Authors Note: I'm so very sorry I made you all wait this long. There is no reason I can give and no excuse. I offer you all this chapter as an apology and I sincerely hope you have not abandoned this story, because I promise you I never will. Hopefully you'll read on, but I suggest reading the previous chapter once more, just to refresh your memory. I apologize once again.

Crystal Tears of Blood

Chapter 21

Destiny Pays No Mind

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."

-Lucius Annaeus Seneca-

An eerie silence had fallen upon the camp. But to say that it was anything less then deafening would be a gross misconception. It consumed the trees and they shivered underneath its weight. No one left standing had the voice to speak. The dying hadn't the mind to. As it was, they did not make any indication to their existence at all as if a single muffled sound from their graying lips might bring the entire forest down about them. The wind had died down, the rain had slowed to a weeping drizzle. The whole wood was holding it's breath.

The four that stood under the bowing eaves paid no mind to the silence or gave any thought to it's significance. They stood about the carnage with no sympathy for those who had fallen, for none was deserved. For the elves, the orcs only lived so they could be killed. Lungs thirsty for air with no taint of evil heaved heavy breaths, knees shaking as the adrenaline of the fight left worn down bodies. Arms that were still poised for a hit fell limply to their sides and dark eyes blinked dazedly against the rain soaked hair that fell into them. But no one dared move. They had won, yes, but they were beat, and who was to say their purpose was even still among them? No sign of their living. No sign on their having died. To know for certain they would have to move. Needed to move. But for fear of what they should come across if they did...

They hadn't the desire to.

Elrond and Glorfindel shook out of their blood hazed fog first, sheathing their swords almost simultaneously. Millenia of life on Arda, through battles and peace, told them that standing struck dumb would do no good for those they sought, whether they be safe or otherwise. Elrohir and Estel were slower to react. Too inexperienced to bear the thought. The young noldo swiped a hand across his strained features as Estel fumbled mindlessly with the sword in his hand, trying to put it back in its place. But he was shaking so badly... he couldn't do anything straight. 14 years of age and already dealing with struggles beyond his years. Elrond walked up along side his two sons and briefly clasped their shoulders. Love, strength, encouragement. All emotions that may be felt through touch in that one gesture. Then continued on his way past them.

"Is this the pathway to his quarters?" He asked. His voice was hallow and grim, starched stiff with worry. Estel nodded slowly.

"That's the way he left the camp." He answered in monotone, lacking of any emotion and wavering slightly. It was the cold beginning to affect him. At least that was what he told himself was happening. Truly, his voice shook with fear. Elrond turned back, thinking the tone meant something of more consequence.

"You are not injured, Estel?"

"No, adar," Estel mumbled. "No, I'm not." A quick glance at the four companions revealed that non were hurt badly. Glorfindel's leg bled from a angry gash just above his knee, but it was nothing serious. Blood dripped slowly from Elrohir's fingers and Elrond traced the streaked trail to his shoulder where his right hand was clapped tightly down atop some injury, but a slight shake of the head let Elrond to the conclusion that that wasn't of any serious worry either. Estel, miraculously, was unscathed. That they had escaped without much harm was a thing to be thankful for... but there were still two others that had yet to be accounted for.

"I think it is best move forward," Elrond broke through as the rain began to fall hard again. "The sooner we find them the better, no matter their condition. Keep on your guard. Some may still be waiting for us." He turned his back and stepped onward, followed by Elrohir, then a hesitating Estel. Glorfindel came last, limping lightly and wiping a drop of rain off of his nose. He glanced up at the angry sky and muttered uncatchable words. It was a prayer, one he was certain was falling upon deaf ears.

'No matter the condition'... A sentence that did nothing to lighten the hearts of those who heard it. They were no fools. They knew what the condition would be. If should have been said that it was better to find them sooner than later, no matter how close to death they may be.

They left the horrid scene of the skirmish behind them, following the pathway to where they believed Naharák's quarters were. Not a word was spoken among them and each and every one could feel an unspeakable tension hanging in the air like a low lying cloud. They were on their guard as Elrond had told them to be, but hearing nothing and sensing nothing. It was difficult for one to focus on being vigilant. They knew not what they were walking into, even when they did. Knew nothing of the condition of the two elves, even as they pictured it over and over in their heads. Knew not even if they still lived and breathed, all the while hoping it was an unnesaccary thought. Yet they walked, creeping ever slowly to that unknown. And soon, the tent of the madman came into clear and certain view, door flap fluttering awkwardly in the wind. On silent command, the four stopped, non making any move to continue. The very sight of the shelter had frozen them. Elrond glanced back at the others, unsurprised that they wore the same expressions on their faces that he did. Fear. Dread. Hope.

