This prologue opens a new story, ‘History Lessons: The Second Age.’  The purpose of the prologue is merely to introduce our latest canon character, Arwen.

This story will cover the spring when Arwen is twelve and her brothers are 123 years old (TA 253).  There will be a third age story that involves the three children of Elrond and Celebrían, and a variety of second age stories told by members of Elrond’s household who lived through the Second Age.  The second age lasted from the founding of Lindon in the first year, and ended with the Battle of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves in II 3441, the deaths of Elendil and Gil-Galad, and the cutting of the Ring of the Power from Sauron’s hand. 

Obviously, this story cannot cover the second age in depth, so the focus will be on only several major areas: the forging of the rings of power, Celebrían’s birth, Glorfindel’s return, the founding of Imladris, and the war of the Last Alliance (although I won’t tell the story of the war; Tolkien did that – instead the story will focus on the impact to these characters). As much as it would be fun to focus on the rise and fall of Númenor, sadly there is not time to do that here.

You do not have to have read the original story ‘History Lessons’ to understand this story, although it would help in understanding some of the humor and background I have given to these characters.

I will again point out what is canon and what I have made up as I go along. 

For those kind enough to have asked, I do have another little ‘Legles’ story planned  - right now it is a vignette, and I am deciding if it fits into a larger story before moving on with it.

Feedback is appreciated!!

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Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Prologue: Arwen

Year 241 of the Third Age

Elrond and Celebrían’s suite of rooms in Imladris….

Elrond knelt between his wife’s knees, his ear resting against her belly as he listened intently.  His fingers moved about the expanded surface, gently pushing and prodding. He sat back on his heels, but did not remove his hands, as Celebrían giggled and squirmed.

“You are an impossible patient,” he scolded her.

“That tickles!” she protested.

Grinning, Elrond moved his finger into the thin skin over her ribs and began tickling her purposefully, holding her firmly in place as she tried to squirm away. “Where?  There?  Or here?”

“Elrond, behave!” she scolded him back.  “What will our daughter think?”

Elrond pressed his ear back to her belly. “She thinks it is time she joined us in this world. She is tired of being cooped up in there all alone, when it sounds so much more exciting out here,” he informed her.

Celebrían’s hands covered his suddenly and she moved them to a different spot.  “Feel her kick!  She must have your feet.”

“She wants out,” repeated Elrond. He moved to sit next to Celebrían on the couch and kissed her.  “It is nearly time.”

“My parents are here, our sons are here.  I suppose this is a good time,” she agreed.

“The whole house is here and waiting.  Her begetting day was yesterday.  I hope this lateness is not going to be a habit,” spoke a voice from the door.

“Elladan!  Come and you can feel her kick,” Celebrían called to him, her hand held out in welcome and her face lit with joy at the sight of him.

Elladan took his mother’s hand in his own, and kissed it before moving to kneel on the floor at her side.  He allowed her to place his hands on her belly, and he smiled as he felt a kick through the thin silk of his mother’s gown.

“Why, that must be her heel!” he exclaimed.  “Adar, is that her foot?”

“Yes,” answered Elrond. “She is in position to be born.”

“Oh, dear,” Celebrían suddenly said, her hands moving suddenly to the lower part of her abdomen as her eyes opened wide.

“Naneth?” Elladan asked, worried. “Are you well?”

Elrond laughed aloud, though, as his hands covered Celebrían’s reassuringly.  “Your sister plans to make her grand entrance soon.  Where is Elrohir?”

“He is with Daeradar in the library,” replied Elladan. 

“There is time, but go deliver the news and find your grandmother too.”

Elladan kissed his mother on the cheek, and left to do his father’s bidding.

“I think she might come sooner than you think,” Celebrían suddenly informed Elrond as warm liquid puddled beneath her on the floor.  She laughed aloud at Elrond as he jumped to his feet before his trousers became soaked, then kissed her before going to obtain a towel to mop up the floor.  She stood when he was finished, still graceful despite her expanded form, and her brow furrowed. “I think I shall walk a bit and then she will come.”

Elrond merely smiled as he aided her in shedding the damp gown and replacing it with a short robe, then offered her his arm.  They strolled out the open doors leading outside and through the quiet garden, Celebrían’s hands moving slowly over her large belly as their daughter shifted and moved. Elrond recalled this experience over a century earlier, but then Celebrían’s discomfort was far greater.  She had become so large that she had had difficult rising of her own accord. But never, except for the begetting of their children, had he felt this level of communion with his wife. He could feel her joy and her pain, and as each contraction hit he opened his mind to help her bear it, willing some of the pain to flow through her to him. 

“You are stubborn,” he chided her softly, as he felt a contraction pulse through her, but not reach him. They stopped walking and he moved behind her, his hands covering hers on her belly, her head lying against his shoulder as she relaxed into him, allowing him to hold her up.

As the contraction passed, she turned her head to his and caught his lips in a kiss, her tongue probing his mouth as she tasted him. He pulled back, surprised.

“Stubborn and full of surprises!”

Celebrían smiled and continued their walk, breathing through each contraction that followed, allowing the pain to overflow to Elrond. As the contractions increased in frequency, he steered her back in the direction of their rooms. “Unless I am to catch this child here in the garden, it is time to go inside.”

They entered their suite to find the bedroom prepared for birth.  Elrohir stood beaming next to a tray of tools that could be needed, should any difficulty occur.  Celeborn sat next to a stack of clean cloths, one already in his hands, that he would use to clean and wrap the babe in; and Elladan paced.  Galadriel waited serenely, and as soon as they entered she took loving charge of her daughter, helping Celebrían to prepare herself in her dressing room even as she imparted her own comfort and strength into her daughter.  She smiled as she saw the pain decrease, and then led Celebrían to her husband.

Elrond was already seated at end of the couch, and he helped Celebrían nestle in between his legs. She rested her arms on his thighs, allowing him to support most of her weight as she squatted, then sighed and rested her head against his broad chest.  She looked up at him and smiled, kissing him, for she had asked him to support her rather than deliver their daughter. She had told him she felt selfish asking such a thing, but Elrond had decided if anything her request only made him love her more.  He would know if there was a problem before it occurred, and others could catch the infant, but none could support Celebrían and the infant in the way that he could.

“Celebrían, you are ready,” Galadriel informed them as she knelt on the floor in front of her daughter.  “Begin to push when you feel the need.”

The next contraction came hard and fast, and Celebrían leaned forward as she bore down, trusting Elrond to hold her and keep her from falling. She felt her braids being pinned up, and then a cool cloth brush her neck, forehead and cheeks. She smiled her thanks to Elladan, who knelt at her side. 

“She has dark hair,” encouraged Galadriel. She placed her hand on the crowning head, concentrating all her strength to ease the child’s passage. “Push, Celebrían!”

As Elrond poured his strength into Celebrían, she poured it all into birthing their child, and suddenly the pain stopped.

“She’s here!” Elrohir breathed as he held the special knife for cutting the cord. 

Elrond watched the miracle before him as Celebrían drew in her breath and Galadriel caught the baby girl as she slid from his wife’s body and then laid her in Celeborn’s hands, on the towel he had been holding for the last hour.  Elrohir handed Galadriel the knife, but she instead held up the birthing cord, and with a huge grin Elrohir cut the cord.

Elrond watched as Celeborn stood with the child in his hands, gently wiping her clean. He seemed mesmerized by the child.  After a moment, Celeborn moved to sit at Elrond’s other side, holding the child out so they all could see her. Celebrían leaned back against Elrond and her eyes were on the infant even as her own mother tended her.

A beautiful child with blue eyes in a pale pink face framed by dark hair met the gazes of her family with a coo.  She seemed as a princess holding court, looking upon them all as if she were indeed the center of their world.

“She is the image of Lúthien,” Celeborn finally said. “She is a most beautiful child.”

At his pronouncement the baby cooed again, and all watching would swear she smiled at that moment.  Her tiny hand curled around her grandfather’s finger, and Elrond knew that she would soon have them all wrapped around her little finger.

Galadriel had finished tending Celebrían, and Elrond helped his wife to stand and then wrapped her in a clean robe.  Elrohir piled cushions about the couch, and Celebrían settled into the nest he had made for her with a contented sigh.  He sat down next to her and kissed her on the cheek, his eyes bright.

“Naneth, that was the most wonderful and beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Elrohir whispered.

Celebrían brushed the back of her hand against his cheek, then smoothed the dark hair away from his face. Her gaze seemed far away, as if in remembrance of days past. She pulled her son close, but where normally she would have drawn him into her arms, this time Elrohir deftly turned her so that she rested in his powerful arms.

“I have only ever seen one other wondrous occasion that could compare,” she agreed, “and that was when you and Elladan entered the world.”

Elladan moved to sit on the other side of his mother, and the three watched in amusement as Elrond attempted to wash his daughter and swaddle her in soft blankets.  The child’s grandfather, however, did not wish to release her.  Each time Elrond removed his touch from the babe, Celeborn would reclaim her. 

“They are fighting over our sister,” said Elrohir indignantly.

“Perhaps we had better rescue her,” replied Elladan, with a gleam in his eye.

The twins abandoned their mother with kisses and Celebrían relaxed into the cushions with a smile as she watched her sons stalk their baby sister.  They approached with Elladan moving to Elrond’s side and Elrohir beside his grandfather.  As soon as Elrond finished wrapping her in swaddling, Elrohir clapped his hands over his grandfather’s, preventing him from reclaiming his granddaughter, and Elladan swooped in to claim the child.  A moment later, the twins had their sister to themselves, and they sat on the edge of the bed as they introduced themselves to her.

“Adar, Naneth, we cannot properly introduce ourselves without knowing her name,” Elladan informed them.  As he spoke he pressed against Elrohir’s side, preventing Celeborn from squeezing in between them.

Elrond looked to Celebrían, and at her nod he spoke.  “Her name is Arwen.”

Elrohir stroked the downy head and lifting the babe, kissed her on the forehead.  “You seem a bit small to be a noble lady, little sister, but I am sure you will quickly grow into that name.  Welcome to the family, Arwen.  I am your brother, Elrohir.”

Elladan nuzzled her next, and the bright blue eyes looked intently at the dark haired twins facing her, their heads touching.  “And I am Elladan, and do not worry that you are having double vision.  We are twins.  It is wonderful to have a twin, Arwen.  I am sorry you do not have one.  But it just means all of our attention will go to you.”

Arwen cooed and waved a small arm that she had freed from her swaddling. It was quickly caught by her grandfather, who had perched near his grandsons.

Across the room Celebrían sighed and smiled.  Her mother had moved to sit next to her, and Celebrían rested her head against Galadriel’s shoulder briefly.

“Naneth, I am so thankful only I can feed her, or I would never get to hold my daughter.  Will you go rescue Arwen?”

Galadriel rose gracefully and walked to stand in front of the four males competing for Arwen’s attention, four sets of hands that vied to capture the tiny fingers that waved at them, or stroke the dark hair, and when possible, actually remove the child from Elladan’s arms.

“Give me my granddaughter,” Galadriel instructed in a soft yet commanding tone.  “Her mother has yet to hold her, and Arwen needs to nurse.”

Elladan reluctantly relinquished his hold on the small bundle and Galadriel took advantage of the opportunity herself to meet the child.  She spoke no words, but Arwen seemed to communicate with her as well, and the tiny mouth began to move as if she were suckling.

She placed the child in Celebrían’s arms, and none heard what the mother spoke to her much awaited and longed for daughter, but moments later the infant latched on to her mother’s breast and Celebrían relaxed into the cushions with a sigh of utter contentment.

Elrond sat next to her, drawing Celebrían and Arwen comfortably into his arms, so that Celebrían need not even support the weight of the infant.  She relaxed against him, turning her face slightly to capture his lips in a kiss.

“Thank you, meleth-nín, for my daughter,” she murmured.

Elladan and Elrohir laughed as Elrond kissed his wife deeply, and they knew their father would take his time to find the perfect words and actions that would speak his gratitude to Celebrían for bearing him another child.  Elrohir winked at Elladan, and then spoke.

“Well, I must say that practice surely made for perfection, Adar.   I cannot imagine a more perfect child than Arwen.”

Elrond looked up sharply and Celebrían laughed aloud, as did Galadriel. As Elrond contemplated scolding his son, he saw the glints of humor in their eyes.

“When, exactly, did you overhear that, Elrohir?” Elrond finally asked.

Elladan laughed too then.  “Adar, even I have heard that you and Naneth have been practicing making Arwen for some time.”

An arched brow from his sire made Elrohir finally cease laughing and answer the question.

“The summer we were injured at the waterfall, Adar,” he finally answered. “I did not know for some time why you had to practice whatever you were doing in the privacy of your own chambers, but when I asked Glorfindel he assured me it was the best place for that kind of practice.”

Elrond felt color rising in his cheeks, but Celebrían was not embarrassed in the least, and continued to laugh.

“Really, Adar, it is rather an old family joke. Whenever our grandparents or Glorfindel or Erestor asked where the two of you were, the answer was that you were practicing,” Elladan chimed in.

Celebrían finally ceased laughing, and kissed Elrond again.  He looked into her eyes and saw weariness beneath her pride and joy.

“Well, I would say the practice was put good to use, then, for our daughter is perfect,” Elrond agreed ruefully. He unpinned the braids that were still atop Celebrían’s head and stroked the silver hair gently.

“Elladan, Elrohir, would you go share the news of Arwen’s safe arrival with the rest of the house?  We will come to the Hall of Fire this evening to present her, after your naneth has had time to rest.”

The twins kissed their parents and little sister, and then left the room.  Even within their sanctuary, Elrond and Celebrían could hear voices raised in joy as their sons spread the news.

As Celebrían drifted into sleep, Celeborn reclaimed his granddaughter, allowing Elrond and Galadriel to move Celebrían to her bed and tend her before she slept. To Elrond’s surprise, Galadriel motioned for him to join Celebrían.

“You gave much of yourself in Arwen’s arrival, too.  Rest, Elrond.”

Elrond drifted quickly into sleep, his hands unconsciously moving to cover Celebrían’s belly as they had for so many months, and the two slept deeply.

Galadriel sat down next to Celeborn.

“I saw Lúthien when she was just a few days in this world. A beautiful child in body and spirit, she charmed all who knew her. It is no wonder Elu-Thingol would hold her captive from the outside world,” said Celeborn thoughtfully.

Galadriel laughed softly. “Arwen will have a father and brothers to ensure that no one steals her heart. She is a descendent of Lúthien; it is of no great surprise that she bears a resemblance to her foremother.”

“Why do I fear for her?” whispered Celeborn.

Galadriel was silent for a long moment, watching her husband tenderly hold the now sleeping child.  He had reacted in a similar protective manner when Celebrían was born.

“I do not know,” Galadriel replied truthfully.  “Enjoy her now, hervenn, and do not let fear rob you of your grandfatherly joy.  Even if there is grief in the future for any of our daughter’s family, that is only reason to treasure each of them more now.”

Celeborn met his wife’s eyes, and when he probed through their bond he felt only truth in her words.  He placed Arwen into Galadriel’s arms, and then pulled them both close.  No further words did they speak aloud, but in their minds they recalled and relived the joy they had felt when Celebrían was born, and then the twins, and they contented themselves for the several hours Elrond and Celebrían slept by reliving their memories of these ones they held dear.

* * *

All of Imladris had gathered in the Hall of Fire.  The minstrels made soft music that others accompanied with song.  A sense of lightness and joy pervaded the hall, with ready smiles on the faces of all present. 

Elrond and his sons entered the Hall dressed in colors of midnight blue edged with silver, their dark hair offset by narrow silver circlets on their foreheads.  They surrounded Celebrían, who dressed in silver this evening.  Throughout her pregnancy she had glowed, but this night as she walked with her daughter in her arms the light seemed more brilliant, reflecting off the silver of her gown and her silver hair and offset with the fire of sapphires that Elrond had placed about her neck and in her hair.

