Bound To Break

by Hopeful_Foolx

Summary:

The pit of ice forms at the words 'scouting party' and deepens at the rest. When the quill falls from his fingers he is already on his feet, all blood left his face, his hands, and he can’t feel the ground beneath him nor his lips when he finally utters the name that is his one, singular thought right now.

“Camnir-”

Notes:

Anyone in for the most classic of Lotr tropes - poisoned arrow? Because I think we really should be. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The knock on the door is so urgent that it startles both Elrond and the king. Politely, he keeps a hold on his quill and looks up only when he finished writing the sentence.  

“Come in” Gil-Galad calls with no small amount of apprehension. Elrond cannot blame him. Nobody simply comes to the study like that – in all of Elrond’s time here, it only happened once, and he would rather forget about the literal landslide that brought it on. Who stands in the door is a solider in light armour, a warden from the gates, eyes wide under the helmet. He ran. “What is it?”  

“High King” the solider bows, “The scouting party returned, they ran into trouble, most of the party is injured, two dead”  

The pit of ice forms at the words scouting party and deepens at the rest. When the quill falls from his fingers he is already on his feet, all blood left his face, his hands, and he can’t feel the ground beneath him nor his lips when he finally utters the name that is his one, singular thought right now.   

“Camnir-”   

“He is in the healing rooms, herald Elrond” The guard assures him quickly, before the pit can form and he fall into it. His king throws him a look and nods.  

“Go, find out what happened, see to your friend, I will handle this” Elrond nods gratefully and manages to close the door quietly before he starts running .   

The house of healing is a mess, healers flurry in and out of the individual rooms and he ducks away from them at every step, checking into every corner with growing dread. A sheet is pulled over an elf with golden armour as he passes, another is writhing as a healer attempts to do something but neither of them is Camnir. In his head, the number of dead tallies up to three now, and he tries to somehow breathe through the rising panic, but it gets harder when he checks the rooms. Whatever happened?   

The guard would have said something if Camnir was that gravely wounded, wouldn’t he? Or perhaps not? Or maybe he is alright – maybe he is alright and just left the healing rooms early? Maybe he is just at the library, and not here, and maybe he is just alright?  

His legs feel moments away from giving out, the noise too much, the fear heavy in his chest, yes, he thinks, maybe it is alright?  

He stumbles to the side when someone passes through,  

“I am sorry – Carto-” he doesn’t get further, is just pointed in a direction and the healer hurries on.  

It's the last room in the hallway, perhaps the quietest of them, and if it is, he thanks Manwë for his mercy, where he finds him. Camnir startles when he stumbles in, and his very first thought – even before alive , and breathing and looking at him , is that he can see that he has been crying by the light tracks on his face. There are dirt specks all over him, hair tangled and damp, and his skin is pasty but he lives , he has all his limbs still, he is not covered in blood head to toe. And he is conscious . He sits on the cot, cradling his arm, shoes still on and on top of the blanket, but he sits and he looks and-  

“Camnir-” he  

“Elrond?” and it sounds so much like a sob that his heart breaks and his steps yet quicken – he closes the door, shuts out the noise at least some, and he wishes he could just pull him into the closest embrace, hold him and kiss his head and take him to a quiet place to dry those tears, but he can’t.  
Because there is blood on his clothes.  

“You look a mess” but he is alive, and breathing, oh he is-  

The elf in question manages a weary smile, but not out of honesty, and he barely manages to stop before he fully falls on the bed in front of him, opting to sit carefully. They reach out at the same time to hold onto each other, one-handed as he finally takes in the picture more than simply alive, and breathing, and looking at me.  
“Whatever happened to you?” He can’t not touch him, cheek and shoulder and then his hand hovers over a tight bandage on his other shoulder, the hasty sling keeping his arm in place, the numerous scratches across his hands and wrists and face. Elves seldom sweat, but his hair clings to his face in wet strands, and he briefly wonders if it rained, if he missed it, but he can barely catch a thought fully. His tunic is ripped, muddy, and a faint tremor runs through his limbs. The bandage is already bloody, and they must have put this on the road. The way the healers are running around, from he had seen in the chambers, Camnir was lucky. It stings to know that the line for that is so low.  

“I am alright” Camnir says quietly, but his voice shakes, shakes so much, and Elrond wonders who he is trying to convince, “They pulled the arrow out” What? Arrows... Perhaps bandits? But... here? They would have noticed any new encampments – tracks and signs and...  

“You are shivering” he pulls the woollen blanket from the foot of the bed, “Arrow? What did you run into?” Camnir swallows and eyes the door, and then, so quietly he answers,  

“Orcs”   

“What?!” he almost drops the blanket, “but we are the westernmost-” Camnir nods, shakily and hasty and then his words pour like water but stuttering and shaking and panicked.  

“It makes no sense! I have been trying to understand it, but it just.... Elrond, we did not stray off the path, I know this way – I know-” he keens at the end, panicked and so, so scared . Elrond squeezes his hand and Camnir clings to him, “It makes no sense, Elrond! None!”  

“Shh... I know, nobody doubts you on that”   

“But there were never orcs there, Elrond! I walked the path last week with the apprentices, we found the wargtrails I reported, but no trace of orcs ” That had been the entire reason why they had been out there – why Camnir was with them. “There were no orcs there, Elrond” he pleads and curls forward with a wince. “Argh-”  

“Easy” he leans him back against the pillows, “I know” His voice is calmer than he feels, “Breathe, we will work it out. We will work it out, Camnir”  

“I know those roads! I know every path in these woods, I mapped them since-” He holds up a hand to placate with no luck, he is just shaking even harder now.  

“Shh, Camnir-”  

“I know them, I-” Another thin light line on his face, and something in Elrond just wants to break at the sight. He hates to see Camnir cry. Because it is Camnir, because it happens so often and because he just so wishes there was anything he could do now. He has no tea, only words, and they are not enough to treat injuries, treat arrow-wounds and bandage cuts.  

“You do, we both know you do, all of Lindon knows you do. They took you with them because you do. It is not your fault ” Camnir bites his lip and looks to the door again. His hand is cold, and Elrond seeks to reach up to meet his eye only, but as soon as his hand touches his cheek, he frowns. Camnir leans into the touch that without doubt feels cool to him, for his skin is too warm. When he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, it is much the same. Feverish. They need a healer in here, but Camnir is so frantic he is not certain he can leave him alone.  

“You are burning up” Camnir shakes his head.  

“Are they all dead?”   

“Wha- no, no, Camnir, they are not. But I think-”   

“Filthy, that is what I am, it is nothing, just-” he starts tugging on his collar with a trembling hand and Elrond quickly stills the motion, taking it back “Elrond-” his name so desperate that he places both hands on his cheeks. Warm tears roll over his skin, and he wipes them away.  

“I am here, I am right here yelda órënya, I am here” Camnir nods, shakily still. “Perhaps we just start with what we can do, hm? Are you in pain?” he hesitates, and that is a yes but also an answer on another front, “Can I go and get a healer for you?”  

“Please don’t go-” His fingers catch on a flake of dirt on his cheek, “Ow...” Yes, that is fair. Camnir does get dirty when he explores, but his first action upon returning is then to wash.   

“Alright, we can do something about that. Camnir, look at me – we can do something about that. I will help you” He nods and sniffs. Good. Maybe he can take a look at that bandage that way. Perhaps it is just a piece of wood still stuck – elven bodies are strange, even as Elrond knows his own is stranger. “Did they give you something for the pain?” Camnir nods again, “I will grab you a clean set of clothes and some water”  

“Nono please-” he grips his arm tightly, “please stay” When he takes his hand, it is still so cold.  

“But I am not going anywhere, my friend” he nods to the shelves in the room, “Two steps away to take this. I am not even leaving the room, but we must wash your face, hm?” Camnir’s grip lessens, but he still holds onto him now with a look instead of touch. He grabs the basin from the corner, “The water will be cold, but that is not so bad” Camnir is used to wash up in rivers, after all.  