Doubt.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, running a hand through soaked hair. He willed his feet to move forward, urged his body to follow. Ten steps and he'd be in, witnessing either horror or sweet relief. Seven steps till he would know their fate. He wished that step 5 would transport him to his bedchamber and he would awake to find this all a horrid nightmare. That his son would be three rooms down the right, like he always was, and the prince would be sleeping in the great oak in the garden, where he always ended up. With two to go, he knew that wouldn't happen. He paused before the door and braced himself against the knowledge that that image of happiness might soon be nothing more than a shattered memory before he flung the sopping material aside. The air that assaulted him was warm and thick and it caused a chill to run violently down his spine. Evil snaked out of the structure like dying breath finally being let out of cracked lips, with no intention of being taken back in. Not so deep in the back of his thoughts Elrond felt that life, too, had crept out the entry. There was only darkness within, deep and nearly impenetrable to even his eyes. Too thick to support life. Candles burned once, but most had blown out. No light broke through from the outside. He stepped in.

The others followed suite, Glorfindel the last to enter. He walked in slowly, eyes open wide and searching, heart pounding in his ears. He was rigid with anticipation, praying his fear was misplaced but knowing that something had gone wrong. The air felt too heavy for everything to be alright. Something in his very soul sent out a warning and he couldn't escape the fear that gripped his heart like a vice that he would find neither Elladan or Legolas alive. It was too dark. Too quiet. Not a thing but the tense breathing of those that searched blindly could be heard. Never the less he kept a strangle hold on the last shred of hope he had, searching every shadowed corner for some sign of life. It was then he found Naharák.

He walked towards the body slowly, warily. In the darkness he could just barely make out the figure, skull smashed in against a rock, a sword buried into his chest, blood pooling beneath him. The sight was gruesome, but it was welcome. Glorfindel gave the creature a swift kick to the side, checking for life he knew he wouldn't find, and the elf felt a surge of relief along with the disgust. It was the end of a terrifying legacy that had lasted far too long. He sheathed his sword, knowing that he would no longer need it, and called out tentatively to the others.

"Naharák is dead," He said simply. "He's been run through. One of them had to have done it."

"I cannot see them anywhere..." Estel whispered, voice betraying his age. "I cannot see anything." Glorfindel's heart broke at the tone, as if he had failed the two by not being able to see through the darkness. "Can you see them, adar?"

"No, ion in. I cannot. It is so dark in here..."

Elrohir took a few tentative steps after another, letting his eyes wander to where his heart guided him. Gazing intently through the darkness of the far right corner, his heart felt no heavier. He looked to the closer right and the wall between. A chair, a rack of weapons, but no bodies and no signs. But when his eyes drifted to the far left corner of the tent, his heart lurched. There behind a small table, where the flickering light failed to reach and the shadows lay so thick they oppressed any hope of life, came the glint of pale gold. One moment of frozen inability passed where all he could manage was a small cry of anguish before every emotion of anger and pain came crashing down on him and he rushed forward, clearing the distance between him and his brother in seconds. The sight of the two caused his heart to break. The battered and bloody body of Elladan was held close too the still form of Legolas, whose shoulders slumped forward and whose head rested against the others shoulder. Elrohir dropped to his knees by their side, finally managing to call out to his father.

"Im radahain, adar!" He reached out to his brother and his voice faltered to a desperate whisper. "Im radahain. Adar, Im... Valar, seas. Seas annahain cuil..." Gently he pulled his brother out of Legolas's protective embrace into his own arms, cradling him as if he were a new born child. Elladan stirred not in the slightest. Frantically Elrohir checked for a pulse, coming up with one that was too weak and too thready to even be there. Relief was short lived as he felt blood begin to soak through to his own skin and he choked back a sob, mumbling angrily and incoherently to the Valar, cursing them before his voice gave way to his emotions. Elrond came and dropped down beside him with a cry of despair, looking over his son in horror. In the dim light of the candle that burned in the trembling hands of Estel, he could see the blood that trickled mockingly from breathless lips. He knew all to well what it meant, but he willed his fear away as far as he could push it, trying to take up his role as healer and not as father. Experienced hands roamed over Elladan's body hovering above what looked like a knife wound to his chest. If was hot to the touch, swollen and angry and trying very hard to kill his son. What of Legolas...