In her arms was a child of the evening. Arwen was wrapped in a midnight blue blanket trimmed in silver, framing her face, and her blue eyes were wide open and serene.

Elrond led Celebrían through the Hall to their chairs. They did not sit, but stood before the gathered elves with their sons on either side of them.

“We are greatly honored by the presence of each of you here this evening,” Elrond greeted them. “It has been of great joy to us to know that all of Imladris has waited as expectantly for the arrival of our daughter as we have.”

He took Arwen from Celebrían’s arms, and held her before him so that all could see her.

“I present to you our daughter, Arwen.”

Lindir stepped forward amidst the murmur of greetings, and bowed before Elrond, Celebrían and Arwen.

“Lady Arwen, we welcome you to life in Imladris,” he said softly as he strummed his harp.

The room grew silent, and Lindir stepped back to the group of musicians and singers. With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, Lindir motioned for the group to begin and soft music arose in the Hall.  Meant to soothe and welcome the newly born child, it had been written and prepared especially for her. 

When it was completed, Celebrían sat on her chair, thoughtfully cushioned by someone, and Elrond placed Arwen back in her arms.  He sat next to her and their sons stood behind her as individuals from Imladris began to approach them, bearing gifts and kind words. Arwen neither cried nor fussed, but looked wide-eyed at all who passed her. Small gowns and beautiful blankets, rattles and dolls, hair ribbons and gems, and even small furniture crafted especially for Arwen were gifted to them.

To Elrond’s surprise, Glorfindel and Erestor approached last.  Erestor sank to his knees before Celebrían, kissing her hand and then touching Arwen’s palm and grinning unabashedly as her tiny fingers wrapped around his.

“Lady Celebrían, she is as exquisite as her mother.”

Elladan and Elrohir nudged each other and their shoulders shook with silent laughter.  They had driven Erestor to distraction from the time they could walk, but clearly their sister had already conquered his heart.  As Erestor rose his gaze settled on the brothers and his eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile did not leave his face. 

“I am sure she will be an utter delight,” he whispered in Elladan’s ear as he moved past.

Elladan grinned back.  “We shall teach her all we know.”

Glorfindel was dressed as splendidly as Elrond had ever seen him, and Elrond was immediately reminded of two prior occasions when Glorfindel had appeared in his finery and with such a serious demeanor.  Emotion welled up in him as he recalled the way that Glorfindel had welcomed Celebrían as his wife and Lady of Imladris, and then the way he had greeted Elladan and Elrohir on the day they were born. He knew that in Glorfindel’s mind a ceremony was being played out, a vow and commitment were being made, perhaps similar to the ones he had made in Valinor before returning to Middle-earth. 

Glorfindel first grasped Elrond’s arm in the way of warriors, and then bowed before him. He then kissed Celebrían’s hand, and bowed before her. Elrond watched Glorfindel as the golden-haired warrior then stood silently before them for some minutes, his hand over his heart, as he gazed upon the child in Celebrían’s arms.  Arwen met his gaze serenely.  Finally his hand dropped again to his side and he knelt before Celebrían.  Like Erestor before him, he touched the tiny palm with one fingertip and a smile of adoration spread across his face as the tiny fingers wrapped around his.  He gently raised the small hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes growing bright as Arwen cooed at him.

At Elrond’s motion, Elrohir brought a low stool and set it beside his mother.  Elrond nudged Glorfindel to sit, and then placed Arwen in his arms.

As Glorfindel introduced himself to the infant, he became aware that the twins were leaning one over each shoulder and he turned to smile at each of them.

“Glorfindel, have you fallen to her charms already?” Elladan asked, teasing.

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel immediately. He motioned for them to sit, and they did so on cushions before him. “Just as I fell for your charms the first time I held each of you.”

Celebrían laughed in remembrance. “He held you both in one arm, for you were each slightly smaller than Arwen, and Elladan had a hand wrapped about his thumb while Elrohir had taken hold of his small finger, and neither of you was about to let go. Glorfindel thought that Elladan’s grip would lead to more skill with the sword, while Elrohir would prefer the bow.”

Elladan and Elrohir laughed, for indeed Elladan excelled with the sword and Elrohir preferred the bow!  But their eyes were bright and they both found themselves unconsciously moving to lean against Glorfindel’s legs as they considered that he had looked at them the same way that he looked at Arwen now – with intense pride and adoration and love.

Arwen yawned, and drew her hand, still wrapped about Glorfindel’s finger, to her face and began to suckle on the tip of his finger.  A doting smile crossed Glorfindel’s face, but he acceded gracefully to the child’s demands and returned her to her mother’s arms.

“Goodnight, Arwen,” Glorfindel said as he kissed the dark head.

Elrohir took Arwen from his mother’s arms and carried her from the Hall, Elladan at his side, while Elrond escorted Celebrían.  Once the door had closed behind them, Elrond whispered in Celebrían’s ear, and then scooped her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way.  He could feel her weariness as she wrapped her arms about his neck and relaxed against him, and he poured his strength into her, replenishing her.

Unsurprisingly, Galadriel was waiting for them in their rooms, and she tended to Celebrían then dressed her for bed while Elrond undressed Arwen from her finery and swaddled her comfortably in soft cloths and blankets. She had just started to fuss when Elrond placed her at Celebrían’s breast.  A few moments later he crawled in next to them, cuddling them to him and gently rocking them until both were asleep.

As he held them, tears of joy slid down his cheeks as feelings of love overflowed from him. He had not known that he could be this content and full of joy, but as he thought back over the day, to the dignity and beauty of his wife, and how she had given him a daughter he would cherish until the end of Arda; to the mature and wonderful sons who had assisted, and to their extended family and all of the household of Imladris, he felt a good kind of pain as he thought his heart might burst.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:

Use of Elvish: I continue to use bits of Sindarin for forms of address and terms of endearment. It helps in not shocking the Brits by using ‘Mommy’ and the Americans by using ‘Mum’.  I can write ‘Nana’ and everyone can translate it however they want. It also reminds me that these are elves, not humans.

Ada/Adar---------------------diminutive of father/Father
Nana/Naneth-----------------diminutive of mother/ Mother
Daerada/Daeradar----------Grandpa/Grandfather
Daernana/Daernaneth------Grandma/grandmother
Meleth-nín--------------------my love
Hervenn/hervess-------------husband/ wife

Regarding child development: Elves choose the begetting day of their child, and the child is born usually exactly to the day a year later.  If baby Arwen seems a little more alert than what you have recalled in newborns, I am doing that on purpose.  She has had three more months in the womb than a human child, and elvish children develop many skills faster than a human child in that first year of life.  Laws and Customs of the Eldar (HoME Vol X, Morgoth’s Ring) suggests that an elf-child learns to walk and talk before one year of age, and that they gain mastery of their bodies quite early.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Imladris Third Age 253
(Arwen is 12 and the twins 123 years old)

Chapter 1: Brothers and Sister

It was still dark when Arwen laid the small bag on her bed and began filling it with her favorite things.   Her favorite doll, her favorite book, the embroidery of roses her mother was helping her with, her pad of paper and colored pencils, and her own favorite cup that didn’t spill when tipped over.  She looked around her room, content she had everything important for the day, then carefully tied her cloak about her shoulders.  It really was not cold, but her mother would insist she wear it in the chill of the spring morning. Picking up her bag, she left her room and made her way down the hall, out of the family quarters, and to the front door of the house.

“Good morning, Arwen,” said Amariel, an elf who tended to the clothing of the people in Elrond’s house.

“Good morning, Amariel,” answered Arwen solemnly.

A little further down the hall she met Erestor. He bowed slightly, then greeted her.

“Good morning, Lady Arwen,” he said formally.

“Good morning, Erestor,” replied Arwen politely, without stopping.

“I am glad you have your cloak; there is a chill in the air this morning,” Erestor continued.  When she attempted to pass him, he stepped into her path, blocking her way. “Perhaps you should stop in the kitchen for some hot tea.”

Arwen stopped and looked at Erestor contemplatively for a moment.  “Yes,” she finally answered.  “I believe that would be comforting.” She took the hand he held out to her, and allowed him to escort her to the kitchens.  The kindly cook filled her cup with sweetened hot tea, and wrapped several scones for her as well.  These Erestor graciously carried on a tray for her.

Once on the front porch, Arwen commandeered the swing.  Setting her bag to one side, she climbed up to sit next to it, and Erestor set the tray on the other side of her.  She took her doll out of the bag, smoothed her dress, and set her on the other side of the tray. She looked off into the distance and sighed, then said, “It may be a long day.”

Erestor smiled and smoothed her hair affectionately, before walking back into the house.  Days like today were much anticipated, and fortunately for Arwen, it was warm enough that she could wait outside.  Arwen sipped her tea carefully, and then pulled her book out to begin reading as the sun rose over the treetops.

* * *

Elrond entered the dining hall, quickly scanning the room to see who was present before seating himself next to Celebrían.  Erestor was quietly speaking to his wife, but his daughter was nowhere to be seen.

“She is on the porch, settled in for the day,” Celebrían answered the question on his lips, then kissed those same lips before returning her attention to her breakfast.

Elrond glanced at the fruit on his wife’s plate, then stabbed a plump strawberry with his fork.  He savored the sweet taste, then looked up and down the table for the bowl.  His brow furrowed as he realized there were none left.  He looked surreptitiously at the beautiful globes beckoning him from Celebrían’s plate.

“Are you coveting my fruit, hervenn?” asked Celebrían sweetly.

“Yes,” Elrond answered hopefully. “It appears there are none left.”

“Indeed, one had to be early to partake of the strawberries.”

“Alas, my duties kept me from the breakfast table this morning,” replied Elrond mournfully.  When Celebrían did not respond to his best pathetic look, he decided to change tactics.  “Perhaps you would consider a trade?”

Celebrían perked up at this offer, but then quickly resumed her breakfast.  “I cannot think of anything I want or need, meleth-nín.”

His hand slid playfully up her thigh under the privacy of the table and a smile crossed his face as she sighed thoughtfully.  After a moment she split her supply of strawberries in half and placed a portion of them on his plate.

“I will share with you in remembrance of things given that I desired,” Celebrían answered.

 When she smiled, he fell in love with her all over again.

“Does our small living reminder of things desired know that her brothers are not expected back from their patrol until mid-afternoon?” Elrond asked.

“She has been told, but has high hopes that they will come sooner than that.  Last time they returned early and she was not there waiting. She is determined that this will not happen again.”

“Elladan and Elrohir need to remember that she takes to heart anything they say,” said Elrond. “They teased her about not being there to greet them, and now she waits from sunup when they are expected.”

Celebrían smiled.  “But I love that they love her as they do, and that she adores them.”

Elrond smiled as he savored another strawberry.  He had never asked that the tastiest morsels of food be set aside for his family, but he was close to begging the Master Gardener who grew these in the greenhouses to save him a few every so often. He looked at the last few on his plate with a greedy eye, but then wrapped them in his napkin and set them aside.  He finished the rest of his breakfast, bid farewell to those lingering at the table, and then took the napkin with him as he left.

He found Arwen sleeping on the swing in the bright morning sun, her eyes half closed and her book laid across her chest.  Her tray was empty, and he removed that to a side table, glad she had at least eaten what Cook had given her, and then sat down beside her.  He pulled the book from her lap and then lifted her in his arms.  She snuggled against him with a sigh. Elrond rocked her quietly for some minutes, until the blue eyes suddenly focused and she quickly sat upright, her bright eyes scanning the yard.

“They are not home yet,” laughed Elrond. 

Arwen leaned back against him with a sigh.  Elrond opened his napkin in front of her to reveal the saved strawberries.  She turned her head slightly to look up at him with a smile, and when he nodded, she popped a whole berry in her mouth.

“You have the last one, Ada. I know they are your favorites,” said Arwen, as she held the berry to his lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Elrond replied as he pulled her to him again.  They sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying the warm sunshine and watching the birds that were landing on the porch rail. “Arwen, you know that you do not have to wait here all day for Elladan and Elrohir to come home?”

Arwen shook her head resolutely.

“I could have the guards send word when the patrol approaches,” offered Elrond.

“No thank you, Ada. I will wait here.”

Elrond moved her to where she had been sitting before.  “You may have lunch here, but if they do not come before dinner, you must come in and eat with us at the dinner table.”

Arwen kissed him on the cheek and nodded, and Elrond stood and returned to his duties inside the house.

* * *

“Glorfindel, do you think that Adar will send us to the Havens?” asked Elladan as he maneuvered his horse alongside the magnificent white horse Glorfindel rode.

Glorfindel’s eyes twinkled as he regarded the eager son of Elrond before him.  He contemplated teasing the young elf, but he knew how excited the twins were at the idea of visiting Círdan at the Havens.  “I have heard that he is contemplating such action,” he answered with a smile.

“Will he let us go alone?”

“No,” answered Glorfindel without a moment’s hesitation.

“But Glorfindel, there is hardly any danger anymore!” protested Elladan.  “We have only heard stories of orcs and have never seen a troll.”

“As fortunate as you are to have lived in a time of peace, Middle-earth is not a safe place and your father will not send the two of you alone.  We still encounter goblins in the Misty Mountains and reports have come of evil men from the east moving westward,” replied Glorfindel firmly.

Elrohir rode up on the other side of Elladan, having heard the conversation from behind them.  “Then will we go with you, Glorfindel?”

“Perhaps,” he answered non-committally. “It is not for me to decide.  You must speak to your father.”

With that, he waved them off and rode ahead. Indeed Elladan and Elrohir would be accompanying him and two others. The details of the journey were already planned, but as much as he would enjoy telling the twins himself, Elrond wished for that joy himself.

He waved a greeting to the guards near the entrance to Imladris, then released the bells he kept tightly bound and wrapped in soft cloth to prevent unwanted noise while on patrol.  His horse threw back his noble head and stepped high, shaking the tiny bells and whinnying with pleasure.  Glorfindel laughed aloud then, and behind him many a head was shaken and other voices joined his as the elves indulged their captain his whim.

As they rode into the courtyard, a tiny figure raced down the stairs of the porch of the house.  They dismounted as grooms came forward to lead their horses to the stables and Elladan caught the small elleth who leapt into his arms and hugged him tight.

“I was waiting this time, Elladan,” she informed him as she kissed his cheek, and then stretched her arm out to embrace Elrohir and kiss him too.

“We would have been very disappointed if you were not,” replied Elladan as he hugged her back.

Arwen wrinkled her nose primly at him.  “You smell like a horse.”

Elladan laughed and tossed her high in the hair, laughing at the squeal she made at being caught off guard.  “If you slept with a horse at night, you would smell like one too!”

To Arwen’s surprise, Elladan tossed her high into the air, but she did not fall back to his protective arms.  The twins both laughed at the shock on her face as an even taller and stronger elf caught her and held her high.

“Glorfindel!”

“Mae Govannen, little princess!” Glorfindel lowered her to his chest, pressed his lips to her cheek and blew a wet kiss on her.

“Glorfindel, stop that!” Arwen pushed him away, giggling. 

“Stop what?  This?” Glorfindel tickled her.

“Elrohir, save me from this brute!” Arwen shrieked, holding her arms out to her brother.

Elrohir scooped her up, laughing.  Elladan was pointing at Glorfindel and laughing at the shocked look on his face.

“She called me a brute!” said Glorfindel indignantly.

“You were tickling me!” Arwen defended herself.

His arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping on the ground, Glorfindel eyed the small child glaring back at him from the safety of her brother’s arms.

“I might do far worse for being disrespectful to your elders,” growled Glorfindel playfully.

Arwen tossed her head and looked away from the golden warrior.  “I am not afraid of you,” she informed him, her hand twisting tightly into Elrohir’s tunic.

Glorfindel winked at the twins before moving back into Arwen’s line of sight. “Are you sure about that, Lady Arwen?” he purred, grinning.