He sits back down on the bed with a fresh set of white linen clothes that the healers dress their injured in and a basin of water, even when he couldn’t see any soap.  
“May I?” he takes the washcloth and gently dabs at his cheek, brushing the tears away before he does anything else. Camnir relaxes some. This is trusted ground. He moves on to his eyes and forehead, rubbing at flaked dirt and dried blood. His skin turns red under the fabric, but Camnir sits completely still, his eyes fall closed easily and Elrond feels his own shoulders droop a little. Panic is quick to rise, but when it eases, it can do so with the same speed. He is glad they are getting there, and it eases his own nerves to see that there is familiar ground there – that he still knows him, and that that is what matters. They can deal with arrow-wounds and with the world ending if they have to, as long as, regardless of it all, Elrond knows he is safe with Camnir and Camnir knows he is safe with him.  

“See?” he says softly, and his friend squeezes his hand, “Already better”  

Camnir is not a warrior, and he thanks the Valar for that. The two of them spend so much time in the library, so much time wandering the woods in search of new paths that the wildlife formed and some of it is blissful ignorance of the terrors in the world. And it is not that Camnir is not aware of it – it is simply that he is one of the very few people with whom Elrond can pretend that he himself is not. Last year, on an excursion that had been ill-advised in the first place, Camnir got his wrist broken, and he had helped him clean up in a much similar way that day, as well as many in the next months. It is a comfort to be able to do something for him, just as he knows that sometimes, it is not words his friend needs, but presence. And presence, above all other things, is what Elrond can provide. His own motions are rhythmic and careful, almost mesmerizing himself into a state of calm.   

He’d do his hair as well, but doubts they have the space for it, and he’d be upset to wash it without any soap. His friend might not be vain, but he likes to look put-together. With a warning, he moves on to unbutton his tunic and pulls the dirty and torn fabric away from his chest, revealing an array of bruises, already turning from purple to blue. He runs the cloth over them, relieved to find his ribs unbroken, and Camnir pulls a face but does not wince. “At least that protected you” he muses quietly, “I know you do not like them, but sometimes the tailors have a point in their uniforms” He just wishes they also withheld arrows, “Did you fall?” His friend just shrugs tiredly with his good shoulder, “Are you falling asleep on-”  

Down the hallway, someone screams and Camnir’s eyes fly open, he flinches away so violently Elrond drops the cloth to steady him. His skin is so warm under his fingers, breath quick against his ear. He holds his wrist so tightly his fingernails dig into Elrond’s skin with sharp edges. He wraps his arms around him, and Camnir hides his face on his shoulder.   

“You are alright” he mumbles, “I am right here” Another shiver and then once more, even if the skin under his finger feels so, so warm . No, he will keep him calm until a healer arrives. There is no use in running and scaring his friend even more. “Calm, my heart, calm. You are in Lindon, and you are home – we are in the healing rooms, and all is well” He’d hold him forever in this embrace, but his shoulders slump in exhaustion too soon.    

“They just... attacked us” Camnir says tiredly, still so tense even in his exhaustion, his eyes fixed on the door once more when Elrond carefully helps him sit again. He tries not to hiss in pain, the muscles in his jaw tight, his nails leave red marks on Elrond’s arm. He doesn’t mind. “Out of nowhere, we were surrounded”   

“Let us get you back in clean clothes” The garment is far beyond saving, and Elrond rips it the rest of the way down open to pull it down Camnir’s injured arm and over his head. He’d never let this happen without a comment if he was fully himself, but perhaps it is nothing, still, right? The elves were never supposed to stay in Middle Earth – that is all. Their bodies are now reacting harshly, as it takes so much to hurt them. “I will take this off for a moment, yes?” he tugs at the sling, “Just to pull the rest of the sleeve off” Camnir shivers and closes his eyes, every attempt Elrond makes at a joke falling flat.  

“As if they were... running?” he says almost dreamily. Orcs? Running? No, focus. He tries to be gentle in his actions, but Camnir winces whenever he even goes near the wound, even when he braces his upper arm in place to remove the fabric. Is he feeling hotter now?  

“And then?” he asks, to distract more than anything.  

“I brought us home” Of course he did. Even terrified, nobody knows these woods better than Camnir. “Through... through the new waterpaths” Maybe that is why his hair is drenched, maybe that is all. “They stopped, then”  

“The ones you found because I fell down a hill?” Camnir chuckles, but the slight smile drops away instantly and only Elrond’s own quick hand keeps him from clutching at his shoulder. “Why the river?”   

“Because there are no trees in the river” he frowns, and his face is almost ashen with how pale he turned, “It is so wide that is has just sunlight, orcs do not tread in sunlight – and we had to get away. It was not a fast way, but safe” another tear falls, “One of the guards died on the way, because it was not fast. But we had to be safe, right?” Oh Camnir .  

“Yes, yes my heart. You brought them back home. Without you, we might not hear the tale. But now we do, and we can set up extra guard at the borders, and they will know what to expect” Camnir’s eyes are glassy from fever and tears when he breathes out and, so fast that it is all one word asks:  

“and they won’t come here?” His eyes snap back to the door. “I lost my dagger, and I could not do much with it in the first place, but if they- I cannot remember how many were still alive, because we had to hurry back, and then I...” this time, he does clutch his shoulder. “I... I think I got hurt”  

“You did, remember?” he gently pulls his hand away, prompting another whimper of pain that tugs somewhere deep in his very soul, “Shhh... Let me see that” He takes his hand again and looks over to the door. Perhaps now...  

“Are you sure?” No, he can’t leave him be. It’s a miracle he did not panic himself into more of a frenzy before he arrived.  

“They can’t come here. We are warned – the High King already knows. They’d not make it to Mithlond if they tried, too many meadows on the way, too much sunlight”  

“But tonight?”   

“I will get my sword and stay with you. Here, or in your room, or you can come to mine. We can even sit in the library. I will have tea with you in full armour, sword and shield” Normally, he’d laugh at the idea, at the image even, but now, his friend just nods and clutches at his fingers again. Some of that tension finally leaves, but only to make space for the pain and exhaustion lining his features to deepen.  

“I am tired”   

“Good, that means you are calming” He rubs a thumb over the back of his hand, “And being calm helps you heal” He itches to take a look at his shoulder, but instead takes up the cloth to carefully clean his fingers first. Blood and dirt stick to every crevice and under his nails. Often, it is ink. Sometimes, it is mud. Rarely splinters because Camnir loves to climb trees, does so with an ease Elrond marvels at. It should not be blood. It should never be blood. Is it his own? Is it that of someone else? Or perhaps both?  

“Elrond?” he asks tiredly, and yes, he cannot get lost in his head now. He hums in response, scrubbing at a persistent spot as gently as he can, “How were you here so fast?”   

“A guard alerted the High King in his study, and the moment he did, I ran” Camnir gives him a look, somewhere between questioning and confused, “I am getting your report, am I not?” he smiles, “And I needed to see you. I doubt even the High King could have gotten me to stay away – and he did not. He told me to go, even”  

“I was scared. I do not think I have ever been this scared before. You would not have-”  

“Ah, no” he interrupts before the thought can even finish, “Of course you were scared. I would have been. But I doubt I would have had the presence of mind to remember the waterways to reach Mithlond. Yet you did. Do not undermine your own bravery”   

“I do not feel brave. I feel cold” He is not. He is warm, far too warm. But he speaks softly again, and closes his eyes once more, and that is a good start.  

He carefully pries the bandage away. It is soaked now and the white linen dirty from the road. However they treated it, they did it on the way. Otherwise, they would not have taken the arrow out, would they? The knowledge that they did it in case they needed him to fight tastes sour in his throat – not out of disdain for the guard, but because he wishes his friend was never close to any of the fighting. Cartographers have their own fair share of injuries, of course, but they are usually accidents or botanic curiosity.   

The wound is not bleeding heavily, but he is suddenly glad that Camnir closed his eyes, because it is not bloodloss that worries him. And it is not simply a shard of wood that sticks to the wound, a feeble hope that he did not even entertain for comfort. There is only one thing in Arda that sends dark lines spreading out from the ragged hole in his skin. Orc poisons. They are reaching over his shoulder almost up to his neck. He pulls the bandage back over it and drops the cloth in the basin.   

Calm. The force of that deep breath is immense, but he must stay calm. It took him so much effort to get Camnir to relax. Calm now. Panic spreads poison even faster than is causes blood to spill. Calm .  