"Elrond..." The lord looked up, startled, as the sound of Glorfindel's broken voice cut through to his senses. His friend sat across from him, cradling Legolas' head in his hands. Elrond's heart fell even farther at the sight of the prince, golden hair stained with his own blood, limply laying against his pale face. His was a shade of white that mocked the dead, dark circles maiming the skin under his eyes, his lip cracked and bloody and tinted gray underneath. Gash upon horrid gash covered the bare flesh of his chest and marred him unrecognizable, blood covering almost every inch of his frail body. Glorfindel ran hands that were gently shaking through the tangled mess of the glistening locks. Lovingly, as his father would have when he was but an innocent elfling in a more peaceful world. And when his eyes met those of Elrond, the lord of Imladris lost his breath. There was more pain in that one look than he had ever seen in his old friend and he felt tears prick furiously behind his eyes despite himself for he knew what the expression meant.

"I cannot find a pulse..."

Glorfindel choked on his words as he spoke, looking from Elrond to Legolas in complete despair. He knew not what he could do. His hand went to cover one of the more prominent wounds that mangled Legolas's side, but he could hardly find the source amidst the blood that leaked between his fingers. Elvin blood. Legolas's blood. The elf was dead in his arms. He had never felt so helpless...

"Adar!" Elrond quickly took his pained gaze from Legolas back to Elrohir, who was looking upon Elladan with more joy than he had ever witnessed, the complete opposite expression than the one the elf to his back was wearing. "Adar, he is awake!" At the realization of what those words meant, Elrond's heart fluttered with barely contained hope, and he reached over none too gracefully to cup his sons face in his hands. His heavy eyelids fluttered open, the eyes underneath distant and glassy. But they were open. That was all Elrond could ask for.

Elladan struggled to form a word, choking against the blood and bile that rose in his throat. But one came out, strained and odd. "Leg'las..."

Elrohir looked brokenly at his father, all traces of happiness gone as tears began to build behind his eyes. Elrond searched for a reply, looking desperately to Glorfindel. His head hung low, hopelessly shaking from side to side. Elrond shut his eyes once more against the vision of Legolas and turned back to Elladan with an expression of deep sorrow and disbelief. Elladan's brow furrowed and he shook his head slowly.

"Lá..."

"Elladan, please. Don't try to speak-" Elrohir whispered, wiping a strand of ebony hair from his brothers fevered cheek, but Elladan bit back at him.

"Lá!" He all but shouted. Weakly he turned his head to face Legolas, a broken and haunting sob escaping his lips. "Lá, Legolas.... gwador nîn, le ava auta nin."

Estel, who had stood trembling by the table, stared intently at Legolas, willing some sign of life to radiate from his body. There was none, and Elladan's wheezing sobs fell deafening upon his ears. His mind told him Legolas was dead. Yet his heart told him that this elf, this elf who meant so much to so many people, this elf that had all but given his life so that he may live, this elf that lie broken before him, had life left still. Why the others could not see it, he knew not. Maybe they weren't so naive to believe that he could survive such atrocities that he had been subject to. Maybe they had seen too much to hold any hope. But Estel had not. He was just naive enough.

"He's not dead." He stated, placing his candle on the table beside angrily and kneeling down by Legolas. He placed a shaking hand on that of the prince, almost recoiling at the deathly cold he felt there. But he held his resolve and gripped tightly.

"Estel, ion nin... he has no pulse..." Elrond muttered, shocked at his own words of resignation. Was he truly giving up so easily on that who he thought of as another son?

"That means nothing." Estel resolved fiercely. "He is not dead." The boy lowered his head so his mouth was right up to Legolas's ear and began to speak in sindarin, slowly and softly. So soft that even the elves about him strained to hear what was being said.