Arwen’s eyes opened wide and she slid down her brother to stand before Glorfindel.  Her arms crossed over her chest and fire in her eyes, she lifted her foot in preparation to stomp on his when laughter all around her made her look up and around.  Her brothers and Glorfindel were laughing, as were other warriors and bystanders.  Color rose in her cheeks at the humiliation, and her lower lip began to tremble as tears filled her eyes.  The first tear slid down her cheek as she turned to run into the house.  After only a few steps she found herself caught in someone’s arms, but when she turned her head she found it was Elrohir.  She buried her face in his shoulder to hide her tears.

“Shhh, Arwen,” Elrohir said gently.  “Listen.”

Sheltered in Elrohir’s arms, her own long hair hiding her face, she listened as the warriors laughed at ……Glorfindel?

“Bested by a child, Glorfindel!” said one of the other captains who had come to greet them.

“You certainly are an elder,” teased a younger warrior playfully.  “Perhaps we can teach an old elf how to charm the maidens.”

Glorfindel accepted the teasing good-naturedly, then began looking around for Arwen.  He walked to her and bowed slightly, then held out his hand.  Elrohir nudged her to take it, and when she did, he kissed it like a gentleman ought.

“I am glad to see you, Arwen, even if you did best me in front of my command,” acknowledged Glorfindel.

A confused look, followed by dismay passed across Arwen’s face.  She held her arms out to Glorfindel, then hugged him and kissed his cheek.  “Oh, no Glorfindel.  I did not mean to make you look bad!”

Another roar of laugher echoed in the courtyard at this pronouncement, and Elrohir gently pushed them towards the house after seeing the confused look cross Arwen’s face again.  Elladan joined them, and they stopped on the porch, Glorfindel setting Arwen down amidst her treasures.

Elladan picked up and folded her cloak, while Elrohir picked up her drawing pad and began leafing through the pages.

“Arwen, how long have you been waiting here?” Elrohir finally asked.

“Since the sun came up,” replied Arwen proudly.  “I was not going to disappoint you again.”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances and both blushed slightly.  They helped her pack her things, then Elladan took her by the hand while Elrohir picked up her bag, and they entered the house together.  As soon as they were inside, she let go of Elladan’s hand and raced down the hall, swerving deftly around Erestor as he stepped into the corridor, and calling, “Ada, Nana, they are finally home!”

“I will put her bag in her room,” said Erestor as he took the bag from Elrohir.  “Welcome home.  You have time to bathe before dinner.”

Elladan grinned at Erestor.  “You would have scolded us for running in the hall.”

“Yes, I would have,” answered Erestor matter-of-factly.  “Now, go get ready for dinner.  I will bring your packs up later too.”

Glorfindel dropped the twins’ packs on the floor before Erestor, grinning when bits of dirt and a few twigs fell on to the polished floor.  Erestor glared at him momentarily, then sniffed, his nose upturned as if at some foul odor. 

“The baths are that way.” Erestor pointed down the hall, carefully lifted the packs to keep them from touching his clothing and headed for the laundry.

Glorfindel laughed aloud.  “And a good day to you too!”  Whistling, he headed for the baths.

* * *

Arwen sat between her brothers, a beaming smile on her face.  She barely listened to what was being said around her.  Her mind raced with the things she needed to show her brothers and tell them had happened in the week they had been gone.  The kittens in the barn had their eyes open, and could now be picked up without the mother cat growling.  She had another rose done in her stitchery, and she knew Elrohir would like it because he had helped her pick out the thread colors.  Lindir had taught her a new note on the flute as well as on the harp.  They were her favorite instruments because they were the ones her brothers played.  Erestor had practiced her song with her, singing Elladan’s part, to help her prepare for the duet she and her brother would sing at the summer festival. 

“Thank you, Adar!”

Elrohir’s slightly raised voice caught her attention and she sat back in her chair, looking at him. 

“Glorfindel will lead the trip, and two other guards will accompany you,” Elrond said.  “You will be able to visit Círdan and the Havens, and Lindon as well.  I do expect you home by the end of summer, however.”

Arwen tugged on Elrohir’s sleeve.  “Where are you going?”

“We are going with Glorfindel to deliver something to Círdan from Adar.  We will visit the Havens and Lindon,” replied Elrohir enthusiastically.

“How long will you be gone?” asked Arwen in a small voice.

“Just for the summer, Arwen,” Elrohir answered, his voice softening in response to the look of dismay that crossed her face.  “We will return before you know it.”

Arwen turned to Elladan. “We will not sing our duet at the summer solstice?”

“I am sorry, Arwen,” Elladan replied sincerely.  “Perhaps we can sing it at the fall festival.”

“It is a song about summer,” said Arwen softly.

Arwen slid from her chair and approached her mother, touching her softly on the sleeve.  Celebrían was laughing at something Glorfindel said, and Arwen felt a deep anger towards him build within her.

“Yes, Arwen?” Celebrían smoothed the dark hair back from Arwen’s face and kissed her on the forehead as she gave her daughter her full attention.

“Nana, I am tired.  May I be excused?”

“Yes, darling.  Your Adar and I will come to bid you goodnight in a little while,” replied Celebrían.

Arwen left the room slowly, turning back once to look at her brothers.  They were laughing and happy, speaking to their parents and Glorfindel about their trip.  She quickly left the room and made her way down the hall to her own chamber, and only there did she let her tears fall.  They would be gone all summer and she did not think she could bear it.  Worse yet, it appeared not to bother them at all that they would be apart from her.

* * *

“Adar, tell us more about Lindon and the Havens,” said Elrohir, his face shining.

Elrond smiled, pleased to see his sons so obviously thrilled with the idea of their adventure far from home. He knew Círdan would enjoy meeting his sons, and he wished for them to see Lindon before it faded further than it already had, bereft of Gil-Galad’s presence.

“Lindon is called the last of the great elven kingdoms, and nearly every elf who had survived the destruction of Beleriand lived there at one time,” he began.  “The many cultures contributed to a rich atmosphere where, as Gil-Galad had hoped, we truly lived and did not just survive….

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond walked down the brick paved street of Lindon, a wide thoroughfare that was split in the middle to house a large fountain surrounded by a wide seat.  Elflings played in the shallow water, splashing each other and sailing their small boats about the large lower pool.  Trees shaded the sides of the street, and beneath the boughs of one large tree a small orchestra played – rays of sunshine dappled those below, glinting off the polished wood of the fine instruments.  Elrond found himself smiling at the children, recalling the joy he and Elros had had playing on the beach of the Isle of Balar when they were small. He hummed along with the musicians as he strolled past.

A large sun garden sat opposite the musicians, and elves tended the roses that flourished in their care.  Pink, yellow, white, red and even an occasional blue flower flourished amidst the lush greenery.  Warm summer breezes sent tantalizing smells wafting over the street, and Elrond breathed in the heady fragrance, momentarily closing his eyes as he savored the experience.

He continued down the street, passing by the amphitheater.  The outdoor section was in use, and he could hear the sounds of music and dance being practiced.  He walked on to the large brick library, climbing up the stairs and entering the wing where scribes were copying texts of elven lore and artists were illustrating the completed pages. He laid the volume he had brought with him on the table, nodding as the young scribe bowed to him before opening the pages in delight.  Carefully pressed between the pages were dried leaves of various herbs along with sketches of the plants they came from and a written description of where they were most likely to be found.  Elrond had spent much of the previous year collecting the samples and documenting the habitats that had produced them.  He had traveled far inland, to Lake Evendim in the North and then further east, to the low slopes of the Misty Mountains.   These samples were of plants known to him or others in his party, all of whom had a deep interest in herbal lore.  Other samples they had collected and were testing to see what benefit they might offer. Artists would now draw detailed renderings of the leaves and copy Elrond’s own drawings of the plants and text into beautiful script.

He left the library only hesitantly, for though he knew he must attend a meeting in a short time, he was drawn to the smells of leather and ink and parchment.  He always felt at home in the atmosphere of the library.  He walked into the street again, this time heading to the palace of the King. Situated at the end of the street, the palace was a glorious end to the beauty of this main thoroughfare.  As Elrond approached the stairs he saw the long robes and beard of a figure he knew well, and he waited patiently for the old elf to reach him.

“Círdan,” Elrond greeted him warmly, and he breathed in the smell of sea salt that pervaded all Círdan owned as the elf embraced him.

“Elrond, it is good to see you.  How was your time in the wild?” Círdan’s voice remained gruff, but Elrond loved the sound of it, different as it was from the melodious voices of most elves.

“Beneficial.  I look forward to exploring south along the coast line in the future, and perhaps even crossing the Misty Mountains to the great river beyond,” answered Elrond with a smile.

“Ereinion suggests others may wish to settle eastward.”

Elrond pulled a scroll identical to the one Círdan held from his robe. “So I hear. I did not travel so far south as Khazad-dum. The tales of the workmanship of the dwarves there are grand indeed.”

“Galadriel and Celeborn will go,” Círdan forewarned him. 

Elrond looked up in surprise. “This is certain?”

“I believe so, though they will go for different reasons.”

“The Nargothrond survivors going would not surprise me.  They have lived and worked with dwarves in the past, in closer relationship than those of Doriath.”

“Celebrimbor will go,” confirmed Círdan. He looked off in the distance for a moment, toward the settlement of the green elves that was beyond the main city of Lindon.  “The green elves are content, for this has been their home for many a year.  Some of the Sindar seek the simpler time of days past, when the Nandor lived peacefully in the trees, blending with the land as part of nature.  They have heard tale of kin that did not pass the Misty Mountains. Word has it that they wish to travel east to find these lost kinfolk, to see how they fare and if the shadow that covered Beleriand in times past also affected them.”

“I have heard talk of this for many years.  Do you believe it will happen soon?” Elrond asked skeptically.

“It will in time.  Many have explored farther inland, yourself included.  The ships of Númenor have sailed the coastline now, and they have plans to sail further east, as well as make land and explore inland.  Each group explores for different reasons. For these Sindar, it is lost kin and a simple way of life they seek. If they are welcomed by these elves, they will go and settle among them.”

“We have had many years of peace,” said Elrond thoughtfully as they climbed the stairs together. “Restlessness grows among some who wish to experience new things and try new crafts.”

Círdan turned his gaze to the far west then.  “Aye, the same restlessness that caused some of the Noldor to leave Valinor and seek adventure in the land of their forbearer’s awakening. Only some came to follow Fëanor in his quest for the Silmarilli.  The greater excitement lay in exploration.”

They entered the Great Hall, acknowledging the bows of guards who served as ornament now rather than security.  They were motioned to the antechamber that sat behind Gil-Galad’s throne, and found several other advisors and interested parties already present.

After greetings were exchanged, Gil-Galad opened the meeting.

“I have called together all who have spoken to me, or who I have heard are interested in making settlements farther inland or exploring eastward for other reasons.  Many explorations have already occurred, some led by individuals and some that I have sent. It is time we discussed this openly.  Celebrimbor?”

Celebrimbor stood, an elf close in stature and appearance to his father Curufin, son of Fëanor, but who had not sworn an oath to recover the Silmarilli nor harmed his kin.

“The dwarves of Nogrod have moved most of their people to Moria, Khazad-dum in their tongue, where they claim to have discovered Mithril, the most precious of metals.  In our friendship with these dwarves, we have spoken of establishing an elven settlement nearby and working with them in an arrangement beneficial to all.  I will lead my smiths and craftsmen there.”

“It is also wise to have an elven stronghold inland,” added Galadriel.  “Evil exists yet in the East.  An inland stronghold protects Lindon and the Havens of Mithlond.”

“We seek not riches, but our kin,” interrupted Oropher, motioning to the Sindar who sat near him. “Elves live yet in the forests beyond the Misty Mountains and in the lands east of the Anduin, in the mighty Greenwood.  But we do not go to bring the culture of Lindon to these Silvan elves,” he ended forcefully.

“What do you hope to bring them?” asked Círdan curiously.

“News of kin, and the destruction of Beleriand.  Warning that though Morgoth is chained, the Valar care not that Sauron and others of his followers still reside in Middle-earth or that these may seek to bring harm and shadow upon them.”

“You shall be their saviors, then?” asked Galadriel lightly.

“Nay, merely relatives with information that may aid them.  We do not seek to change them to Noldor ways,” answered Oropher tersely.

Celeborn bristled at this insult, for the implication was that he, as one of the Sindar, had done just that.  “Let us not forget what all of us elves who stay in Middle-earth have in common: hope and a love for this land.  Why we have hope and why we are tied to the land may differ, but let us not seek to divide our people.  We may bring aid to them in the way of knowledge of all kinds, but forget not that they may teach and aid us as well.”

Gil-Galad raised his hand for silence.

“All are, of course, free to go forth as they please. Oropher, if I may aid you in any way, please make your requests known to me.  I should like to know who travels with you, in case others seek them.  If you are well received and do not plan to return, send word of this and of the elves you find.  I shall send emissaries to establish relations with you.”

Oropher appeared pleased at Gil-Galad’s words, and Elrond silently noted that Amdir and others of the Sindar who remained in the background, while glaring at Galadriel, Celebrimbor and others of the Noldor, looked upon the King with respect. Celeborn, he thought regretfully, would ever be caught between his heritage and his marriage to a Noldor elf.

“Celeborn and Galadriel, you seem prepared to go forth and explore and establish a settlement.  Celebrimbor, am I correct in believing that you wish to focus on your craft?” Gil-Galad continued.

Celebrimbor merely nodded, the politics and strife not of interest to him.  Elrond noted this reaction, and thought the elf would defer to Galadriel in all things except his craft, his reason for settling near Moria.

“Please include Elrond in your planning and let him know of your needs.  We will meet again, at a time to be scheduled, to see how your preparations progress and to ensure that methods of contact are established to maintain communications between our peoples.”

Gil-Galad rose, as did everyone else in the room, and with a nearly imperceptible nod of his head to Círdan and Elrond, Círdan followed him and Elrond knew he was to join them later.

Elrond moved first to the Sindar, seeing the slight distrust in their eyes.  He might be descended from their king, but his loyalty to Gil-Galad would always make him suspect in their minds.  Oropher acknowledged his offer for assistance and agreed to inform him of their plans, but left quickly.

“Come to dinner this eve, Elrond, and we shall begin discussions.” Elrond heard Galadriel’s soft voice behind him.  He turned to see her standing with Celeborn, and agreed to her suggestion.

Elrond waited until all had left the antechamber, and took a minute to collect his thoughts and ponder on all he had heard.  Gil-Galad would expect his assessment of each individual involved and where he thought their loyalties would reside in the future. Gil-Galad is wise to let them go and even offer assistance, Elrond thought. He does more to maintain ultimate loyalty by letting them go their own ways than by attempting to gain control of their endeavors.  And so this begins a new era in Middle-earth.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Celebrían rose as soon as the story ended, but Elrond and the twins were already engrossed in another conversation regarding the politics of the decisions for elves to split apart and seek their own paths.  She cleared her throat and three identical sets of eyes turned to her.

“Excuse me, Naneth!” Elrohir jumped to his feet, quickly followed by the others. 

“I am going to tuck Arwen in,” she said with a smile to Elrohir, who was blushing at his lack of manners.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged rather sheepish glances. “Naneth, we are sorry that we have made Arwen unhappy.  We will speak with her in the morning,” Elladan spoke for both of them.

“She is disappointed, but that is to be expected,” replied Celebrían. “She misses you when you are gone.  She will adjust and have a fine summer here with us, and be very excited when you are finally home again.”

“We will join you in the Hall of Fire in a short while,” Elrond informed his sons.  Offering Celebrían his arm, he escorted her from the dining area and to Arwen’s room.  The door was partially open, and they entered to see Arwen in her bed, her hair loose and spread about her pillow. She was sound asleep.  Tear tracks were still evident on her face and she clutched her doll tightly to her.

They sat down on either side of the bed, Celebrían quickly undressing the child and holding her upright as Elrond slipped a nightgown over her head.