“Camnir” he prods softly and squeezes his hands, keeping his voice as low and gentle as he ever has. He wishes he could just let his friend rest now and that’d be the end of their troubles, but it is simply not. “I need to get you a healer now” His eyes snap open as if he hadn’t rested at all, and he shakes his head,   

“Do not leave me, please-” if it was all about what Elrond wanted, he’d take that wound upon himself without question. If it was all up to him, Camnir would never have gotten hurt in the first place. “I am alright!”   

“You are feverish” he says quietly, “That is why you are still shivering”  

“No, nononono, I am not!”   

“You said yourself that you are cold”  

“Just... losing blood and- and shock-” He is not ignoring it – he is terrified.  

“Shhh...” He reaches out to steady him, attempts to catch his gaze, anything at all, “It will be alright. I am right here, and I will not let anything bad happen to you – not when I am right here” He still shakes when he pulls him close, a one-armed hug that is not as tight as they both need it to be, but it is a hug nevertheless.  

“Just a scouting mission, we were back before dinnertime” he whispers brokenly, “Just supposed to be a scouting mission” Like they do once a month. Like so often. Nothing odd or weird about it – just a scouting mission like always, and it hurts his heart how much he agrees. Lindon is safe. Lindon should be safe. If this had just been an accident, they’d be alright – but they simply aren’t. And yet he cannot say it, cannot answer, only stroke Camnir’s hair and hold him close, the one comfort that helps, and yet the one he needs to withhold again in a moment.  

“It will all be well again soon” he promises, “Fevers help us get rid of whatever ails us. Like when I get sick – it burns away the virus, but that is all” Or so he tends to hope.  

“Just cold-”  

“I know, I know” and he is not impatient, not annoyed, just so deeply, deeply worried, “And you will be warm again soon, alright? I will grab you a healer, they will know what to give you. I will not let anything happen to you”  

“Elrond, am I dying?” If he got poisoned... If... No. If the poison was lethal, it would have turned so by now. Elrond pulls back, cups both his cheeks and shakes his head. He brushes the fresh tears away once more, gentle and careful and he hopes he can put any of the love and concern and just sheer fondness for his beloved friend into his touch.  

“I am not letting that happen” he promises quietly, repeats it again and again perhaps not only for Camnir’s comfort but his own when he brings their foreheads together, even if the heat reminds him to hurry, “I am not letting anything happen to you. And that means that I need to get help now, alright?” Camnir is as unwilling to let go as he is.  
“But I will be right back with you. They might not let me stay when they treat you, but in that case I will inform the king and then be back” he strokes his cheek, “So know that whatever happens, I will be back with you”  

Chapter 2

Summary:

Camnir is having a horrible time. Elrond is having an equally horrible time. Gil-galad proves to own a braincell.

Someone send me to bed I am too tired for a proper summary.

Notes:

*gently posts this and goes to lay in a ditch somewhere * I give up.

The hallway is not silent, but it is quieter when he leaves and closes the door behind him regardless. He does not look back. If he did-  
No matter now.  

He is not allowed in the room while the healer he grabs goes to see Camnir, but given the hurry she is in, he does not complain. And he will be back in a moment, even if he wants to stay true to his promise now and stay with him, there are other things he can do to set his mind at ease – one of which is to seek out Gil-Galad.  

Orcs in Lindon. Of all things! How did they even make it past the border? How did they make it into Lindon at all? And this close?  

Calm, he reminds himself – calm.  
Camnir’s report is not the only one, even if it is the one he knows and makes him wonder – afraid? Have orcs ever been afraid of anything? Or of anyone? Attacked out of fear? Or was that just the way Camnir saw it, because he never actually encountered an orc before?  

It just makes so little sense – why would they run? Camnir’s panic is understandable not only because he is injured and feverish but because the sheer incident leaves a bitter taste in his mouth – when they had not even known orcs to be in Lindon, then what else do they not know? What else have they perhaps avoided so far and especially – what does it mean? Morgoth is defeated, and Galadriel is nowhere near, so wherever she hunts for Sauron, she is either utterly turned around (unlikely) or... something else is going on? Another player on the field?  

The king is not in his study, might have gone to the borders to investigate or is organising the troops himself – it only underlines the seriousness of the situation, and perhaps he should try to find him. On the other hand, if the king needs him, he’ll know exactly where to find him if he goes back to the healing rooms.    

So, he takes a different route – first to the kitchens to acquire bread and the quickest meal he can ask for, then to his own room. He changes into more comfortable robes and then takes his sword, sheath and all, and throws it over his shoulder. Perhaps it is a foolish comfort, but it will be one nonetheless – in the best case, it will simply make Camnir laugh. He packs a book as well. In a way, it is reassuring that he knows which steps to take – it had been the same when Elros had gotten sick in the past, those one or two days before Elrond inevitably caught the same, or when Maedhros had had a bad day. There are comforts for a fever that always stay the same, and Camnir himself had held him through fever spells before. It is not just an ailment of the body, but one of the soul as well – every shadow darker, every corner hiding a shape, every light yet still painful. It is scary, no matter any age, when the world just turns to the left and leaves you out of it. And he cannot fix the fever, no, but he can lighten the corners, dim the candles, scare away the shapes.  

Even if it is not a sickness but an injury, he hopes it works – and he has a wide and long list of little bits of knowledge on how to help Camnir calm from panic and anxiety. His friend is steady, except for when the room is too crowded, when the night gets a little too dark to breathe in, or the world too unpredictable for a bit. He is steady in his routine as well, and Elrond knows this – as well as he knows him so well. He’d take him to the library to calm, to the archives if it got too bad – sit by the waterfall to breathe, go on a walk if the room is too full, find an excuse for an excursion if the unpredictability got too much. None of it all helps right now – he needs to stay put, even if the surroundings are unfamiliar.  

But he can hold his hand.  

The simplest action, perhaps, and yet the one that always helps – he can hold his hand and anchor him to reality. It eases the shaking for long enough to breathe, no matter the situation. He can give him a little of his own steadiness, there, and it helps, or dear Valar it helps. Camnir once told him that he is part of that routine, and what would sound like no compliment to anyone else is the highest honour to him. And what is routine if not steadiness?  

His last stop is to Camnir’s own rooms.  

They are always a strange kind of ever so slightly chaotic. Not as much as Elrond’s - but in his defence, he had never needed to learn how to keep order when he didn’t own more than the clothes on his back, two brooches and a small, wooden doll. Camnir’s rooms are orderly, but everything is placed close enough for reach, nothing hidden behind doors or cupboards. All the objects make the clean and orderly place look cluttered, despite how much he knows every cup and every quill is exactly where it needs to be. A tablecloth hides a dark inkstain in the form of a hand – courtesy of a tired mapmaker falling asleep and trying to hide his face for three days afterwards, for the ink was not easily washed off.  

He loves Camnir’s rooms, but for the first time since they knew each other, he does not linger. Instead, he pulls the covers of his bed back and gathers the worn thin woollen blanket that is hidden under it. The edges are frayed beyond repair, but it is big enough to count as only a blanket from home, and not as the support Elrond knows it actually is. Actions are good to help his own fear – actions are good to calm him, because doing something at all means the helplessness cannot overwhelm him. He gathers the blanket close. No matter what the day now brings, he will do all he can to make it easier.   

When he returns, the healer is still in the room, but they she still allow him to come in when he knocks. He does get some odd looks for carrying a sword with him, but they don’t stop him, and maybe the sword helps his case.  

His friend looks... not quite the same. He is freshly bandaged, dressed in a soft linen shirt and arm slinged anew. And his work paid off, because in clean, Camnir looks more like himself – even as the shadows are darker around his eyes, even as he seems so drawn out. His healer looks up, very clearly eyeing the sword at his side.  

Whatever she wants to say she doesn’t, when Camnir immediately sighs his name with so much relief his heart seeks to melt. The way his eyes cannot seem to focus is concerning, but does not seem to concern the healer at his side.  

“I bring gifts” he offers up the blanket, “How are you feeling?” He asks not only him but also the healer, and places his sword to rest against the wall.  