"Days ago, when we were still the orcs playthings, I lost hope, Legolas. You told me not to be frightened. You told me we would get home and no matter how grim the situation was, I needed to believe that. And I did, Legolas. 'It's not a matter of if, Estel, but when'. Remember, Legolas? I know you remember. Legolas, this is when..." His voice cracked and he blinked away the tears before continuing on. "This is when we get to go home. And I'm not going alone. I left you once, Legolas, to find my father and to bring him back to save you and Elladan. Elladan's coming home, Legolas. He's right here. We are all going home. I'm not leaving you again. I wont, Legolas. So you need to come back. What will your father do if you don't? What will we tell Thranduil if we return without you? I won't be able to tell him, Legolas. He needs you and you can't leave him. You can't leave Elladan or Elrohir or Glorfindel or Elrond or me. Or Mirkwood. Seas, Legolas. Come back. I came back for you. Come... come back for me."

Elrond let sad eyes drift from Glorfindel, who's fingers waited tentatively on Legolas's wrist, to Estel, who had broken into silent sobs that shook his tired body. He was trying so hard...

"By the Valar..." Glorfindel muttered, shock taking over the hopelessness that was written all over his face. Estel's head came up and his cries stopped as he regarded the elfs expression with curiosity and hope.

"What is it?" He whispered, hardly daring to believe what it might mean. Elrohir clutched his brother more tightly to him and Elladan's blood shot eyes fluttered open once more. Glorfindel remained still then raised his head slowly.

"He... he has a pulse, I... Elrond, he lives."

"It cannot be..." Elrond shook his head disbelievingly, regarding Glorfindel as if he were mad. "Words alone cannot bring back the dead."

"But he breathes, Elrond," Glorfindel persisted. "It is faint, but..." Elrond sidled over to the side of his friend and placed a tentative hand on Legolas's forehead. Warmth was beginning to come back to his skin. And where his other hand clutched his wrist, he could indeed feel the weakest trace of a pulse beating beneath the skin. He smiled despite himself.

"It looks as if he has hope again." He muttered, still unbelieving of what had just taken place.

"Adar, neither of them will have a prayer if we don't get them back soon," Elrohir cut into the silence, eyes full of disbelief. "Elladan is quickly losing strength and... and Legolas..."

"You are right, Elrohir." Elrond stuttered in agreement. "They're far from out of danger. Someone needs to fetch the horses-"

"I'll go." Estel interrupted, standing on slightly shaky legs. "You're needed here and I... need to think." He made a move to leave, but Elrond grasped his hand before he could get very far.

"Be watchful and hurry back. Don't lose your way." Estel nodded and tried once more to leave, but Elrond wasn't finished. "Estel. I'm proud of you." With a weak smile the boy turned, running out of the tent and into the rain. Elrond turned back to the ailing elves before him and sighed, running his hand along the now feverish cheek of Legolas.

"He should be dead."

"But he's not," Elrohir stated as he tried his best to clean Elladan's chest wound with the torn hood of his cloak. His brother was hardly aware of the people around him and drifted in and out of slumber. "Estel's voice alone brought him back."

"Not only his voice." Glorfindel mused as he continued to run his hands through the golden tresses in his lap. Color flushed his cheeks fever bright and sweat beaded upon his brow. Fever from infection more likely than not. From poison, almost a certainty. His shallow breaths hitched and rattled in his chest and it was clear that even in his state of unconsciousness he was in pain. But at least he was whole enough to feel it. "Estel used touch along with his voice to bring Legolas back to us. The hands of the king are the hands of a healer."

"He is only 14," Elrond muttered. "That step in his path is hardly near at hand." Glorfindel chuckled.

"Mellon nin, you and I know well enough that destiny pays no mind to the age of he who will fulfill it."

TBC...

Translations:

"Im radahain, adar!" (roughly) - I found them, father!

"Im radahain. Adar, Im... Valar, seas. Seas annahain cuil..." (roughly) - I found them. Father, I... Valar, please. Please give them life...

"Lá, Legolas.... gwador nîn, le ava auta nin." (VERY roughly. auta is quenya, as is lá) - No, Legolas... my brother, you will not leave me.

A HUGE thank you to the following people : RenewedBlade, ShaolinQueen, lilnewsie77, Fluffy'sfangirls, Flying Through Infinity, Lozrii, Dove, queenofspades19, ProRodeoCowgirl, Kitematsu, Viresse, Blood Zephyr, MeLaNY8, AtlantisGirl12, owlreader, brightgreenskribbles, BeckyTao, ArodieltheElfofRohan (as always), Elvenlass, and once again to RenewedBlade. I do not deserve your reviews, but I'd be a fool not to take them. I hope I haven't lost you and I do want to here from you again. :)

Until next time, hopefully sooner than last time.

xxxdarkstarxxx