“She is exhausted from crying herself to sleep,” said Celebrían tenderly.  “It is so hard being the little sister sometimes.”  She kissed her daughter on the forehead and pulled the covers up over the child and her doll, again held tightly.

Elrond was silent, his heart aching at seeing one of his children in pain.  There was nothing to be done but to love the child through her hurt, for her brothers had to be allowed to grow as well.  He kissed her as well, then rested his hand on her forehead, soothing the hurt in her heart and willing sweet dreams to visit her.

* * * * *

hervenn------------husband
meleth-nín---------my love
Mae Govannen---well met

Author’s Notes: 

In answer to several questions that reviewers had, I have copied a few lines from LACE (Laws and Customs of the Eldar), HoME Vol X Morgoth’s Ring

The Eldar grew in bodily form slower than Men, but in mind more swiftly.  They learned to speak before they were one year old; and in the same time they learned to walk and to dance, for their wills cam soon to the mastery of their bodies. 

This same watcher might indeed have wondered at the small limbs and statures of these children, judging their age by their skill in words and grace in motion.  For at the end of the third year mortal children began to outstrip the elves, hastening on to a full stature while the Elves lingered in the first spring of childhood.  Children of Men might reach their full height while Eldar of the same age were still in body like to mortals of not more than seven years.  Not until the fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown.

So, think of Arwen as a precocious human 5 year old, and that is how she might appear to us.  The twins are ‘young adults’ – fully grown, with the rights and responsibilities of adulthood, able to marry and so on – but still very young in the eyes of their people.  In my mind I see an adult in their early to mid twenties – of age, but still young.

With regards to the history of the Second Age:  I am using the Tale of Years in Appendix B of the LOTR for the dates, but often we don’t know who was involved or how things happened.  In the second age, we know that some of the Noldor founded Eregion in II 750.  In Unfinished Tales, we are told it is Celeborn and Galadriel; but elsewhere Celebrimbor is called Lord of Eregion.  I am going to use a lot of the information from UT about Galadriel and Celeborn and their presence in Eregion, but I am not going to have Amroth be their son.  It is tempting, but creates too many problems for me later on. We also know that some of the Sindar moved eastward to join the Silvan elves….but when, exactly, is unclear. Appendix B has it occurring before Barad-dur was built in Mordor, and that occurred in II 1000. I am going to have Oropher and Amdir be the leaders of this movement – but some sources suggest it was Thranduil, not Oropher, who led the Sindar east.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 2: Leaving Imladris

Elladan walked into his father’s study and flopped unceremoniously into a chair before the desk. Elrond looked up, his quill suspended in mid-air, as he waited for his son to speak.

“Adar, now she acts as if she does not care that we are leaving,” said Elladan, exasperated. “We leave in two days, so I asked if she wished to pick out a song to sing at the fall festival.”

Elrond waited patiently for a moment, then finally asked, “And?”

“She picked out a song with me, and then said she was going to play with Liriel.”

Elrond laughed at the expression on his son’s face.  “Is this not what we hoped for, Elladan?  That she would play with other children near her age?”

Elladan released a startled breath of air as he stretched his long legs out in front of him and stared at his father. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

“It is a confusing emotion, is it not?” said Elrond gently. “We all like to be loved and missed and adored, and it is difficult to reconcile that feeling with the pride we feel for a child who takes a step towards independence.”

Elladan smiled sheepishly at his father. “It is true, Adar.  I want her to miss me terribly but I do not want her to be miserable while I am gone.”

“Let her find her way,” advised Elrond. “She may suddenly change her mind and tomorrow you will be trying to disentangle yourself from her.”

Elladan laughed and stood, and was not surprised when his father came from around the desk to walk him to the door.  He felt the comforting weight of his father’s arm across his back followed by a firm squeeze to his shoulder.

“I promise your naneth and I will love, miss and adore you while you are gone,” teased Elrond.

Elladan glanced sideways at this father, noting the teasing tone to the voice, and the utter sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you, Adar,” he replied, then hugged his father before returning to the planning and packing.

* * *

Elrohir followed the sounds of bickering into the stables where Erestor was attempting to pack the wagon of goods they were taking to Círdan.  He pursed his lips in an attempt not to laugh and give away his presence, for this scene was one he had enjoyed since he was just an elfling.

“Do they not have berries in Lindon?” asked Glorfindel as he pulled a jar of preserves from the box that Erestor had just carefully packed, scattering the wrapping.

“Not blackberries,” replied Erestor tersely as he grabbed the jar from Glorfindel’s hand and replaced its packing in the box.  “Leave it!” he scolded, slapping the long fingers that were already reaching for a second jar.

Glorfindel leapt nimbly into the wagon, perching on the side.  He pulled the packing loose from a statue and peeked inside to see it.

“Glorfindel!  Go away!  Are you ready to go? Do you not have something to do?” Erestor finally pushed Glorfindel off the wagon as the warrior continued to prod the contents.

“I need to know what I am transporting,” protested Glorfindel as he landed lightly on his feet. 

“I will send with you an itemized list with the location of each item in the wagon!” snapped Erestor.

“That would be lovely,” agreed Glorfindel. “But I should be able to tell Círdan about each item, and for me to provide a proper description and history for each gift I need to see it first.”

Erestor turned on his heel slightly, looking in Elrohir’s direction.  “Elrohir, come and escort Glorfindel from the stable.”

Elrohir walked into the space where they were working, laughter finally pouring from him.  “You wish me to make Glorfindel do something?” he asked incredulously.

Erestor walked to Elrohir and placed his hands on the young elf’s shoulders.  “Elrohir, you are an adult now and I am very proud of how you have taken on the responsibilities of an adult elf.  This shall be one of your greatest challenges, but I have faith you can do it.”

Elrohir ducked under Erestor’s arms and quickly placed the item his mother had asked him to pack on the back of the wagon.  “Naneth says this is breakable and to pack it carefully,” he said as he nimbly sidestepped both elves and raced for the door. He was back in the sunshine when he heard a crash from the barn and then Erestor’s voice raised in frustration.

“Does ‘breakable’ mean something else in your world?”

Elrohir laughed merrily as he went to find his twin.

* * *

Arwen sat on her bed brushing her hair, carefully stroking through the dark tresses until they gleamed.  She had played with Liriel at the waterfall nearly all day, and it had, as Nana suggested, taken her mind off her brothers. Still, when she had gone to the barn to visit the kittens, she found herself saddened at seeing the packed wagon.  She had climbed up on the wheel and looked under the loose tarp at all the things that were being taken to the Havens and wished she were one of them.  Her hair brushed, she slipped out of her dress and pulled her nightgown over her head.

When she had left the dining room, Glorfindel and her brothers were going over the map and their plans for the trip.  They were leaving in the morning. It was a long way to the Havens, but a fairly straight road.  Arwen sighed and crawled into bed, hugging her doll tight.

Not much time had gone by and she was not asleep when she heard the soft knock at her door, and then Elladan poked his head in.

“Arwen, are you awake?” he called softly.

“I am still awake,” Arwen answered quickly.

Elladan and Elrohir came into the room, and Elladan picked her up and then sat down with her in his lap, while Elrohir flopped across the end of her bed.

“Naneth said that Daeradar and Daernaneth will probably arrive by the summer solstice,” Elladan informed her.

Arwen sat up in surprise.  “I am so glad!” she cried.

Elladan squeezed her tight.  “I knew you would be.”

“We will miss you, Arwen,” said Elrohir seriously.  “Promise you will not forget us while we are gone?”

Arwen bit her lip, but it failed to hold back her tears.  She leaned forward and put her arms around Elrohir’s neck and whispered, “I promise I will remember you.”

Elrohir stroked her hair, and then Elladan stood and they set her back on her bed.  Elrohir pulled the covers up over her and Elladan nestled her doll snug in her arms.  “We will see you in the morning, before we go,” said Elladan softly.  “Good night, Arwen.”

“Good night, Elladan.  Good night, Elrohir,” answered Arwen in a choked voice.

* * *

Elladan threw a pillow at his brother’s head, intending to wake him, only to have Elrohir catch the pillow in midair and throw it back at him.

“You are awake,” laughed Elladan.

Elrohir rolled on to his side to look at Elladan.  “I know I slept some, but I must admit I am eager to go and have been lying here just counting down the hours.”

“What are you looking forward to the most?”

“Seeing the Sea.  Meeting Círdan,” answered Elrohir. “You?”

“Círdan and the Sea, definitely.  But also to see the wide expanse of flat land we will cross before reaching the Tower Hills – Glorfindel says you can see for miles,” replied Elladan as he sat on the floor and leaned up against Elrohir’s bed.

“It is hard to believe that Adar wandered those lands 3000 years ago, and now we will finally see them too.”

“I want to see the towers in the Emyn Beraid, the ones Gil-Galad built for Elendil. There is a palantir there, but I do not know if we will be able to see it,” added Elladan.

Elrohir swung his feet over the side of the bed, barely clearing Elladan’s head. “Come, brother, I see Anor’s first light in the east.  Let us prepare to go!”

* * *

The chime of bells greeted the twins as they entered the courtyard.  Glorfindel’s horse was tossing its head, thoroughly enjoying the delicate music he made with each motion.  Elrohir led his horse into the yard, followed by Elladan and Garthon, the guard who would accompany them.  Originally Elrond had determined to send two guards, but in the end he had decided that one was enough.

Arwen appeared on the porch, her little bag in hand.  She walked down to join her parents and brothers. Glorfindel came over as well with a map unfurled.  She glared at him, unable to hide her anger that he was taking her brothers away again.  She tugged on Elrohir’s tunic.

“Goodbye, Elrohir,” she said when he stooped down to hug her.  She kissed him on the cheek, tears running down her own.

“We will be back by summer’s end, Arwen,” he replied, intending his words to be comforting as he wiped the tears from her face

She nodded, but did not reply.

“Goodbye, Elladan,” she said as Elladan hugged her. 

“I will miss you, Arwen. Take care of Ada and Nana while we are gone,” he whispered.

Arwen pulled away and turned to her mother.  “Nana, Cook has packed us a lunch.  I am going to the waterfall and Liriel is to come later.”

“You do not want to wait until your brothers leave?” Celebrían asked, surprised.

“No, Naneth,” replied Arwen softly.

“Have a good day at the waterfall then, sweetheart.  Be home for dinner,” answered Celebrían as she kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Arwen murmured goodbye to Glorfindel as she walked by, ignoring the hurt she saw in his eyes when she did not hug or kiss him. She knew it was wrong to be angry at him, but she ignored the little voice inside that told her to be nice to him, the little voice that reminded her that he loved her too.  She walked across the yard and on to the path to the waterfall with her head held stiffly, and never once looked back.

* * *

Elladan shouted for joy as they crossed the Bruinen, Elrohir and Garthon joining him as Glorfindel watched in amusement.  It was the first time any of the three had ventured far from home, and he had to admit their excitement was catching. 

“We are finally on our way!” crowed Elrohir as his horse climbed from the riverbed on to the road.

“I thought Erestor would never decide we were ready.  He had to tie down the wagon cover and then check it twice.  How many times did he ask you if you had an extra blanket?” Elladan asked his brother.

Glorfindel laughed as he rode next to the horse pulling the wagon. The waters were high with the spring melting, but not so high as to make the crossing dangerous.  Still he had spoken softly to the sweet mare and encouraged her as she made the crossing. Once they were out of the water he dismounted, checked the harness and straps to ensure they had not loosened in the watery crossing, and stuck his hand inside the wagon, feeling along the seam to ensure it was not wet.  The young elves continued talking, waiting until he mounted again.

“Three times, I think,” Elladan answered.

“You will be grateful before this journey is over for all the things that Erestor did think of,” interrupted Glorfindel with a smile.  “Extra blankets, balm to soothe muscles made sore from hours of riding, the waterproofing of the wagon to ensure we don’t have to unpack and dry everything after rain or water crossings, a good supply of lembas should game be scarce. . . .”

Elrohir cocked his head, staring at him. “Glorfindel, do you like or dislike Erestor?”

Glorfindel looked up in surprise.  “Erestor is a good friend,” he answered immediately.

“Why do you two argue all the time, then?” asked Elrohir, his curiosity genuine.

Glorfindel smirked.  “You will understand when you are much older,” he answered sagely.

“You have been saying that since we were elflings!” protested Elladan.

“Yes, I have, and when you understand I will not have to say it anymore!” laughed Glorfindel.  He nudged his horse into a slight gallop and pulled ahead of the twins, laughing all the way.

They stopped several hours later, to rest and water the horses, and then continued on until dusk.  Their road had followed the Bruinen River, and they set up camp near the river that night.  The terrain was wooded and hilly, with several large rock outcroppings.  The location was one chosen often by travelers to Imladris.

Garthon and Elladan unhitched the cart after backing the mare and cart up beneath an outcropping of rock. Once the wagon wheels were locked, they saw to the care of the horses, paying extra attention to the mare by giving her a good rubdown and special treats. Glorfindel sat in a low tree branch, laughing as the other four horses nudged the two elves, nickering and snorting their arguments that they had worked just as hard.  The little mare tossed her head.  Her lowly job held high honor with the elves and she was not about to let the warrior horses forget it.

Elrohir had built a campfire a short way from the wagon, just beneath the edge of the rock but far enough out that they could sit against the rock wall and still feel the warmth of the flames.  The fire would aid in dinner preparations as well as provide a source of protection. Glorfindel truly did not expect any danger on their journey, but some creatures of the night would fear the flame and keep their distance from it.

“Ah, this is quite good, Elrohir,” commented Glorfindel as he tasted the stew bubbling over the fire.

“That is one thing I am grateful to Erestor for already,” answered Elrohir with a smile. “All I had to do was heat this up.”

Glorfindel accepted the bowl Elrohir prepared for him, and seated himself on the ground. He enjoyed listening to the three younger warriors, although Garthon was considerably older than the twins and very quiet.   Elladan and Elrohir had the map of the journey laid out between them on the ground, and were pointing out landmarks and what day they expected to reach each spot.  He found himself only half listening to their talk and instead remembering them at different ages and how they had grown. He sighed as he thought of Arwen. His heart ached at the hurt in her face as they had left this morning.  Celebrían had kissed him on the cheek and apologized for Arwen ignoring him, but explained that she and Elrond thought that Arwen saw Glorfindel as competition for her brothers’ time.   Glorfindel found himself deeply saddened by this.  He loved Arwen for her own sake, yet in her child’s eyes he was someone she competed with.

“Glorfindel?” Elladan’s voice interrupted his melancholic thoughts.

“Yes, Elladan?”

“Did you live in Lindon long?”

“I lived in Lindon until Gil-Galad sent your father to aid Eregion when Sauron attacked them. I went with your father, and when he founded Imladris I stayed with him. I have lived in Imladris ever since,” explained Glorfindel.

“Glorfindel,” began Elrohir, “will you tell us about when you came back? From Valinor, I mean?”

Glorfindel looked at the sincere faces watching him closely, hoping he might finally tell them this story that they had long wished to hear.  A rumble of thunder overhead caught his attention, and he looked up to see storm clouds moving in from the northwest.  A flash of lightning split the night sky in a bolt of silvery blue light.

“Time is different in Valinor, and in the Halls of Mandos even more so. . . ,” Glorfindel began.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel’s first waking thought was that the pain was gone. The blistering heat of the flame of the Balrog had whipped and burned him, and crushing pain had followed as he and the Balrog had toppled over the edge of the steep rocky path of Cirith Thoronath to die on the sharp rocks below. There was now no physical discomfort, and it took him a moment to realize it was because he no longer possessed a physical body.