“Tired” Camnir mumbles, “But I am not yet allowed to sleep”  

“The arrow was indeed poisoned, and we need to wait some time between the medications or they mix” There are several bottles on the nightstand that were not there before. “I have already administered our potion to the wound, but he needs to drink it as well”   

“But I got... pain... things first. Did not even feel it” Camnir explains solemnly, “Very... numb” That is certainly another way to ensure that he stays calm, Elrond muses.  

“But this will get rid of it?” he asks, and the healer throws him a look of something he cannot place that then melts into something else he can equally not place, but chooses to accept nevertheless.  

“No, because we know the poison” she explains softly, “We can ensure that it won’t be lethal, which we did with the potion, and we can treat the worst of the symptoms, but the fever...”   

“...is a response of the body, that is actually good” Elrond finishes and Camnir nods slowly, even if he is more than sure he did not fully hear him. His eyes are unfocused and wander the room. Whatever painkiller they have him, he is not reacting very well, but at least he does not seem to be in pain. He reaches out a very unsteady hand, and Elrond takes it in his before he even sits.  
“See? All not so bad” he brushes the hair out his forehead, but when he tries to judge if he feels warmer, he is not sure, “You will be just fine” There is no need to brush a tear away – just a fallen eyelash, and that is much better. Camnir leans into his hand, and there is something so vulnerable about the motion now that, regardless of peace of mind, he is glad he brought his sword.  

“I am just sick, like you were last winter” When Elrond had shook with a fever and Camnir kept him company, reading to him when the dreams got too bad, holding him through a nightmare so vivid Elrond still shivers at the thought. Apart from Camnir and the king he remembers not much of that week, but he’d be hard pressed to forget the picture of Galadriel enveloped in shadows so dark he thought they must drown him as well.   

“I can finally return the favour then” he smiles. He’d not let Camnir go through this alone in any world.   

“Can I sleep?”   

“Not yet, my friend, I think you still need to drink a potion” Camnir’s face tells him exactly what he thinks of that, “I brought the blanket from your room” Camnir looks downright disappointed when he pulls away, but he must, for there is a list of comforts and he brought at least one. “See?” and he puts Camnir’s functional hand above it.  “How about it?”  

“Thisss... not my room” Well, Camnir is not one to indulge in drink much, but at least now he knows how he’d sound utterly drunk.  

“No, no it is not” he chuckles, “But this is your blanket?” he wraps it around his shoulders, folding it across his chest and helps him lean back in the pillows, “All well? It does not upset your shoulder?” Camnir shakes his head, but is blinking a lot harder now than before. Only now he notices that the slight tremors are still there, he is still shaking where he sits, but wrapped up in the blanket he really does have the look a sick Elros used to have back then.  

The healer watches them with a small smile while she prepares the potion in the corner. She rests a hand on his shoulder, then, looking over to where Camnir seems to have found a very interesting spot on the wall.  

“May I ask...?” She finally starts, “A sword?”  

“Protection” he shrugs. Perhaps he should have hidden it better? Or at all. “Earlier he was afraid of the orcs coming in, and... I figured it’d at least make him laugh” her features soften.  

“Can you stay with him? There are...” she lowers her voice, “There are horrid injuries in the guard and my hands are needed. Half of them... are running the same fever, but are much harder to contain. I would not like to leave him alone. If he reacts well, he might just sleep, but fevers...”  

“No, I will stay” he assures her, and she walks him through several bottles and writes down measurements – one for pain, this if he gets too agitated, if he gets nauseous, and so forth.  

“Try to keep him hydrated if you can, we want to dilute the remnants as much as possible – and know that I am going to be in the front, so do not hesitate to ask if you need help”   

They have to rouse a sleeping Camnir to administer the potion, and he frowns at the taste but nods off in the middle of complaining. Elrond tucks the blanket around him again, he is still shivering, and stays sitting on the side of the bed, just holding his hand. He is here. And he will not let anything happen – this is his friend and...   

Orcs. Orcs in Lindon.   

Elrond dips a cloth in the water to lay on Camnir’s forehead again. His fever is not so dangerously high that they would need to wrap him in wet sheets, and he brought the blanket for the comfort it brings. For so long they have been friends now – for so long shared nights in the library and morning tea. And he wishes the words of the healer had the power to assure him more.   

Most of the orc poisons are not lethal to elves. But they simply do not need to be, so why waste the effort? Weak, they are easy prey, so much easier than if they had their full strength. An arrow with whatever filth it had been dipped into could kill a man, but not an elf.  
But most does not mean all. There is many a concoction that can kill even their kind. They know the poison, however, and that... That means... That means they must be alright. Yes, surely. If it was lethal, it would have killed him by now. Or the others – he got it hours and hours ago. And she said it wasn’t lethal. Camnit is fully elven, he will be alright.  

He will be alright .  

It just... Elves are never feverish. Elrond is, whenever he gets sick, often when he gets injured as well. Elven bodies are not easy to hurt, but when they are, they need time to heal, and they need the space to do so. He suspects there is some logic to a healing sleep – involuntarily passing out dead to the world until the worst is over, and if it happens on a battlefield, an orc might even think they are dead. But poison is different from injury – and a fever can easily delay a healing sleep, and Morgoth’s forces know this.  

He gently places his hand back on the blanket and walks over to sit by the window. This close, Camnir will just feel him worry and wake, and sleep is good. He had been so scared earlier.  

How much time even passed?  

He tries to focus on his book, but it does not work, not when he keeps looking up and over at every second breath. The High King paces when he is stressed, and usually it would drive Elrond mad, but right now he understands. Time passes too slowly, if it passes at all, and with his actions all performed, he is doomed to wait now – wait on his own, because Camnir has friends among the guard even if he keeps to himself among the mapmakers often, but the guard is busy all over now, and so he stays here alone.  

Do they even know? Should he have informed them? For all his experience with being in these chambers, he is usually the one who needs the healing. Once or twice, he brought Camnir food when he sat with one of the swordsmen, and after the High King was injured in a riding accident, he stayed here as well, but then it had been with Círdan. He’d give a lot to talk to the shipwright now, but is not the only one who values his counsel. He is most likely with the High King now.  

He keeps track of time by the passing of clouds out the window, fast and then slowing, the wind is harsh against the window. If Camnir was awake, they could talk about the weather. About anything at all – the changing of the seasons or how the water turns warmer now, but Camnir needs to sleep. It will make him better – then why and how is it that he misses his company, when he is right there?  

Calm, he tries to remind himself again, calm now. He does not want to upset him.  

He only moves when he remembers that he should try to get him to drink something – they have water, and to ask for tea he’d have to leave the room. Perhaps he can?  

“Camnir...” he strokes his warm, too warm, cheek, and it takes several long seconds – and his heart beats heavier in his chest for them, what if he does not wake, if this is not sleep what if, but then he does blink – he does look. Confused eyes find his after a little while, “There you are”  

“Hm?”  

“I am sorry for waking you, but do you think you can you drink a little for me?” He holds the cup to his lips, “Just a little, and then you can go right back to sleep” He manages to drain the cup, “How are you feeling?” Camnir frowns a little, and then his eyes glaze over in sleep again.  

At least it seems like the pain medication is working, he muses, and if the moment was not so dire, he’d smile at how Camnir drops off to sleep like a too tired elfling now.  

He wishes he had taken something to draw with him – not that he is too much good at it, but it is quiet, and a quiet activity is what he needs now, is it not?  

He dares not hope that Camnir will simply sleep through it all. Luck tends to not be on Elrond’s side, and if today is anything to go by, it does not like to attach itself to Camnir either.  

For a while, he does simply sleep, however – even as his temperature rises and Elrond changes the cold compresses with more frequency, he sleeps.  

