both down, holding the other in his arms. He hummed a tune under his breath so quietly that he knew only Elrond would be able to hear it. Before the sun rose completely over the Misty Mountains, the half-Elf was asleep, exhausted from the night. Glorfindel leaned back against the couch and shifted Elrond so that he rested more comfortably on his chest. He then settled in to wait for either human child or Elf lord to awake, whichever did so first.