He guessed, in retrospect, that Mandos had beckoned his feä, had called him to come to his Halls.  Glorfindel did not recall deciding to go, but perhaps his decision was so clear that it merely seemed as if there were no choice to be made.  He had died in anguish – physical pain from the battle, but also mental pain that he was unable to complete the mission to see Idril and Eärendil to safety.  He had died only able to hope that he had helped clear their way. He recalled the presence of one he could only assume was sent to escort him to Námo. After that time seemed to stand still and he remembered little, for he was weary and found rest.

The pain was gone, then, but the mists of time seemed to swirl about him as he took up residence in Mandos’ Halls.  After some immeasurable time, his feä had begun to wander the Halls and he had heard many a spirit crying out to Nienna. He followed the laments, and drifted near to where the Vala would come to provide comfort and counsel. 

He listened, confused, for he did not know what the other feär were saying. He realized then that they were not really speaking either, yet he could hear them and Nienna despite his lack of ears.

“Glorfindel, what counsel do you seek?” came a voice like a song in the wind. “Or is it comfort you wish for instead?”

He pondered her words, for surely she knew his every thought.  Yet she did not respond to his pondering, so he directed his mind to her instead.

“Surely you know, my Lady, that what I seek is comfort?”

“What will bring you comfort, Glorfindel?”

“Knowledge, my Lady. I would be comforted to know that Lady Idril and young Eärendil escaped death at Morgoth’s hands and escaped to safety.”

“The fate of others is no longer your responsibility. Your only responsibility now is your own healing,” replied Nienna gently.

Glorfindel withdrew as a deep sadness pervaded him and he again felt weary. What hope he had felt that Nienna might comfort him had fled.   His spirit sank low and he felt a despair unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“Why do you despair?” asked Nienna.

Glorfindel felt his light dim and his spirit fade, and wondered how he could possibly find words to express the depths of his hurt.

“What causes you pain, Glorfindel?” Nienna asked softly.

It seemed many long moments before he could compose an answer, and even then he felt any response he might give would be inadequate.  Gondolin’s defense and the safety of King Turgon’s family had long been his mission. Did he need to know the outcome because he loved his king, or because it would wound his pride to fail?  His conscience took him deeper then, back to his early years in Aman. He had not yet reached his majority when Fëanor had led the Noldor on their march northward.  His father was loyal to Turgon, and so had followed him faithfully, though swearing no oath and not participating in the kinslaying at Alqualondë.  Sorrow filled him as he thought of his sweet and beautiful mother, and the last time he had seen her face as she slipped through the ice of the Helcaraxë.  His older brother and father had perished in Beleriand in the fight against the war machine of Morgoth.  Guilt infused him, for he had not asked whether his family was present in these Halls. Yet Eärendil was only a child, and Glorfindel had been partially responsible for his safety.  Did others aid them? Were they protected now?

A sense of warmth filled his spirit then, like a flame kindling dry tinder.  He opened himself to the comfort and felt Nienna near him, calling to him.

“Come, Glorfindel, there is much for you to see,” she called.  He followed her light to the walls of the long hall, where tapestries were hung for as far as he could see. “Vairë, spouse to Námo my brother, weaves the history of Arda into tapestry and hangs them along the halls.  Here you will see your journey and arrival in Beleriand, the building of Gondolin and the arrival of Tuor. Ulmo did send him, and all were well pleased to see his message delivered.”

Glorfindel was too stunned to speak as he took in the delicate artistry that captured the land and people of his King, chronicling their rise and then, to his horror, their fall.  He saw himself battling the Balrog, and his own fall to death, entwined with the Balrog, crashing into the rocks below. He felt both horror and detachment as he remembered that struggle, but he did not turn away, for on the path woven into the next tapestry he could see fleeing elves, and clearly one of them was the child, Eärendil, and Idril, daughter of the King. He felt his spirit quicken then as he hurried to the next scene, seeing the elves watch as Thorondor, King of the Eagles, carried his broken body to a place of burial and then those he had served wept at his passing.  Emotion filled him, but he could not linger, for the next tapestry showed the survivors of Gondolin fleeing down the Sirion, finally coming to the Havens where the remnant of Doriath now lived. Further scenes of young Eärendil growing to adulthood - too quickly, Glorfindel thought -  and then of his betrothal and marriage to Elwing, half elven of Doriath who carried the Silmaril won by her grandparents, completed that cloth.  The tapestries ended two more down, one showing the birth of twin sons to Eärendil and Elwing and Eärendil’s departure as he sailed seeking the Undying lands; and the other showing the sack of Sirion, Elwing’s leap from the cliff into the sea and the abduction of their children by the sons of Fëanor.

Glorfindel felt caught in a swirl of emotions, reaching a height of gladness as he learned that young Eärendil had survived and grown to adulthood, and then falling to despair as he saw Sirion fall and Eärendil’s own children taken.

“In knowledge there is both joy and sadness,” said Nienna gently.  Her voice was strong, though, as she asked him, “Did you find the comfort you wished for in knowing the fate of Turgon’s heir?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel softly.  “And no. For they survived the Fall of Gondolin, only to seemingly be lost – Eärendil sailing into mists, Elwing leaping into the sea and their sons taken by those who might kill them. My sorrow is heightened, my Lady, yet I am glad you showed me.”

“Yet all is not lost, for Vairë continues to weave the story that unfolds, though you may not see it yet,” continued Nienna.  “Eärendil is the one spoken of in legend who would find the way to Valinor, come before the Valar and plead the cause of Elves and Men. He has done so and his plea has been heard. We shall go to their aid and cast down Morgoth one last time. Elwing did not perish, for Ulmo bore her upon wings to Eärendil’s ship and it was the light of the Silmaril that guided them to the place that that light once called home.  And Elrond and Elros did not die at the hands of the kinslayers, but were instead loved and freed by Maglor, son of Fëanor.”

Glorfindel wept at her words, and his spirit bowed before her presence.  “I am comforted, my Lady. Thank you for your compassion.”

Indeed his spirit was free, unburdened by pride and weight of conscience, and strengthened with knowledge that his mission, far greater than himself, had succeeded despite his own passing from that world.  He felt joy and grace, and he sang of his gladness.

Later, in the quiet of the mists, Námo beckoned him.  Glorfindel’s spirit bowed low before the throne of the Vala and received his judgment.

“Glorfindel, loyal servant to the House of Turgon, I pronounce you fit to return to life in Valinor. Do you wish to be reembodied and rejoin the living beyond these Halls?”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered Glorfindel humbly.

Words were then spoken he did not understand, but he felt himself drift into rest, into the timeless mists, as the face of Námo faded from his thought.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel completed the chapter of his story and they sat in a silence broken only by the receding roars of thunder as the storm moved past them.  He shifted in his bedroll, covering himself with his blanket and laying his head near Elrohir’s.  Garthon took the first watch, and he sat silent on a nearby rock, his eyes resting on Glorfindel and his expression reflecting that he saw his captain in a new light. Glorfindel did not need words to know that his story had affected his young companions greatly, but when he felt Elrohir’s hand slip beneath his blanket and cover his own, he found he had to blink away a tear. He recalled how tenderhearted Elrohir had been as a child, and was strangely pleased to see this trait remained in him as a young adult. 

“Good night, Elrohir,” he whispered softly.

* * *

Dinnertime, back in Imladris . . .

Celebrían felt a growing sense of unease as the afternoon grew late.  She had gone out into the back garden to cut spring flowers and found Liriel’s mother planting vegetables across the yard.  The two mothers had talked pleasantly; then Celebrían had glanced skyward to see Anor beginning her descent.

“Liriel and Arwen should be heading home soon,” she had commented. “They do enjoy playing at the waterfall.”

Liriel’s mother sat back on her heels. “Perhaps they had a disagreement today, for Liriel came home for the midday meal.  She seemed disappointed by something, but then her father asked her to help him this afternoon.  She is with him.”

Celebrían felt a shiver run up her spine and a slight fear begin to grow in her.  She pushed it down, and tried to think practically.  “Arwen was quite upset about her brothers leaving this morning.  Perhaps they disagreed about something and she decided to finish the afternoon alone.”

Liriel’s mother touched Celebrían’s arm gently.  “I am sure she is well and will be home soon.”

That had been nearly an hour ago, and still Celebrían had seen no sign of Arwen.   She had not returned to her room, nor was she anywhere in the family quarters.  The house staff had not seen her. Celebrían moved out on to the porch, and decided to walk to the waterfall.  She set off at a determined pace, following the same path Arwen had taken that morning. She came to the area where the children loved to play, near a shallow pool just beyond the small waterfall where they could wade or swim if they so desired.

“Arwen!” Celebrían called.  “Arwen!”

There was no response, and Celebrían found her hand was shaking as she brushed a strand of hair back from her face.  She walked to the waterfall, and then turned to walk down the stream. Her long gown tangled in the tall grass and rushes, and she was about to move back to the path when a bit of color caught her eye. She felt wetness and then mud sucking at the bottom of her slippers as she moved into the shallow water, until she could finally reach the item.  She grabbed it, pulling it from the rushes, and she felt as if her heart had fallen into the pit of her stomach. It was Arwen’s favorite doll.

Celebrían turned, stumbling in the mud, but quickly regaining her balance and holding her gown up above her knees, she raced down the path.  Several elves saw the Lady of Imladris running, panic in her face, and they turned to follow her.  She ran into the courtyard, her breaths coming in heaving gasps.

“Elrond!  Elrond!”

She was on the porch steps and reaching for the door when Elrond opened it from the other side.  He caught her in his arms, his eyes widened at the panic in her face and mud covering her shoes and the bottom of the gown.

“Arwen!” Celebrían gasped.  “Elrond, Arwen is gone!”

She grabbed his hand, trying to drag him down the porch steps with her, when his greater strength overwhelmed hers and he literally picked her up and sat her on the porch rail.

“Celebrían!  Please, meleth-nín, slow down.  Tell me what has happened,” Elrond spoke gently but firmly. “Take a deep breath.”

“I spoke to Liriel’s mother in the garden.  Liriel was home for the midday meal. I went to look for Arwen, but she is not in the house nor was she at the waterfall.  I searched the area, and called for her, Elrond.  I found this.” A sob caught in her throat as she held up Arwen’s wet and muddy doll.

Elrond took it soberly. Arwen was very careful with her dolls, and this one was her favorite.  Just last evening they had tucked it in her arms as she slept. He closed his eyes and felt for his bond with his daughter. It was intact, and he felt sure he would know if she were injured or distressed, or worse, dead.  He let out a slow breath of air and opened his eyes. He pulled Celebrían close to him and whispered in her ear, “Feel for your bond with Arwen, Celebrían. She is alive.”

A growing group of elves was surrounding the porch and more were walking to them as word spread of Celebrían’s fright and flight. Elrond looked out over the group, and then at the position of the sun.

“Amariel!” Elrond called to one of Celebrían’s maidens who served in the house.  She ran forward to him.  “Take Celebrían inside and help her get cleaned up, then escort her to the dining hall.”

Elrond turned to Celebrían, noting she was still shaking, but was calmer now.  “Go with Amariel, Celebrían. I will organize search parties and then come for you.”

He waited until Amariel had led a reluctant Celebrían inside before turning to the waiting elves.

“Arwen appears to be lost or missing,” he said to the group.  He quickly appointed leaders to organize smaller search parties.  “Erestor, please search the house from top to bottom.  Arthrenen, please search all outdoor buildings.  Arwen has a special love for the barn kittens.   Calenil, please search from the waterfall to the Bruinen. We will use the dining hall as our command center.”

Elrond watched the elves disperse; listening as Erestor rang the bell atop the house, informing all of Imladris that an emergency had occurred on the grounds, and he was thankful that plans for everything from an attack by the enemy to a fire to a missing child had been created. 

* * *

Elrond sat with his head in his hands, thinking, as the last search party entered the dining hall.  The cooks were still serving hot food to each elf who entered, providing their own tangible comfort. It was long past dark, and Arwen had not been found anywhere on the grounds of Imladris. 

On the table before Elrond were wet pieces of drawing paper, the colors smeared and dripping, but the work unmistakably that of his daughter. Calenil’s group had found them further downstream from where Celebrían had found the doll.

“My lord, we have searched to the Fords of the Bruinen, and seen no evidence of Arwen,” reported the weary elf.

Elrond looked up and nodded, his face drawn. Fear was growing in his heart, along with a sense of uneasiness that Arwen was in danger. He felt Erestor’s hand on his arm.

“Elrond, I think we should send warriors to each of the patrols.  We must consider all options – that Arwen is lost beyond the normal ground of Imladris, that someone has taken her, or that she has run away.”

Elrond nodded.  “I should have already done that, Erestor,” he acknowledged wearily.

“Actually, you did.  You sent this missive several hours ago,” answered Erestor with a grim smile.  He had taken this action on Elrond’s behalf, and Elrond knew he would take others before this night was through. He watched as Erestor turned to the heads of the search parties, then, and directed them to detailed maps of Imladris spread out on the tables. “Map everywhere you looked, and think of everywhere that a small child could be lost.  Wells, caves, cellars, closets, wardrobes, barrels – any place a child could become trapped. Send out elves to search these areas as you identify them.”

The elves leapt into action, surrounding the maps, adding detail and sending out smaller search groups. Elrond squeezed Erestor’s hand in thanks, and felt relieved that he had the aid of someone so thorough and so detail oriented. He bore these qualities himself, but admitted to himself that fear was clouding his thinking.

He rose and walked across the room to where Amariel still sat with Celebrían. Never had he seen Celebrían looking as she now did – fear and grief and loss all burdening her and weighing down her normally vibrant and lively spirit.  One of the healers arrived then, and Elrond took the vial the elf gave him and mixed it in wine.  This he gave to Celebrían. He did not like to deceive her, but he did not regret sedating her.  He sat with her as she drank the wine, then pulled her into his arms. When she was asleep he carried her to their bed, and left her in Amariel’s care.

He returned to the dining hall with a heavy heart.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  The information about Glorfindel is mostly made up, with my reference points on possible timing for when he left Mandos’ Halls and returned to Middle-earth based on the Glorfindel essays published in HoME Volume XII ‘The Peoples of Middle Earth.’  There is nothing written about his history or family.

Geography wise, early in the Third Age there was no Shire, but Bree may have existed.  The Brandywine is a hobbit name for the Baranduin River, so we will refer to it as the Baranduin, the elvish name for the river that runs from Lake Nenuial (Evendim) to the Sea. At this time, Eldacar has just become King of the Northern Kingdom, with the primary city being Annúminas at Lake Nenuial. The ancient East-West road literally runs from Imladris to the Havens, and is the same road the dwarves used in the First Age. Fornost was likely present, although not a chief city of the Dúnedain, and Amon Sul (Weathertop) was in use.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 3: Visions of Danger

Travelers’ Campsite - dawn

Rain had fallen steadily all night, slowing to a drizzle and then ceasing near daybreak.  The sun broke through the clouds just after dawn, burning away the fog and mists that hung over the land.  The alcove beneath the jutting rock where they had sheltered had kept them fairly dry, but their blankets were damp. They moved the wagon out from beneath the rock, and spread their blankets out over the top of the wagon cover. 

“Those will be dry in just a few hours in the sun,” said Elladan satisfactorily as he hitched the mare to the wagon.

“Elladan, come see the river,” called Elrohir.

Elladan climbed the rocks and found Elrohir seated on a tree branch leaning out over the Bruinen.  Beneath him the brown waters churned and flowed at a fast pace, with debris floating along the edges, picked up by the rising waters that had widened the river.

They watched the swirling brown waters loosen a section of rock and soil, the large clump falling into the river and quickly breaking apart as the current swept it southward.  “I am glad we crossed the Fords yesterday,” commented Elladan.  “Come, it is time to depart.”

Glorfindel was mounted and already leading the mare, speaking to her softly of the day’s journey and how she would not need to swim again for some time.  She nickered and threw her head, pleased at the attention from the warrior and his stallion, who whinnied in return and nudged her with his nose.