Until the sun goes down in a spectacular array of clouds and distant fire, and Elrond has no eyes for it at all where he sits on the bed, entire focus fixed on where Camnir dreams. For it must be dreams, nightmares even, given he turns away from even Elrond’s touch, eyes still unseeingly blank but moving frantically,  

“Camnir” he cups his face, “Camnir please, you can wake up – it is alright, you are alright”  

“No-” He catches Camnir’s hand before it can hit his face, “No, stop -”  

“Shhh...” he takes up the cloth again, forgets to wring it out and water drenches his sleeve as much as Camnir’s hair, “Please... You need to wake up. It is just a dream, just a dream, órënya , just a dream...” Another change of water, and this time, he puts it entirely over his cheek, and that, that works, finally works – Camnir's eyes focus, a gasp and he is awake, wide-eyed and Elrond can feel his heart beating rapidly under his fingers,  

“was the wrong way-”  

“It was a dream-” he tries to soothe,  

“...it was the wrong way, Elrond, it was the wrong way-”  

“No, it was the right way – you went through the waterpaths. You went through the river because it was sunny” He turns his head away and blinks, frowns so deeply, as if Elrond’s words make no sense, as if they are not speaking the same language at all. “You are home” he tries, something so simple, and he puts every ounce of effort into the words, “You are home ”  

“what?”  

“The healing chambers” he holds the cloth to his cheek even when he turns his face away, whining, “Camnir, you are home” he swallows, “If you looked out the window, you’d see the library. And the cliffs – we are close to them. You can even hear the river, if the window was open” perhaps it is his words, his voice, or perhaps it is the sheer and utter desperation in it, because Camnir stops twisting, “Look at me, will you? You are home ”  

“I thought... I thought I...” The cold helps not at all, does it? He has been trying to cool him down but to no avail, “I thought they... They came here...?”  

“They did not. There is no danger here” And how much does he want to say – there is no danger in Lindon, but that is wrong now, is it not? Because there is danger in Lindon, there is so much danger in Lindon just today.  

“Elrond-” He cannot even feel relieved that he recognises him, “I am scared, what is... something is wrong, it makes no sense- ” and the sobs shake him more than he shakes with them, “something-”  

Shhh...” he grasps his hand, “I have my sword here, remember? Nobody can come for you – I'd fight them” he nods to the wall, but Camnir doesn’t follow his gaze, “I’d fight them”  

“This is not my room. Makes... makes no sense - Please-”  

“Alright” he swallows down the lump in his throat. This is familiar ground – this is something he can help with. Start small. “Then we will make sense of it together. Just nod if you can follow, yes?” His nod is hasty, and he squeezes his eyes closed, “It is the healing chambers” he tries to keep the tremor out his voice as good as he can, “Because you are a little bit injured, does that make sense?” he nods, “All injured people go to the healing chambers – like Vorohil did, and Rían before, and I was here too. Alright?” His breathing calms, he exhales, slowly, steadily. “And in the healing chambers, people heal, it is in the word, right?”  

“Yes” his voice is quieter now.  

“So, you got hurt, but it is alright because you are healing now” Clear and short and gentle. It calms them both, in a way, it calms the fear that sits in his chest like a rock. Familiar ground, as bitter as it is.  

“I do not feel well”  

“Because that is a process, and you are not finished. Good so far?”  

“Yes” he nods, and his next inhale is shaky still but deeper. “Healing. Home”  

“Good, very good” he praises quietly, “Good. Ready for the next?” Another nod. “Would you like to drink something? I was told to keep you hydrated, and if I can leave the room for a minute, I think we can have tea. So... tea or water?”  

“Tea?”  

“Stay here, then” he pulls back and folds the blanket back over his chest, “Alright?”  

“...yes”  

 

He could swear he is only gone for less than a minute, but when he opens the door again, tray in hand, he almost drops it when Camnir is decidedly not where he left him – he is on the floor, half fallen, half kneeling, hopelessly tangled in both blankets.  

“Camnir!” and places the tray down and is next to him in an instant. “Usually you chide me for being unable to sit still” he mutters when he kneels on the floor as well. The bandage on his shoulder sports a big red splotch, and Camnir’s fingers are red as well where he grasps it so tightly, “Dearest, you cannot get up”  

“Nonono, leave it, stop, just stop-”  

“No, Camnir, Elrond – just me” he cradles his face, “Elrond, Camnir” There is a horrifying, terrifying moment when he is not sure if Camnir actually sees him. If he knows him. “Just me” he promises quietly, “Just me. And you really cannot get up now”  

“But I did?” and it is an answer so him, Elrond would smile if he was not so utterly concerned by the heat radiating from his skin. Worse, so much worse and he had already burned-  

“You should not, then. You should be in bed” he gently takes his arm, “Sit down, hm? For me, just sit”  

“No, it is... already late? In the day?”   

“You have no duties today, my friend, and it is evening now, see? The stars are about to be out, all over the sky”   

“No, I... I do, I... I have a free day only when...” he struggles to remember, “I...”  

“Come on” he gently wraps his arm around his middle, pulling him off the floor. Camnir is not heavy, but he is utterly lax, and Elrond almost stumbles when he is moved so easily “We will sit down and talk about it” He leans him against the pillows, picks up the blanket and perhaps he shouldn’t, not when he is so warm, but he still drapes it over his lap.  

“I do...” He keeps his arm wrapped around him even when they sit, “I do not feel well”   

“Are you in pain?” He nods weakly, eyes starting to brim with tears, “Shh... We have a potion for the pain here, do you think you can drink that?”  

“Why...” Elrond catches his hand before he can grab his shoulder, but that only delays the reaction, “Argh- What-” Elrond lets him lean forward until his forehead rests on his own shoulder,  

“Shhh... You are alright” he soothes, “You are alright”  

“No?” he groans, and Elrond would like to answer, but there is simply not much he could say. Because he is right – he is not fine, he is hurt, feverish, he is sluggish and so far from present it scares him. Yet somehow, regardless, he still managed to get up even if he fell right away. Alive and breathing , he reminds himself, alive and breathing. And he looked at him – he knows who Elrond is. That is good, that is all he can ask for.  

“You got injured” he says quietly, “albeit I am glad you do not remember” he kisses his head, “But you will be alright”  

“Hurts”   

“I know, órënya, I know” He kisses his head again, keeps his hand on his cheek to gather his attention, even if it turns from feeble to almost lethargic.  
“Tea, hm?” With four drops from the blue potion bottle. Once he can let go. “I met your healer on the way, she will come by in a moment to check on your bandages. I think we need to wash your hands” Just as he said it, there is a soft knock on the door before it opens.   

He is glad the healer takes over, and finally remembers to ask her name – Iluthen – and she does not send him from the room, but utilises his hands swiftly. First the tea and potion, and then a change of wrappings, where the dark lines have ceased their spreading, even if they are still visible. It is in the middle of that that Camnir’s eyes turn yet more distant, that lethargy worsens until he is unconscious in Elrond’s arms.  

“Camnir-”  

“Leave him be” she soothes, “Resting takes different forms, and this is one of them. He needs it”  

“I do not know what happened, he just... he just...” he runs a hand through his hair, wants to tug, tug hard, “He was talking one moment and then the next...”  

“Elrond, leave him be. Come, help me lay him back down”  

“But he-”  

“His fever is high, it can happen” But it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t have happened, just like Camnir shouldn’t have gotten injured and how Elrond is not enough-“He is a fighter” she says comfortingly and squeezes his shoulder, “He made it this far, and he will make it through just fine” The comfort feels weak to him. It is not a decicive one, no real answer. Of course, Camnir is a fighter, but what good is that when you fight an enemy you cannot see? That is slowly turning your blood to fire? What good is being a fighter when all it shows is that he does not give up, a fact that Elrond already knows too well?   

“A fighter, hm?” he mumbles and picks up the cloth to dab the sweat away from his still friend’s face, “Of course you are. But...” But he wishes he didn’t need to be. Why can’t he simply be a mapmaker? Simply know a forest? Why are there never lasting times of peace, where they do not have to carry a weapon on a walk? Why is it not enough that the quality he so loves about his friend is his kindness? A fighter, yes, and that is what it boils down to now. Fighting.   

“Do you remember how we first met? I concussed myself on some branch because I got lost – it was my first year in Lindon. I only left the palace because I desperately needed space and... then you found me. Sprawled on the ground” You asked me the year and king and where I was from, you had a whole list memorised for that situation. And later, later I always wondered about it”   

A knock startles him out of his musings.   

“High King” he greets with a bow of his head. How much did he hear?   