“I think we have a love affair starting,” laughed Elrohir as he mounted his own horse and quickly caught up to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel smiled and began to sing a somewhat bawdy tale of courtship, inserting the names of the stallion and the mare for the lovers in the song.   His horse jingled his small bells merrily in time with him.  Elladan and Elrohir joined him in the chorus, and Garthon hummed along.  It was, Elladan thought, a fine day.

They followed the Great East Road as it veered away from the Bruinen and turned westward.  Glorfindel set an easy pace on the road until the sun dried them, then increased the speed.  It was midday when he stopped them to rest the horses.

“We can eat while the horses drink and graze,” he decided.  “We should reach the Last Bridge by mid afternoon and there is a good site to camp not far beyond that.  We shall pass Amon Sûl tomorrow.”

Elladan spread out the fare reserved for their meal, and the three younger warriors seated themselves near Glorfindel. They all hoped he would continue the story he had begun the night before. Glorfindel watched them with an amused smile, knowing well what they wanted but not offering.  Elladan knew that it was a story Glorfindel did not tell often.  He had said his memories were unclear and often he could not say exactly when events happened. Still, he had promised the twins when they were small that someday he would tell them.

“Glorfindel, will you continue the story you began last night?” asked Elladan after being nudged by Garthon.

Glorfindel sipped his water and looked at the sun, noting its position before nodding his agreement.  “I do not know how long after Námo’s judgment it was until I was next aware . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

The vision of Námo faded from Glorfindel’s thought, and he again entered a period of rest.  How long it lasted, he did not know.  When he next had a conscious thought, it was of light and song, the light soft and glowing and the song delicate and moving.  In his thoughts he told the bearer of the music that the song was beautiful, and that he felt as if he sailed on the wind with the notes surrounding and uplifting him.  There was no response, and this did not concern Glorfindel at all.  The music faded then, and the light too, and he waited patiently for something to fill the void they had left.  He allowed for what he felt was a polite amount of time to pass before directing his thought again into the void.  He repeated his first thoughts, but heard only gentle laughter in return.

“Glorfindel,” came a soft voice, “open your eyes.”

Glorfindel had to think for a moment why this would not be possible.  His fëa did not have eyes. Yet, when he considered this more deeply, he felt a slight twitching where the eyes of his hröa had been.  He told his mind to open his eyes, but the darkness remained.   But he had felt twitching. . . and the fëa did not twitch. He smiled at his own logic, and when he did so he felt the skin of his face move.

Suddenly a warm hand touched his face, cupping his cheek and gently stroking his skin with its thumb.  He started at the sensation, and then unconsciously leaned into it, seeking the warmth of living flesh against his own.  The hand continued to stroke his cheek and then his hair, and he felt the strands tickle his cheek.  A tear of amazement and delight and pure joy slid from his eye, and he reveled in the pleasure of it.  Such textures and forms and feelings!

“Glorfindel, open your eyes,” repeated the soft voice.

It was a male voice, but not one that he recognized.  He liked the sound, though, and wished the voice would speak again.

“Not until you open your eyes,” came the teasing reply.

Glorfindel laughed aloud.  The sound startled him, and he stopped, but then laughed again.  What a joyous noise!  He had not thought to hear laughter again, much less his own!  Gradually his eyelids responded to the command by his mind, and slowly opened. He blinked several times, his heart pounding as the pupils focused, and the place he was in began to take on color and dimension. There was light, but it was dim and he found himself wishing to see the sun and feel its warmth on his face.

“Much better,” the voice commented, a hint of amusement still present. 

The being moved slowly into his line of sight. His face was neither young nor old, but very wise and kind, and he was now smiling at Glorfindel. He was not an elf, but obviously of a higher race. Glorfindel thought he should sit up and greet this person, but found that his body was not yet ready to respond to such commands.  He tried to greet the person, but the sound he heard was not at all the words he was trying to say.  He switched tongues to the High Speech of Aman, but the sound was garbled even worse.  He frowned, unsure what to do next.

“Speech will come,” the person assured him.  “Your fëa and hröa are learning to work together. Soon you will be up and moving and speaking as you once did.”

Glorfindel suddenly wondered about his body.  It had been burned and battered in battle, and buried by the eagles. He recalled this from the tapestries he had seen in Mandos’ Hall.  He looked around the room, trying to determine if he was still in the Halls of Waiting, but he could see light shining on the wall before him, and no tapestries were hanging within his sight, so he supposed he was not.  Who, then, was this person before him? And where did the new body come from?  Was it similar to the old one, before it was destroyed?

“You have many questions.  This is good, for I have many answers,” the person answered.  “My name is Olórin, and I am a servant of Manwë.  You are in an antechamber of the Halls of Mandos.  Once your body and mind are reconciled, you will be free to move about as you wish. Your body is an exact replica of what it would have been had you always lived in the Blessed Realm.  It may look exactly as you remember it in Middle-earth, or slightly better.” Olórin paused to laugh at the smile that crossed Glorfindel’s face at this comment.

Olórin picked up a lock of Glorfindel’s hair and held it up before him.  “Still the color of gold, and the eyes looking upon it are still the finest blue.” He pulled back the light cloth covering Glorfindel, and lifted the larger hand into his own. He began a gentle massage, first of each finger and then the palm, moving up the wrist and forearm. He spoke softly, naming each body part and gently moving it.

Glorfindel reveled in the touch. The warmth and pressure of Olórin’s hands conveyed much, even as his words sounded as music to Glorfindel’s ears. His mind seemed to recognize his limbs after Olórin touched them.  His skin tingled and felt alive, and as he concentrated on his fingers he heard Olórin exclaim, “You moved your fingers!”

After the simple joys of moving his fingers and toes, Glorfindel closed his eyes and sighed.  The smile would not leave his face and he felt Olórin’s hand again brush his cheek.

“Rest, Glorfindel.  When you wake, I will be here.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

The young elves were thoughtful and quiet as Glorfindel finished his tale.  They had finished their meal, and the horses had eaten and drunk their fill as well.  Glorfindel rose and whistled, and his stallion and the mare both ran to him.  He stroked both heads and murmured to them, and even from a distance his ability to communicate with the animals and be understood by them was obvious.  The mare pranced over to the wagon, and waited patiently as Glorfindel reattached the harness to her.

“Glorfindel,” said Elladan slowly, “do you think a baby just born feels like you did when you woke?”

Glorfindel laughed. “When I held the two of you on the day of your birth I wondered that too.  But no, I think the events are much different.  My mind seemed intact, although my sense of time was diminished then and for some time afterward. My body was whole, a more perfect form of what I had known in Middle-earth – and it worked – it just did not work with my mind.  It seemed as if connections had to be made between my thoughts and every muscle and fiber of my body.”

“Were you afraid?” asked Elrohir. “If I awoke and I could not speak or move, I would be filled with fear.”

Glorfindel thought about this for a moment before answering. “I was not afraid.  This will seem a strange answer, and I am not sure I can explain this well.  How do you explain the beauty of a field of wildflowers to one who has never had sight?”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances and then shrugged.  “If they had not seen a flower and did not know color, it would be nigh impossible,” admitted Elrohir.

“That is also what it is like for me to explain new life in Valinor.  I awoke nearly as innocent as a newborn babe. I did not fear or worry, but merely wondered. I had memories of my prior embodied life, but while I recalled love and friendship, the pain and weariness of that life was gone.”

“Is it back now?” asked Elrohir hesitantly.

“What do you mean, Elrohir?”

“When you returned to Middle-earth, did the pain and weariness return too?”

“I again can feel those things, just as you can. But those that existed in my former life did not return because I came back,” answered Glorfindel reassuringly.

Elrohir seemed relieved, and again Glorfindel was moved by his tenderheartedness.  He did so dislike seeing those he loved suffer. “Come, let us ride! We shall cross the Last Bridge in just a few hours!” called Glorfindel as his stallion began to trot ahead.  Smiles again covered the faces of his three companions and they set off.

* * *

Imladris - dawn

It was early in the morning, just as Anor began to brighten the eastern sky, when Erestor brought the children to Elrond.  Elrond had not slept that night, nor had many who lived in Imladris.  Rain had fallen in the night, hampering their search efforts. As Erestor looked at the Master of Imladris, he thought that he had never seen such grief and fear unmasked in the grey eyes.

Erestor had found Liriel’s father among the searchers, and asked permission to wake his daughter. She had told what she knew of Arwen the evening before, yet Erestor had hopes that she might help fill more of the gaps in time of the prior morning.

Liriel had been tired but was quite worried for her friend, and when Erestor left her he had the names of other children who sometimes played near the waterfall.  He interviewed children all that night, waking them in cottages and within the main house, and suddenly he had a more complete picture of Arwen’s morning.  He had gone back and rounded up the children, and with their parents gathered behind him, he knelt on the floor near the children, and helped prompt them to tell what they knew.

“I went to meet Arwen at the waterfall, and when I was almost there, just past the big rock, she came running towards me.  She was crying, and all wet and muddy,” began Liriel. When Erestor prompted her, she continued, “Her bag was open and things were falling out of it.  I tried to stop her, but she just said she would come back later.  I waited for a long time, and when she did not come back I went home.” The child looked at Erestor, hoping she would not have to tell Master Elrond that she had been mad at Arwen for not coming back, but Erestor smiled at her and smoothed her hair and thanked her.

A young male elf stepped forward then, and Erestor looked at him sternly.  The child had been weeping, and behind him his parents also had tears in their eyes. He looked up once at Master Elrond, and then quickly back at the ground as he began his story.

“Some of us go to the waterfall to fish. I was there early and Arwen came.  She did not want to fish or play with me. She said she was waiting for Liriel.  She just sat there with her doll. I thought she was not being nice. I did not know she was sad, Master Elrond.  I would not have teased her or taken her doll.  She started to cry. She said something about her brothers and I said her brothers would not want to play with a silly elleth who cried over dolls. I was going to throw her doll to the other side of the stream, but I missed and it fell into the water.  I tried to get it for her,” the little elf said, openly weeping now.  “But she only cried harder and went into the water to get it, and fell.  She was all wet and muddy and her pictures were scattered.  She screamed at me that her brothers did too like her and then she ran off down the trail.”

The child hung his head, sobbing and deeply ashamed, and his father stepped forward to stand behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder.  With that comforting touch, he looked up and choked out the end of his story. “When Liriel came, I ran into the woods so she would not see me.”

Erestor watched as tears slid down Elrond’s cheeks, but he rose and also knelt before the sobbing child.  Erestor could hear the child’s plea for forgiveness through his weeping, and was not surprised when Elrond gathered the small elf close.  Forgiveness was granted. Erestor did not hear the words that Elrond whispered in the child’s ear, but when Elrond released the child he first brushed the tears from the little one’s cheek and the small elf rejoined his parents much calmer than he had been. 

The children were excused, and Erestor waited until their parents had taken them to a far corner of the dining hall before speaking.

“I have spoken to all the children near Arwen’s age, and sent word for anyone who saw her yesterday to speak to me immediately.  If the children’s sense of time is correct, Arwen was not at the waterfall for very long.  I have Calenil’s search group focusing on the woods and caves beyond the waterfall. I am more convinced than I was last night that she is not on the grounds of Imladris,” Erestor finished.  He had carefully watched Elrond’s face as he spoke, and continued only when he knew he had Elrond’s full attention. “I think we should send a rider after Glorfindel and the twins.”

Elrond was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently rubbing the tension from his forehead. “Send the rider,” he finally answered. 

Erestor nodded. “The search will continue all day, Elrond. We have already started over in the house and the grounds, and the patrols are searching inward from their positions.”

“Master Elrond,” Amariel touched Erestor’s arm before interrupting him. “Lady Celebrían has awakened.”

Elrond rose quickly and walked the length of the dining hall, the eyes of all present following him as he left the room. He did not look at any one person, nor acknowledge them.  Parents hugged their children as tears slid down their faces. Erestor beseeched Elbereth and Eru himself to find Arwen and return her to the loving arms of her parents.

* * *

The four elves stood near the Last Bridge and stared in awe at the raging waters of the Hoarwell. The bridge remained above the water, but water lapped at the landing leading to the bridge. Brown swirling waters rushed below them, churning over the rocks and small embankments, and catching twigs and debris and sweeping them downstream.

“Wait here,” commanded Glorfindel.

He dismounted and spoke softly to his horse, then walked up the landing to the bridge.  He stepped lightly on it, inspecting the wooden planks as he slowly walked over it.  He remembered it being built after the war in Eriador with Sauron, and recalled when Gil-Galad’s and Elendil’s troops had crossed it enroute to Imladris, where they gathered before marching to Mordor. Once he reached the other side, he turned and walked back across to where the others were waiting. The twins looked at him hopefully.

“The bridge seems sound,” said Glorfindel. “Walk your horses across  - Garthon and Elladan first, then Elrohir and I will follow with the wagon.”

Garthon dismounted and walked gingerly to the bridge, his mount whinnying in fear at the sound of the rushing water.  He spoke gently to the frightened animal, and soon they had reached the end. Elladan followed him, his horse on his left and Elrohir’s on the right.  He too spoke soothingly to the animals and soon they were across. 

“Stay to her left and I will keep to her right,” Glorfindel instructed.  His own horse walked calmly ahead of them, ignoring the roar of the water.  The little mare was less sure of herself and both Glorfindel and Elrohir coaxed her to move forward.  She did as bidden, and they began the crossing.

Glorfindel heard the crack and snap of timber when they were nearly a third of the way across. 

“Elrohir, go ahead,” he commanded.

Elrohir looked at him for a moment, hesitating.

“Go!” barked Glorfindel. 

Elrohir began to walk faster, encouraging Glorfindel’s horse to move faster too, when he heard another splintering crack and looked back to see the back of the wagon begin to sag through a gap in the bridge deck. He slapped Glorfindel’s horse on the rump and yelled at him to go.  The stallion began to run as Elrohir turned back to help Glorfindel.

The mare was in a panic, the weight of the wagon dragging her down as the wheels sank through the planks.  A section of the bridge collapsed behind them, the wooden beams falling into the waters below and speeding away like twigs in the raging waters.  Elrohir watched it in fear and amazement, and then a shout caught his attention and he turned to see Glorfindel with his knife drawn.  He was sawing at the harness that attached the wagon to the mare.

Elrohir grabbed at the harness and began pulling it with all his strength.

“Elrohir, release the harness!  Let the wagon go!  There is nothing in there worth risking your life for!” shouted Glorfindel.

The mare was screaming in pain as the wagon pulled her down, and she dug her heels in, fighting the dragging weight.  As the bridge cracked and splintered around them, they fought to save the spirited mare.  Finally, Glorfindel cut the leather harness from the small horse on his side and grabbed hold of it with all his strength, allowing Elrohir to repeat the action on his side. 

“It is free!” called Elrohir.

Glorfindel allowed his side to release as soon as he felt the slack from Elrohir, and the little mare fell forward as the wagon began its slide down the splintering planks.  Glorfindel steadied the mare, and began pulling her forward as Elrohir watched the wagon fall.  He seemed mesmerized by the sight before him, and Glorfindel watched in horror as the far side of the bridge fractured and sent more planks and beams into the swirling waters below.

“Elrohir, MOVE!” he screamed.

A broken plank of the bridge caught the canvas that covered the wagon, ripping loose its edge and peeling it several feet back as the wagon slid free of the breaking bridge and fell to the water below. 

Glorfindel yelled at the mare to go, and turned to grab Elrohir, who had not yet moved.  He was within a step of the young elf when he heard Elrohir shout, “ARWEN!” and then watched as the young elf jumped off the bridge, following the wagon to the churning waters below.

“ELROHIR!” Glorfindel shouted as the bridge began to give way beneath his feet.  He scrambled backward, and finally was forced to turn and run as the rest of the bridge began to disintegrate around him.   As he ran off the bridge and up the small slope to where his horse was waiting, he saw Elladan already mounted and racing down the paths and cliffs along the riverbank.  He looked back to see the wagon being swept downstream.