“How is he?” There is an uncharacteristic softness in his voice, and Elrond has not seen him without cloak or scribes in tow in a while. Neither has he seen him look as tired as now, but it is no wonder. The hour is late, so very late.  
A small part of him wants to turn to his friend and point out how the High King came to visit and he slept through it. Elrond knows he must have talked to the healers, perhaps they said more to him than they told Elrond.  

“ Fighting ” he says quietly and places the cold cloth back to Camnir’s forehead, “But he lost consciousness a while ago, and nobody seems to be able to give me an answer on why I should not worry so much”   

“Many of the warriors fare slightly better, if only because they have encountered orcish poisons before. But the healers have not lost any patients to the poison, and they say they will not, either” That is some degree of answer. The king sits in the chair and folds his hands. “They, however, told me as well that your friend is a fighter. And that shall help him recover” he is starting to actively hate the word fighter .   

“High King... Forgive my insolence, but how could this happen? We did not encounter tracks, traces, anything. And Camnir knows these woods, he would have seen if it was not only warg trails, but that of orcs” he swallows, because he had shown him way back then.   

“I talked to one of the surviving captains, and nobody seems to understand. Perhaps a surviving few, who hid in the caves and the harsh winter brought them out”  

“But this far west?”   

“I am aware” he growls, but it is not in anger towards Elrond, “Orcs in Lindon. I already sent out the guard. I ought to go with them tomorrow, but we are still working on a strategy today, in case we need to prepare for an onslaught” Of course. That is why he is here.   

“You need my input” The king nods. At least he is not pretending otherwise.  

"And I’d need his account, if you have it” he nods in turn, “And, Elrond, I am aware that you’d be of no use to me worrying like you are, so you can give it to me here and I will bring it to the table” He looks out the window. Elrond knows that he came here because otherwise, he’d pace up and down his study right now until even the strongest advisors opt to sneak away from his foul mood. “And I would only tear you away if Lindon was falling, and pray Manwe we are far away from that yet”   

“The blades and arrows were poisonous” he says without thinking about how this is far from news by now, “they attacked without... any rhyme or reason. Camnir said it seemed like they were almost... afraid”  

“Afraid?”  

“I asked the same. They took the way back through the waterways – the daylight helped. I think they were not further pursued after that” he looks away, “I did not ask more – he was... He was terrified”  

“It would be fortunate to reach the commander of the northern armies in times like these” Hah. As much as he misses her, in a way there is also comfort in knowing that Galadriel is far away – because that means that the rumours of Sauron are, as well.  

“I am not sure even Galadriel would know how to make sense of it. If they came this far, it begs the question how they got here at all. There are forests here, but the only place we heard reports of orc-sightings from are the southlands, and even there-!” Camnir twitches and turns his head away with a whine. “I am sorry” he picks up the cloth again and takes a deep breath. “Forgive me, I did not mean to get loud” He calms under his touch, slowly relaxing, and only once he did, the High King speaks again.   

“It is a good thought” he says slowly, “Nobody else realised the terror in their actions. And nobody else paid it any mind that they did not even try to pursue. But it explains that the tracks stop even before they reach the edge of the deep woods”  

“I fear to even think about what could scare orcs”  

“Or perhaps, Elrond, without their master, they are now just running away” He gets up and squeezes his shoulder, “Whatever it is, we will find out” It is not an answer that he wants to accept, but has to, nevertheless.  

“Yes, High King”  

“Do you need anything?” he shakes his head, and Ereinion raises his eyebrows. His hand moves to cup his cheek, “I shall have them bring food, tea and a blanket then. You have not eaten since noon, have you?” No, and the night is getting cold even here. Perhaps the exhaustion plays a part, or he worried himself into freezing.  

“I... forgot” There is no annoyance or open disapproval in the king’s face when he nods and he reaches up to his own shoulder, only to frown and pull back. “You are not wearing your mantle”  

“What would I do without you” is the bone-dry response, and for the first time since this morning, his heart lightens a little, some of the heaviness lifts in the smile he did not think possible.  

“Offend every other kingdom?” he offers tiredly, “Forget where you put your signet ring?” Ereinion indulges him in actually checking his fingers, before he turns a little more serious again.  

“It is safe to say that my head seems to be somewhere else today as well”  

“I cannot leave him”  

“I know” and once more, there is no judgement, there is no annoyance, even when surely, the King must need him for this, “Food, tea and a blanket. And perhaps something to sketch? I hear it helps to keep oneself occupied”  

“Thank you” and he does not only mean the offered help, but the company, the smile, his simple, sheer presence. The hand on his shoulder still stays, and Gil-galad shakes his head,  

“You have your head somewhere else right now, and that is alright. Lindon can make do without you for a day or two” he presses a kiss to the top of his head before he leaves, and Elrond takes a breath – the first deep one in however long, breathes in the herbs and potions and it smells not only of sickness, of injury, but perhaps, it smells of healing as well.  

His peace does not last. Food and tea help, as well as the fact that the blanket the king sends is actually Elrond’s own cloak which he’d left in the study earlier. But as the night turns even darker, Camnir ceaes moving altogether. He stopped counting the hours – stopped measuring the time at all. At first, Elrond simply thinks he is just back asleep – and when his eyes close, that perhaps it is even a healing sleep.  

But he is burning. No longer just warm, and he had thought he was already burning before but now just lacks the words for it, he is burning hot as coals and Elrond tries to keep his tears from spilling, then, but can’t. His own fingers hurt when he touches skin, he’d not burn as hot in a healing sleep. If he was healing, if he was getting better, then he’d cool – he'd at least-  

The cloth with which he dabs sweat and tears away, tries to cool him down at least a little, it turns warm from even resting on his face for a minute.  

And he still waits – waits for what he assumes is an hour before the beating of his heart finally gets too much, before the fear overpowers every other sense in his body and he feels as if Camnir’s skin burns his lips when he kisses his forehead and finally gets up.  

“I need help” he calls into the hallway, voice breaking and tripping over itself, “I need help!”  

Notes:

Why is this 6k. W h y.

Chapter 3

Summary:

Do you want to know how a marshmallow feels? No? Too bad because this chapter is so soft it turns you into one.

Notes:

I hope everyone had a better week than I did. This chapter absolutely reflects that because after the clusterfuck of last time, let's get to the utter softness of this one.
Enjoy!
Thank you so much for reading <3 I will also answer comments, I promise, I just need to *gestures *. But I will see one of my favourite musicians live tomorrow and on Tuesday it's my birthday so! Hopefully better times ahead!!

The ending is a little clumsy, I apologise, but somehow it was just the end?

He counts the very seconds until Iluthen hurries towards him,  

“He- He is not waking up, he is burning and-” she holds up her hand,  

“Sit down, I am here now” Yes, and he should have called her sooner, should have called her right away, should have taken more care, should have- 

“I- I tried but I couldn’t-”  

“And I asked you to watch him, and to call when you needed help and that you did ” her words are clipped and short. There is blood on her tunic, but not on her hands, and she pushes up her sleeves when she sits.  

“I should-” she throws him a look,  

“Sit” she just repeats and for once, he does. She peels back the bandages, checks Camnir’s temperature, all slowly, deliberately, and rationally he knows she needs to – this is her task, she knows what she is doing and so he can trust her, but she is so slow, so slow, and he just-  
He just- 

There is a pressure in his very being, in his chest and in his bones. It is the urge to move, the urge to get up, do something, help, somehow fix this, somehow make this better – if it was a pile of letters to read and note, he’d know what to do, if it was a meeting to negotiate he’d know what to do, all of these are tedious and they are not easy but all of these are actions that he can handle – they are actions that he so very much knows and understands.  
But this?  
He presses his hands together, but they still shake, cannot do anything, cannot handle anything because there is nothing to handle. He is just here – useless, helpless. So utterly. And he wants her to work faster, work better, and it’s unfair but he just cannot help it.  

Because this is Camnir. 

All of this is wrong . 

“Hm” she finally says, and he wants to scream, and then the urge gets too much to handle and so he is on his feet again. 

“You said it was not lethal!” the words break out of his chest, “You said-” 

“And I stand by it, Herald Elrond, it is not!” Then why does it feel like his friend is slipping away? Is dying? “Look” There is a shadow still where the lines spread, but they look like bruises much more than a dangerous spiderweb, 

“Then why is he burning and nothing helps?” The healer clicks her tongue. “This is not a healing sleep but he is also not waking!” 

“Elves-” she stops abruptly but he already knows what she meant to say. Something he knows because others had known it. Elves who are not half-elven can burn with fevers as hot as Eregion’s forges and still be alright. But here is what he also knows – that it still hurts. That it still burns to be on fire .  

“I do not care – he is suffering, and I am not letting that go! He might not be a priority for you, but he very much is for me!” 

“There is no need to get loud with me, Herald Elrond” her voice is sharp, but he is too angry to back down. “There are many in this company who were so grievously injured that we are not sure they will make it through the night” But they are not Camnir, he thinks, they are not him and all who matters now is him, please-  
Some of that desperation must translate to his face, because she sighs, “Look... How long has he been like this now?”  

“Over an hour” she sighs again and rubs her forehead, “What? Tell me!”  

“He is not the only one. We are bringing some of them to the river for it. Perhaps the waters of home and starlight of old help their conditions”  

“Is that not dangerous?”  

“Not more than the fever. And it eases the symptoms. But it can be... difficult, especially for you” Because it is cold, even now, and he does not react too well to the cold, “If you would like to get some rest-” He shakes his head,  

“The river, you said. Right now?” He already pulls the blankets away. I will help. You will be alright. Let me help . 

“Behind the houses, yes”  

“I can carry him on my own, just tell me where to go”  

 

The problem is not that Camnir is heavy – it is that he is tall . His limbs are too long, and it might look comically odd how he carries him, a passing thought he does not entertain at all after a moment. 

No, he only cradles him close, keeps his head tucked into the crook of his neck even if it physically hurts to touch his skin now, feels his breaths on his throat and his pulse through the tunic – alive, he thinks, and breathing , he thinks, and he will look at me again , and it is not a comfort nevertheless.  

There is a different comfort, however. 

The river looks beautiful. The candles are lit not only around them, but also floating on the water. Here, it is not deep, but enough to soak a body still. Several of the healers and some of their apprentices are bathing the injured in it already, and there are murmurs, quiet songs of healing and little mumbled prayers.  

Elrond’s feet ache after two steps, the spring has brought little warmth yet, but he says nothing. Even his drenched clothes hide the goosebumps, and he swallows against the gasp he feels when he kneels down in it. It is so cold it wants to take his breath, even if it goes barely above his knees even kneeling now. It is alright – it just has to work for a while, only has to work until Camnir cools. He can handle it for that time.  

“You should see this” he says when Iluthen and him lower Camnir into the water properly, “You would love the looks of it” But he is not reacting at all. Not to the words, not to the freezing water that drenches his shirt as well. His fever-warmth has the upside that he warms Elrond now, however.  

“Perhaps if he wakes before dawn” she comments softly. Elrond brushes Camnir’s hair back and his skin catches on dried mud. Iluthen chuckles, “Would you like some soap?”  

“Do I have to make sure I do not drench the bandages?”  

“No” she nods to the others, “We rely on the water as much as the starlight. And you being here will help as well”  

“Me?”  

“Of course” and she says it like he should know, like it is the most normal thing in the world. But it is not, is it? “I calmed him with a draught because he was scared without you in the room, and still his heart only really relaxed when you were there” He does not know what to say.  

“We take care of each other” he answers, finally. Iluthen squeezes his shoulder.  

“Soap and a cup” she promises.  

He runs the water over Camnir’s head, one hand square across his burning forehead to ensure it doesn’t get into his mouth or nose. As before. As when Camnir broke his wrist. 

“I just want to-” he had been so upset, so frustrated about it, “It feels gross and I cannot move and-”  

“Let me help”  

“You nearly fell asleep. And then when I dried your hair, you just dropped forwards” he smiles, a happier memory, “I think I tucked you right into bed after” he had not felt so scared back then. Spooked, worried because Camnir had been so stressed, but not scared. It feels good to be able to do something.  

He rinses out the mud, the blood and the sweat, lets it run down the river and away – away from them, away from Lindon. Perhaps into the sea, deep, deep down and away from them.  

“That’ll help...” he mumbles as he carefully soaps the stickiest mud away, “You will wake up all clean” And it helps his own fingers to circulate blood still. They are freezing, and he is slowly losing feeling in his toes. But cold is good – cold means he is cooling Camnir down as well. It is action that calms him, he can do something now – do something to actually help. And when his hair is clean, he washes his face again, runs the water over his chest before he just takes his hand again, holds it in his.  

“I am here” he promises, “I am right here, Camnir” and he does not know why he assures him of it. Perhaps because that is what Camnir does? They do not have the same fears. Elrond fears being alone, fears being a burden or an inconvenience. Camnir mainly fears the latter. And he fears utter darkness, the too-crowded rooms he cannot escape from. He does not fear being alone so much as being lonely.  

“Look” he mumbles and points up, “We are early enough my father sees us” Starlight brings elves peace, and while Eärendil’s star does not do the same for him, he is aware it is the most beloved star for many. Except... Well.  

“Do you want to say hello? I... I hope he’d have liked you. Not that I’d ever know, but I shall think he would” And if not, then his father would simply have to accept him still. Camnir has done more for him than his father has. Eärendil sacrificed his family, his life and future for all of middle earth, but more often than not he thinks about himself and his brother as that very sacrifice.  

“The only map he adhered to were the stars” And Camnir would have questioned him into the ground about how smart it really was to use a silmaril for direction. No, perhaps not, but only because he is too polite for it. Or maybe he would, because Camnir does not have the highest opinion of his parents. It is comforting, even if he wonders if he should feel shame for it, that Camnir seems to dislike them some. There is warmth in those judging eyebrows and half-scoffs. As if, if he couldn’t stand up for himself, someone else would.  

It makes him feel like he is not alone with his questions. He wondered often what it would be like if they came back – if they’d tell him they’re proud? Would they even want to talk to him?  

“I think it is more of a question if you’d want to talk to them ” Camnir had said when he brought it up. Both of them in the map room, Camnir focused on tracing a copy for a scouting party and Elrond with a load of work and horribly unproductive. That whole week had been bad – if he managed to keep a thought for longer than ten minutes, it was already a success. “It is the question of if they deserve your forgiveness”  

“The Valar helped defeat Morgoth because he sailed”  

“But they still left. And you and your brother were still orphaned. While I am glad to have you in my life, they could have come back and taken you. They had options and possibilities, and they did not – if you are not angry, that is your decision. But if they ever return, I would not blame you for not wanting to talk to them. While I do have words for them, just in case” It is not that easy, he said back then, and Camnir had just shrugged and said “Then it is only to me”  

“Still want to know those words” he mutters now, “We need to get you a new dagger, too. I will write to Celebrimbor – Erestor will join us in Lindon this summer, perhaps that is enough time. And until then, you can simply not leave the palace” oh his poor friend – he probably does not want to in the first place. He can almost hear it – Elrond, I will never leave Mithlond again .  

Not without Elrond, at least.  

But it is working. Despite Elrond’s own cold hands, the body in his arms slowly cools – his eyes stay stubbornly shut and he is so still, but he cools, and he can feel him slowly returning to this realm.  

His father’s star blinks down in disapproval, preparing to pull the dawn over the sky, and Elrond’s fingers are turning blue, his teeth chattering so hard he cannot stop them by the time Camnir blinks up at him. He could not miss it. Even when his eyes go to the candles around them, even when they go somewhere else, they always return to Camnir’s face. He strokes his cheeks, and while he does not dare sing, he cannot, he holds him despite the cold.

“Hello” he whispers, “Welcome back” Camnir’s hand is warm where it cups his, and he frowns.  

“You are cold” he mumbles, “It is cold” 

“That is good” he strokes his cheek, “Because it means you are no longer burning like embers” Camnir’s attempt at lifting his head is just that – an attempt, and Elrond places his hand on his forehead, gently pushing him back down. “No gett-getting up for you”  

“The river?” He waves to Iluthen, who still walks her rounds. “What...”  

“You had a high fever, órënya” You were burning, he thinks, “But it is alright now. You are alright now” he brushes his hair back again, “You will-” he swallows, “You will be alright”  

“And I will take over, now” Iluthen says with a look on her face that very clearly means that she won’t accept any discussions.  