He swung himself up on his horse, his heart pounding as he raced after Elladan and Garthon, who had followed him.  Elrohir had screamed Arwen’s name and jumped. . . and as the implications of this sunk in, he felt a growing horror and fear that two of Elrond’s children were about to perish in the raging waters of the Hoarwell.

* * *

Nûrsûl had left Imladris at daybreak, carrying nothing but his weapons, bedroll, water, a supply of lembas and a small pouch with necessities and the message he was to deliver.  He was the fastest rider in Imladris, and often served as messenger.  His name meant wind racer, and on this day he rode true to the name, pushing his beloved horse to his limit as they raced west along the Great East Road.  The high waters at the Fords of the Bruinen had made for a tricky crossing and slowed him considerably, but he had made it safely.  Several hours later he had seen signs of the camp made by Glorfindel and his company, and rested his horse in the same spot.  He resumed his journey not long after, and again pushed his horse as hard as he dared. He and his exhausted horse reached the Hoarwell by dusk, and he was forced to dismount and walk closer to convince himself that what he was seeing was real.

The Last Bridge was gone.

He knelt down and began to crawl forward.  He could determine that four elves had walked on the landing, as well as five horses, with one pulling the wagon.  He made his way slowly to where the bridge used to be, and sat staring at the water and the far shore, then up and down the river.  He believed they had made it across, but come morning he would inspect the shore in daylight, to see if the debris could shed further light upon this story.

He cared for his horse, watering him and setting him to pasture, then laid himself down on his bedroll and slept.

* * *

Lorinand (Lothlorien) - midday

Galadriel stood on the balcony of the flet, her eyes drawn to the northwest. Her hands gripped the rail of the balcony so tightly that her knuckles whitened.  Her face was drawn and her lips pursed.  She closed her eyes as the vision swept over her.

When it was past she opened her eyes, sensing that Celeborn was near.  He stood next to her, his face concerned and his hands covering hers.

“You have had a vision,” he said grimly.

“We must leave,” she answered abruptly. “Now.  We must take the Redhorn Pass and cross into Eregion.”

“What have you seen?” Celeborn asked, even as he took her arm and escorted her inside.  To his shock, he felt her tremble beneath his touch.

“Our grandchildren are in danger. A raging river, but I do not know exactly where,” she answered even as she began to pack. She turned to look at Celeborn, but to her surprise he had left the flet.  She walked to the door and heard him calling to one of Amroth’s guards, asking for an immediate escort. Satisfied, she packed quickly with only necessary belongings.  An hour later they were mounted and heading to the northwest.  They would reach the northwest end of the woods by late evening, and resume their journey in the morning – up the Dimrill Stair and into the Redhorn Pass of the Misty Mountains.

* * *

Imladris- late afternoon

Elrond watched as Celebrían rose abruptly from where she was helping map the searched lands of Imladris.  Her face drained of all color, and he jumped to his feet.  He was nearly to her when she collapsed, Erestor catching her before she hit the floor.  Elrond sank to the floor next to her, pulling her from Erestor’s arms and into his own.  He held her close, rocking her quietly in his arms as she slowly recovered.

“Elrond?” Erestor’s voice sounded as if it were coming from far away.

Elrond turned to face his advisor only with considerable effort, for the pain in his own heart was as great as that Celebrían was experiencing.

“Send for Athranen, and have him prepare troops to ride west,” he said roughly.  “Harm has befallen Elladan and Elrohir . . . .”

* * * * *

fëa ---------spirit
hröa--------body
Anor-------sun
Elbereth---Varda, Valar who created the Stars
Eru---------Ilúvatar
Olórin------well, he has many, many names, we all know him, but he isn’t in Middle-earth yet.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter. 

Chapter 4: Faces of Courage

Elrohir stood transfixed, staring at the crumbling bridge and the falling wagon.  He watched as a beam bent, splintering up and outward, then finally breaking in half and falling into the raging waters below.  His keen ears caught the sound of a scream, and he thought the little mare must be severely hurt to still be calling out her pain so loudly. A plank caught on the canvas cover then, tearing it several feet back from where it had been bound to the side of the wagon.  He saw jars of the blackberry preserves that Glorfindel and Erestor had fought over just days before fall from the wagon, quickly lost in the depths of the river.   The wagon had just slipped beyond the broken bridge when the sound of Glorfindel’s voice calling his name drew his attention away from the destruction.

He looked up, and was starting to turn to do as Glorfindel bid, when another scream sounded.  He looked down at the wagon, now falling, to see Arwen’s terrified face staring back at him.  Her arms reached out to him as she screamed his name again.

“ARWEN!” he yelled, fear filling him as he saw his sister plunging to what he thought was certain death. Without thought of his own safety, he jumped in after her.

The wagon hit the water right side up, the jarring impact breaking off two more of its wheels and plunging it partially beneath the surface of the water.  Elrohir landed nearby in the water, feeling first a terrible pain as he hit debris in the water and then cold water filled his mouth and nose as the current dragged him under the logs and planks.  He reached up, fighting his way to the surface and finally grabbing hold of a large beam and pulling himself up so that his head broke the surface of the water.  He flung his arms over the top of the wood, crying out as another log crashed into his back. He gasped for air; then another rolling wave covered him.  He choked on the foul water, but did not lose his hold on the floating log.  It was several moments before he had his breath back and could inhale without coughing.

The current was rapidly sweeping him downstream.  He watched the bridge recede in the distance, and then looked quickly around him. The wagon was some distance ahead of him, but he could not see Arwen.  He felt the start of panic, wondering if she had been swept into the water.  There was no way she could swim in this torrent. Hope for the best, Elrohir, he told himself.  She must be in the wagon.  She must!

He inched his way down to the end of the plank, kicking hard with both feet.  Agonizing pain swept over him, and it seemed the roar of the river and the brightness of the sun both diminished as he fought to stay conscious.  Pain and light and noise all returned with a vengeance, and Elrohir concentrated on the wagon to keep from crying out his agony.  He had to catch up to it and see if Arwen was there.  She had to be there; oh Elbereth, let her be there! He used one arm and his uninjured foot to paddle and kick his way closer to the wagon, and hope returned to him as he began to make progress.

* * *

Elladan raced parallel to the river, through the woods and hills, glimpsing the water only occasionally.  He had to get far enough ahead of his sister and brother to be in position to help, but the paths were winding and it was taking far longer than he had time for.

He had felt his own heart fall when Elrohir jumped.  He had seen his twin make the leap, but his mind refused to believe Elrohir would do such a thing.  It wasn’t until the wagon had bobbed back above the water and he saw the form of his little sister sprawled lifelessly on top of the statue, now broken, that he understood.  He was still bewildered as to how Arwen had come to be in the wagon without their knowledge, but had to push those confusing thoughts aside to focus on how to rescue her.  He had seen Elrohir disappear into the murky depths of the water, and then, after what seemed an eternity, he had surfaced in the midst of a small logjam.   Hold on, Elrohir, he pleaded silently to his twin through the bond they shared.  I will not lose either of my siblings this day!

“Elladan!” Garthon shouted.

Elladan looked over his shoulder to see Garthon on his horse, climbing to a higher path.

“This way is clear. We can get ahead of them and then angle back to the river!”

Elladan nodded and nudged his horse to follow Garthon. As soon as he reached the higher path, the two horses broke into a gallop. Elladan kept his eyes focused towards the river, and estimated they had come several miles when he saw a steep path leading to the riverbank.   Garthon had also seen it, and led the way down the steep incline.  Both elves leapt from their horses and moved to stand at the edge of the river, which raced by below them.  The first of what they thought was bridge debris was just passing by them.

“I have rope,” Garthon said suddenly.  He ran back to his horse and opened his pack, pulling out a length of rope. 

Elladan tied his rope to Garthon’s, squeezing the knot tight and directing his will to the interwoven strands. The knot had to hold. He gathered the coils of slim rope into his arms and over his shoulder.  He searched for several minutes for a tree that would suit his needs, and finally found one a ways south of the path they had ridden down.  He climbed the tree, edging his way up and then out over a branch hanging above the waters.  It put him only about fifteen feet over the river, and he had to hope that the wagon would choose to travel this side of the river and that his rope would reach it.  He sensed Garthon behind him, and turning, helped tie the rope around the tree trunk between them.  Elladan would toss the looped end at the wagon, and Garthon would help anchor the weight if Elladan was successful.  And then they waited.

* * *

Elrohir battled the debris and churning waters for many long minutes before finally reaching the wagon. He lunged forward, trying to grasp the side of the wagon, only to have it slide from his bruised and bloody fingers.  He cried his anguish to the wind as he tried twice more to grab the slippery wood, and twice more he slipped back into the waters.  Ahead of him, the wagon spun as the front edge hit a large rock, and in frustration Elrohir shoved the plank he had used to keep afloat at the slowly spinning wagon.

The plank caught in the spokes of the remaining wagon wheel.

The force of the rotating wagon caused Elrohir, still holding on to the plank, to be spun around too, slamming him into the rock after the wagon slid around it.  Elrohir gripped the plank tightly as the breath was knocked from him, and tears came to his eyes at this sudden new pain.  He groaned and gasped for breath at the burning pain in his side, a red haze momentarily blurring his vision as he again fought to stay conscious.  Elbereth, I am so close, he pleaded.

The wagon again picked up speed as no further obstacles blocked its path, and Elrohir slowly gathered himself for another try.  He pulled himself hand over hand along the plank until he reached the wagon wheel, and then with a cry he put forth all his strength to haul himself up on top of the plank. He sat there for a moment, his hands gripping the wagon wheel so tightly that new blood was shed from the wounds caused by his fingernails digging into his palms. He drew in several breaths, shallow and short, as his injured ribs would not allow for more, and then climbed on to his knees and looked over the edge of the wagon.

He wept as he saw Arwen unconscious, but he could see her chest slowly rise and fall.

He crawled over the side of the wagon, attempting to land as gently as possible, but the wagon jolted and he fell inside, crying out as he landed on the scattered contents and debris in the bottom of the wagon.  Jars of preserves bruised his back and sore side, and broken plaster cut his hands as he attempted to push himself free.  A moan issued from Arwen and he pulled himself to her, heedless of his own pain.

She was lying partially on top of the broken statue, and partially underneath it. Blood matted the hair at the back of her head, and bruises and scrapes seemed to cover her.  She was twisted at a funny angle, and Elrohir felt tears wash down his cheeks as he cried for the injury done to his beautiful little sister.

Thankful that she was mercifully unaware of her predicament and pain, Elrohir began to evaluate his surroundings. His every thought had been of getting to Arwen, and now that he had accomplished this, he had to figure out how to get them safely to shore.  He started by throwing overboard every small item that was near him, saving only packages of lembas and foodstuffs that appeared dry in their wrappings. Once he had cleared space on the bottom of the wagon, he scooted to Arwen, the shooting pains in his leg reminding him of that injury, and carefully freed her from the heavy broken plaster and laid her on her back.  Another tear formed in his eye as he saw the spare blankets Erestor had insisted on them bringing stacked in the corner of the wagon, and he stretched painfully to grab one.  He spread it over Arwen, stopping for a moment to run his hands over her limbs.  Her wrist was swollen and blood stained her dress. He closed his eyes to her injuries, and finished covering her with the blanket.

He looked up for the first time then, and surveyed the scenery around him.  The area was wild, with no obvious paths or roads or villages nearby. He knew of ruins further south, from the maps they had studied, but here there was nothing.  He felt a sinking despair that even if he could get them to shore, they were still far from home and injured and without horses. Suddenly, he looked up and across to the far bank. Elladan!  Elladan was surely following the river, and Glorfindel too!  Elrohir felt hope well within him, and wondered how cloudy his thinking must have been to forget his traveling companions.

He began searching the western shore, and was finally rewarded by a flash of white and gold on the high ridge above the waters.  Glorfindel!

* * *

Glorfindel had raced along the river, staying along the low banks and keeping a close watch on Elrohir’s struggles.  Twice he had come near to leaping from his horse into the raging currents, in hopes of swimming to Elrohir and aiding him to the wagon or the shore.  Both times Elrohir had managed to save himself, and now that he was in the wagon, Glorfindel raced up on to the high path, allowing his horse to gallop at the fastest pace the stallion could manage.  He came upon Elladan’s and Garthon’s mounts moments later, and followed them to the rivers edge.  He whistled the call of Imladris’ guard, and at the return call he moved swiftly through the undergrowth to find Elladan and Garthon on their perch.  He moved another twenty feet or so downstream and began edging out into the river, holding on to an overhanging branch, until he was waist deep in the water.

The wagon came into sight minutes later, and to Glorfindel’s relief, Elrohir seemed to have made a paddle from the arm of the statue and was doing his best to move the wagon to the western shore. His long hair was matted and his face deathly pale, but the determination on the face of the young elf was unmistakable.

Glorfindel watched as Elladan threw his rope, looping it around the beam that was stuck in the wagon wheel. Elladan and Garthon both braced themselves against the tree, and strained against the weight of the wagon that threatened to pull them into the current as well.

As soon as he saw the wagon slow and begin to spin ponderously towards the shore, Glorfindel swam forward, crosswise to the current.  He had tied his own rope to the base of the tree and swam with the other end in his hand. 

“Hold on, Elrohir!’ he called as he saw Elladan’s rope tighten and jerk the wagon.  He reached the wagon as Elrohir, unable to steady himself, slid from the wagon edge and into the water. 

The wagon wheel creaked and groaned at the strain the rope was placing on it, and Glorfindel looked frantically for Elrohir, while knowing he had to tie off the wagon before the wheel gave way.  He heard a splash, saw Elladan jump into the current, and felt a rush of relief when the dark head surfaced, unharmed by anything lying beneath the surface, and swam towards the wagon.  Trusting Elladan to reach his twin, Glorfindel slipped the end of the rope through the lip where the harness had been, and tied it off.

“I have him!” Elladan shouted. He pulled Elrohir’s head above water, and using Glorfindel’s rope as a guide, pulled him to shore.

Garthon had backed off the log and run to the second rope, and already was anchoring himself, his heels dug into the mud as he began to pull on the rope.  A moment later the last wagon wheel broke loose from the wagon, and the wagon slid free of the first rope. Glorfindel had swum towards shore, holding to the rope as well, and he could just again stand when the first rope broke.  As the wagon began to drift downstream again, he ducked under the water as the second rope slid above his head, then began pulling it with all his might.  He could feel the rope begin to move through his fingers, and knew that Garthon was also pulling.  Stepping back as he went, they pulled the wagon to the shore, finally dragging it partially out of the water and on to the muddy shore. The four elves lay collapsed on the shore, exhausted, Elladan cradling the battered body of his twin in his arms.

In that ensuing moment of silence, sobbing was heard from within the wagon.  Glorfindel leapt to his feet and reached over the side of the wagon. He carefully lifted Arwen, still wrapped in the blanket Elrohir had tucked around her, and cuddled her to his chest.  One hand wrapped into his hair, and held on tightly. He sat down gracefully next to the twins, and held Arwen gently so that her brothers could see her and stroke her hair and whisper soothing words of endearment to her.  She did not open her eyes or speak, just sobbed into Glorfindel’s soaked tunic.

Glorfindel watched as Garthon retrieved the other length of rope and tied the wagon more securely.  With a wordless nod the elf was gone, and Glorfindel knew he had gone scouting the higher ground in search of a suitable campsite. 

“Assess Elrohir’s injuries,” Glorfindel instructed Elladan softly.  He shifted slightly and began his own examination of Arwen.  He could feel the sticky mat of bloody hair on his arm, and felt the wound gently, feeling a large bump and deep cut along the back of her head. She whimpered at the touch, and he tenderly stroked her cheek, crooning to her.

“Arwen, sweetheart, I am sorry that hurt. I need to see what other hurts you have and soon we will do something to stop the pain,” he whispered in her ear.