“I can-”  

“Oh no” she pulls his hand away and hers is so very warm, “You are getting changed right now. The king will have my head if you get sick” 

“The ki-” She pointedly looks over to the shore. “Oh” Clad in gold and with his hair open, it is very clearly visible that Gil-galad came to see the injured – and by the look on his face, Elrond’s hope to stay undetected has not been granted.  

“Off you go”  

“I will be back” he promises a very confuddled Camnir and bends down to kiss his forehead.  

The water is even colder on his legs now that Iluthen pulls his precious charge away from him, and his feet and legs are so numb and stiff that he almost falls over. Gold-sleeved arms catch him before he can fully drench himself.  

“Stubborn peredhel...” Ereinion mutters, and his dark eyes are worried, “Come, slowly now. Your lips are blue ”  

“It- itis alright-” his teeth chatter hard, “As long- long as I- I am still shaking-”  

“Graach, Elrond !” he practically drags him inside, his rooms are not far from the river, and Elrond was never more thankful for it than he is now. He is firmly planted in a chair next to the crackling fire. “Here” the king hands him a towel that is too thick to possibly belong to Elrond, and a set of clothes that very much are his, “Change, I will get you tea. Do not leave this room” He is not sure he could, but perhaps pointing that out might not be the smartest course of action.   

Peeling the cold fabric from his skin allows the cool air to reach it, but he is close enough to the fire, and that alleviates his comfort. He changes quickly, not out of fear to be seen, but because the towel is warm and possibly the fluffiest he has ever used, and he longs to huddle under it next to the fire. He should get a blanket, but his legs refuse to carry him, he is shaking hard by now and perhaps, just maybe, the king does have a point.  

He seems to think the same when he keeps his hand wrapped over Elrond’s as he tries to drink his tea without spilling.  

“I’m fi-fi-ffine-” he tries to assure, and not just the chattering of teeth but also the fact that Ereinion just had to help him put on warm socks and Elrond almost protested when he removed the towel do not help his case.  

“No” Gil-galad says firmly, “You should not have been in the river. That healer should not have let you go in”  

“Nnot her ffault”  

“I am aware , Elrond, and I will be upset with you once you are no longer an icicle”  

“But Ca-Cam-” he sighs so deeply it’s almost a groan.  

“On the danger of repeating myself, I am aware of that as well, and I will not cuss you out only because he will do that with much more efficiency than I ever could” This time, he is getting the cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Heavy and warm it settles over his frozen skin, and Ereinion sits next to him and rubs some of that warmth back into his arms, “I ought to stick you in bed under so many covers you cannot move and for a day, not get into trouble” His fingers are finally steady enough, and his teeth not quite hitting each other so much. 

“I will not protest if you do it in Camnir’s room?” He longs to go back. By now they must have brought all the injured back inside, Camnir is hopefully dry now too, sleeping perhaps. His fever broke, but maybe the potions sent him to sleep again? Or maybe a healing sleep? Oh dear, what if he dreams and Elrond is here- 

“What of the orcs?” he finally asks, “That is how-”  

“It is being handled” Ereinion says simply, “We doubled patrols, are checking on the paths. But” and he sounds firm then, “You are not to be concerned with any of that now. We are handling it. You have family to attend to” Family? Are they?  

“I hope he is alright”  

“You can go back once you can walk again” Ereinion sighs, “I told you. But before that, you are staying right here. That is final” He could not fight him if he wanted to. The chaos of yesterday and last night left its mark – he can feel his own exhaustion 

“You are very warm” he sniffs, and the king chuckles and pulls him yet a little closer.  

“So I have been told – by you and him, actually. He gets quite protective” Yes, that he does. Like that one winter when the cold hade come in bad enough to even give elves a chill and Elrond woke up in an office in the library, wrapped in blankets and golden arms. “I am glad you have him, and glad he has you” 

“It feels as if I could do nothing”  

“You were there, were you not?”  

“But is that enough?” Ereinion sighs.  

“Of course it is. It is all we can do – all you can do, and him as well. Every time you catch a sickness, that is all we can do, and you are comforted by it, are you not?” He is. Their company, their being-there, it helps so much. It feels so safe, it helps the pain and keeps him from getting even more scared. “You did enough” he assures him again, “And he will be alright”  

 

Gil-galad insists he keeps the cloak for now and promises to look in on them both later as well. He also accompanies him to the healing rooms and Elrond assumes that he makes the excuse of checking on his troops not for his own sake, but Elrond’s. He would not need to, but Elrond still appreciates the company.  

“Call for someone if you need anything” he says in parting, “And get some rest” and then he leaves, before Elrond can ask to give the cloak back.  

When he quietly enters the room again, he finds Camnir tucked safely back under his covers. His hair is still damp, but he is dried and wearing a fresh shirt, has his arm in a dry sling. Tiredly and visibly staying awake with so much effort, he blinks. Suddenly it takes effort to blink for Elrond too. It takes effort to stand. It takes effort to not sink to the very ground in the relief that floods through his blood to every limb, every inch of his body, neither warm nor cold, just light, just so light- 

Camnir is alive . And breathing . And looking at him .  

“I thought you were asleep again” he swallows against the emotions tightening his throat, “But it is so good to see you awake”  

“I had to see you” Camnir flops his head to the side, and his eyes are clear, exhaustion lines his face but it is clear, no longer hazy and glassy, no, and he is looking at him and... 

“I was so worried” Elrond finally whispers and sits, “I... I think now I know how you usually feel when I get sick” He finds Camnir’s hand. Warm and alive. And now, when he holds it, Camnir’s fingers wrap around his.  

“You were shouting” Camnir says quietly, “I remember you shouting”  

“I... I might have lost my temper at a point” Camnir raises two very unimpressed eyebrows. “You were burning and I was...” he can’t help but brush the hair out his forehead again, only to feel his skin being warm not hot, dry not clammy. Alive. And breathing. And looking at him. “I thought I would lose you” he swallows, “I was so afraid I’d lose you, Camnir”  

“I am not going anywhere”  

“It did not feel like you had any choice in the matter, and I could not help you. I was just here and...” the tears want to return once more, but he shakes his head. Perhaps once Camnir is well again. Perhaps once all this has passed and calmed. Perhaps once  “No, none of that now. You need to rest. And heal” Camnir, because he was sent by the Valar to be Elrond’s saving grace, leaves it be.  

“You are tired as well” Camnir says and nudges his blanket over. They have slept in even closer quarters before, and he is right. Of course he is right, and he is warm but not burning.  

“I promised to stay, did I not?” he swallows and nods to the wall, where his sword still stands, “And to protect you from anything and everything”  

“And you came back”  

“Of course I came back, I will always be there for you” he wipes the treacherous tear away with his sleeve, “You hear me? I will always be here”  

“You are freezing” Camnir mumbles, “Come here” He does not need to ask twice or even finish. Elrond toes off his shoes and huddles under cloak and covers next to him, forehead to temple and Camnir smells of soap and of the river, he smells of safety and leaves and healing herbs – healing, because that is what these rooms are for, for healing, for getting better. It almost sends him to sleep straight away. Camnir lets go to tuck his blanket over his arm. It smells like the library.  

“Promise to wake me if you need... anything at all” Camnir rolls his eyes just a little, “No, I mean it” he lays down and places his hand on his good shoulder, “I was so worried” Camnir finds his hand again, entangles their fingers, and he sighs contendly when Elrond curls up next to him, and with his head in the crook of his neck, he can lean his own above his curls and given how limited his range of movement is right now, that is as entangled as it gets.  

“Do not go anywhere” he mutters, “I am never leaving Mithlond again”  

“Alright” he whispers back and smiles, “That is perfectly alright” he strokes his cheek, “Never ever again”  

“You do not believe me” He already sounds half-asleep and Elrond’s own smile fades only because he relaxes himself.  

“No, no I do” but then, quieter he adds, “Not without me, in any case. Not letting you get shot at again”  

(Neither of them wakes when Gil-galad does come to check on them. Or when an archer and a swordsman do)  

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think if you'd like, I love knowing what your fave lines are <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 14 of All You Good People