He could feel the damaged tissue and bones of her hand by just hovering his own hand above hers, and her dress was torn along her side where she had a long gash that ran from her ribs to her hip.  Another long cut along her leg was clotted over, but filthy.  Numerous bumps, bruises, scrapes and small cuts marred the small figure.  When Glorfindel considered the broken debris within the wagon, he was not surprised.  She had landed and rolled in broken glass and plaster, been pinned beneath the statue and knocked unconscious by some heavy item that struck her on the back of her head.

Elrohir’s leg lay against Glorfindel’s, and when Glorfindel finished checking over Arwen he moved slightly and heard a moan escape Elrohir.  He had bitten through his lip at some point, trying to stifle his cries of pain, and now he bit into that wound, causing it to bleed anew.  Glorfindel blanched as he looked on the badly broken lower leg, the skin torn where the bone had punctured it.  His eyes met Elladan’s, and he saw the fear there.

“His ribs are broken too.  His breathing grows ragged,” whispered Elladan.

Garthon suddenly appeared next to them, touching Glorfindel lightly on the shoulder

“I have started a fire and spread out the bedrolls and blankets, straight up the hill and to the left.  I will start carrying up any supplies that can be salvaged from the wagon.  Do you need my aid carrying them?”

“No, we can manage. We will need to find clean water, or boil some from the river,” he directed.

Garthon nodded, and then moved to the wagon to begin unloading all that he could salvage.

Glorfindel motioned for Elladan to rise, and then placed Arwen in his arms.  She still held his hair, but when Elladan began to work her fingers free she willingly switched her hold to his hair.  Elladan carried her up the hill, using all care not to jostle her, while Glorfindel turned his attention to Elrohir.

“Elrohir, little one, it is time to rest,” he whispered as he knelt beside him. He stroked the dark hair and tenderly kissed him on the forehead.  “I have never been more proud of you.” He looked into the pain filled eyes, placed one hand on Elrohir’s forehead and the other over his heart, and using all the healing ability he possessed, gently pushed the young elf into sleep. Then he lifted him and carried him to the campsite.

Darkness had come by the time they had Arwen and Elrohir to the campsite. Arwen still would not open her eyes or speak, and Glorfindel pushed her also into a deep sleep.  Then Garthon built up the fire, and Glorfindel and Elladan set to the unpleasant task of cleaning wounds, stitching gashes and setting broken bones.  Both knew that Elrohir’s broken leg required Elrond’s skill to set, but they managed to at least align the bones and bind the wound, and then splint the leg,

It was nearly dawn when they finished, and Elladan sat with a roll of bandages in his hand, staring at it absently.  Glorfindel moved to sit next to him, removing the bandages and setting them aside.  He put his arm about Elladan’s shoulders and hugged him.  Elladan buried his face in Glorfindel’s shoulder and Glorfindel felt the sobs shaking his frame.

“They are going to recover,” Glorfindel said softly, reassuringly.

“I thought they were both going to die,” said Elladan, after breathing in deeply and controlling his voice.  “All I can think of are Adar and Naneth at home.  If we did not know Arwen was hidden in the wagon, I am sure they did not either.  They must be so worried!  And now the bridge is gone and Elrohir and Arwen are too badly injured to travel and we have so far to go to get home. . . Naneth must think Arwen lost.  She will be heartbroken, Glorfindel, and Adar too.”

Glorfindel gently rocked Elladan in his arms as the young elf spoke his fears and worries. When Elladan finished, he answered, “Rest for a while, Elladan.  We will come up with a plan in the morning and find a way to send word to your parents.” He gently pushed Elladan down on to the bedroll next to Arwen, so that she lay protected between her brothers.  Glorfindel sat watch over the three as they slept, all the while contemplating how they would get the injured ones home and hopefully word to their parents before that.

* * *

Imladris - dawn

Celebrían dressed in trousers and a tunic, a light cloak thrown over her shoulders for warmth in the early morning chill.   She pulled on her boots and tucked a dagger into her belt, then fastened her short sword at her side.  She was packing a few necessities into a small pack when she heard Elrond come into the room.

She turned to face him, watching his face as he beheld her state of dress.  He looked her up and down, finally meeting her eyes.

“Whatever danger Arwen is in, it lies west also,” she said roughly.  “I feel it in my heart, Elrond.”

He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.  For a long moment she clung to him, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his tunic as he wrapped powerful arms around her.  He was her strength, and together they would bear whatever was to come.

“Come,” he said softly. “The patrol is ready to leave. I have sent word to Lorinand as well.”

Elrond mounted, dressed as if for battle in garments he had not worn since returning from Mordor over two hundred years earlier.  With Celebrían beside him, they rode west.

* * *

Nursul awoke at first light, and quickly took care of his own needs before heading to the river bank.  In the clear light of day, he could see the splintered fragments of wood that were all that remained of the bridge. This still failed to give him a picture of whether the travelers had safely crossed the bridge, and so he made his way carefully to the riverbank, and began a meticulous search of the muddy grass and debris that littered the bank in places.  He had gone several hundred feet when a sparkle in the sun caught his eye.  He dug in the mud, uncovering a glass jar, still full.  He rinsed it in the muddy stream water, cleaning most of the muck from it.  He read the label and then opened the jar, sniffing the blackberry preserves.  He closed the jar and tucked it into his pack, and continued his search.  A short way further he found a strap of leather, and with some work dug it from the muck.  It was a piece of harness, and after washing it clean he saw the mark of Imladris carved in the leather.

Dread filled his heart, and he whistled for his horse.  He climbed back to the flat land, away from the high floodwaters, and rode several miles downstream.  He did not see any further signs of debris and saw no sign of the travelers.  He made the decision to ride back to Imladris with all haste, and raise the alarm that harm may also have found those he was seeking.

* * *

Garthon returned mid-morning with fresh meat and water, having filled all the water skins at a small spring he found several miles away.  He prepared the meat, and set it to cook, then came and sat next to Glorfindel, who still sat watching over the children of Elrond.

“The waters remain high as far as the eye can see,” Garthon spoke quietly. “There is no evidence of any enemy in this area. Our best hope may lie in the bridge at Tharbad, and then we could follow the road east of the Loudwater back to Imladris.”

Glorfindel was silent as he considered Garthon’s report and all the implications of moving an injured elf and a small child over such a great distance.

“You could send me ahead.  Search parties are surely looking for Arwen, so perhaps I will meet help as I travel, thus shortening the time to bring aid.”

“Traveling as hard as you may, it would still take you at least a week,” calculated Glorfindel, “and that is assuming the bridge at Tharbad still stands, you do not run into any sort of enemy and weather does not slow you.”

“Aye,” agreed Garthon.  He looked at the three sleeping before them. “Shall I go?”

Glorfindel was silent for a moment.  While sending Garthon ahead in search of aid would help word reach Imladris much quicker, he hesitated to send a lone elf on a long journey through rough terrain.  He would normally risk only himself in such an endeavor, but he would not leave his young charges. He met Garthon’s eyes, and saw the sincerity in the request.  Garthon understood the dangers and he wished to do this. He clapped the younger elf on the back, and grasped his arm in the way of warriors.  “May the stars of Elbereth light your way, and the Valar guide and protect your path,” he answered softly.

Garthon packed himself a supply of lembas, for he would not stop to hunt, but left his bedroll upon the ground.  Glorfindel knelt, rolled and tied it, and attached it to the young warrior’s horse.

“I would leave it for Arwen,” argued Garthon.

“You will have the harder journey,” said Glorfindel, raising his hand to end the discussion.  “Fare well, Garthon.”

“Fare well, Glorfindel,” replied Garthon, and he nudged his horse into a trot, heading south.

* * * * *

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 5: A Mystery Unraveled

Late morning along the banks of the Hoarwell….

Glorfindel watched as Garthon rode off into the distance, hoping for his safety and also that he would meet groups from Imladris searching for Arwen.  He wished there was way to send word more quickly, but the ability to communicate without speaking was not a skill he could practice over such long distances.  When Garthon was gone from sight, he turned back to the small camp and the three figures still sleeping near the fire.  Elladan, he knew, would wake soon.  Together they would need to make this into a camp that would last them for at least a week or two, or find another suitable site and move the injured ones to it.  And if they did need to move Elrohir, Glorfindel wished to do it while he was still oblivious to the world around him.   He moved to a nearby rock and sat down, contemplating all there was to consider about their current situation.

There was no clean water source nearby, at least not one that Garthon had found.  The area was secluded and trees gave some cover, but they were in a spot not easily defensible.  They had the food they had brought for the trip, and much of it had been salvaged from the wagon.  They also had tarps to form a shelter and extra blankets.  Arwen had no extra clothing, however, and the dress she was wearing was damaged beyond repair.  The bandages and medicines of their healing kits have already been sorely depleted.

Glorfindel turned his attention to the river, looking down upon the rushing muddy water thoughtfully. He pondered the distance from bank to bank, and thought that if someone were on the other side, they might be able to string rope across the torrent below and transport supplies across the chasm. The only thing missing was someone on the other side of the river.

“Glorfindel?”      

Glorfindel turned to see Elladan sitting up, a slightly confused look on his face.  Remembrance then seemed to come back to him and he quickly bent over his sister and then his twin, and his countenance fell.

“I hoped this had all been a bad dream,” he admitted softly.

Glorfindel stood and walked to the fire, caressing Elladan’s head as he moved by him. “Unfortunately, it is not,” he said.  He fixed a plate of food and then handed it to the young elf. “We have much work to do while they sleep.  Eat, and we will start.”

While Elladan ate, Glorfindel explained Garthon’s absence and his assessment of their predicament.

* * *

Elladan listened as Glorfindel outlined the tasks they needed to accomplish.  This was his captain, who planned patrols, maneuvers and training expertly and efficiently; but it was also his childhood friend – the one who was like another father to him, a favorite uncle who looked after him like his own child.  He could see the worry in Glorfindel’s eyes and how often he looked eastward. It was obvious that Glorfindel too was concerned for Elrond and Celebrían, and what effect Arwen’s disappearance must be having on them.

Even as he listened to all Glorfindel said and his thoughts strayed to his family, Elladan was already determining what he would do first.  Clean water was of primary importance, and Elladan knew he wanted to see his brother and sister clean, free of the mud and blood that had liberally coated them.  They had washed their wounds with the fresh water that Garthon brought, but their hair and the rest of their bodies were filthy.  A slight smile tugged at his mouth as he thought of what Arwen’s reaction to being so dirty would be under any other circumstance.

He finished eating, then straightened his clothing and rebraided his hair. He stood, still listening to Glorfindel, as he strapped on his sword and quiver of arrows, and tucked his dagger into his boot.  Then he carefully emptied the remnant of the fresh water into a container retrieved from the wagon, and hung the empty water skins from his belt.

“I will go to where Garthon found water, if I cannot find a nearer source,” said Elladan. 

He grasped forearms with Glorfindel, but did not resist when the warrior embraced him. He clung to him for a moment, then forced his fears down and turned to his siblings.  Kneeling down between them, he stroked each dark head and kissed each brow, whispering words of love to them.

“I leave you Glorfindel, though I wish I could stay with you, but he is better able to aid you than I.  I will try to find you fresh water and more comfortable ground on which to rest. Sleep well,” he murmured.

He rose to his feet and whistled for his horse, who followed him faithfully as he set out on foot.

* * *

Late afternoon on the Great East Road, midway between Imladris and the Hoarwell…..

Nûrsûl heard the sound of an approaching party long before he saw them.  He knew immediately by the beat of hooves that the riders were elves, and his own horse flicked his ears in joy at seeing his kin.   He whistled his approach, and was gratified when an answering call resounded immediately.  A smile crossed his face, for though he bore bad news, he at least bore it quicker than he might have otherwise.

The banner of Imladris swayed in the slight breeze as the riders came into sight, and Nûrsûl was surprised to see both the Lady and Lord of Imladris riding at the head of the column.  He dismounted as they neared, and then both Elrond and Celebrían were before him.

“Did you find them?  Are they coming?” asked Celebrían without greeting or preamble.

Nûrsûl bowed before her, but was unable to meet her eyes and so instead focused on Elrond.

“My Lord, the Last Bridge is gone, swept away in the floodwaters of the Hoarwell,” said Nûrsûl softly. He watched as Elrond’s eyes widened in fear, and respectfully lowered his own gaze.  “I waited until morning, when I could more thoroughly inspect the ruins to see if they were across before this happened.  He slowly pulled the leather strap and the jar of preserves from his pack. “I found these on the eastern shore, about a half mile downstream.”

Elrond took the strap as Celebrían reached for the jar. Nûrsûl watched the agony flit across their faces, and tears slid freely from Celebrían’s eyes as she held the jar to her breast. Her eyes closed and she trembled, but then seemed to steady herself.  She opened her eyes and turned to Elrond.

“They live,” she said calmly.  “They are somewhere down that river and we will find them.”

Elrond gazed west for a moment longer. “This proves only that the wagon met disaster, not all of them.  They would not have continued on to Mithlond, however.  They would head south, seeking a place where they could cross and return north on the eastern shore,” he mused aloud.  “But Arwen. . . .Arwen is only a small child.  She could not go far from Imladris of her own power.  Yet I did not sense any threat about the grounds of Imladris.  But she is in danger and I fear for her. . . .”

Celebrían was already re-mounting her horse. There was a gleam in her eye, an almost savage look like the one that Nûrsûl had once seen on a mother cat as she defended her kittens from a predator.  He was suddenly reminded that their gentle and fair Lady was the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, and there was bound to be an iron strength behind her will.

“Return to Imladris with news of the bridge.  Find Thavron.  He will know to start planning for a new one,” Erestor instructed him.

Nûrsûl watched as the party continued quickly west, and smiled as the lead guards had to put forth a little effort to catch Lady Celebrían and surround her, as was their charge. 

* * *

Glorfindel was hesitant to leave Elrohir and Arwen unattended for even a moment, and so concentrated on tasks he could do in their current campsite.  He pulled a spare tunic from his own pack, and using his knife cut the sleeves off just below the shoulder seam.  He pulled needle and thread from the packet of materials every warrior carried to mend his own clothing, and began stitching pleats in the armholes.  He opened up one sleeve and cut it to make a belt, then tucked away the material from the other sleeve.   At this point everything was an asset, and that strip of fabric might end up binding a wound or holding a splint in place. His tunic was still many sizes too large, but it was better than Arwen’s current dress.

He warmed the water Elladan had left, and then knelt down next to Arwen.  She was still deeply asleep.  They had removed her dress the night before, and now in the light of day Glorfindel began to gently bathe her. Tear formed in his eyes at the bruises and scrapes and tears to her flesh, and he found even more shards of plaster and glass to remove from her skin.  He carefully changed the dressings on the deeper cuts and wounds, flushing them with the water and applying healing balms before re-covering them.  The gauze and linen bandages they would boil and reuse.  Her hand seemed to be mending well, although he found himself wishing Elrond could tend to the small fingers.  Her hand was smashed, and while Glorfindel sensed he had all the pieces set properly he wished for Elrond’s firm and steady hands to confirm his work.  Such small hands, already so skilled with a needle and pencil, quill and paintbrush, he thought as he kissed the back of her uninjured hand.

Yet elven healing was already at work.  The lighter bruises had already begun to fade and the minor scrapes were healing over.  She will heal well, he reminded himself. By midsummer she will be home, whole and healed.  But never the same, he admitted.  It would be long before her terror faded. He covered her again with a blanket and turned his attention to Elrohir.

“You I want to scold soundly for jumping off a bridge and splintering your leg, but my delight in your courage overrides my desire to chastise,” said Glorfindel softly as he first stroked the dark head and then began to examine the many wounds that covered the pale flesh. “You thought only of Arwen, not of your life.  You could not know that she would not be thrown from the wagon, and that you might have saved her at less damage to yourself.  You are still a silly, wonderful elfling.”

“Not an . .  elfling,” said Elrohir hoarsely.

Glorfindel moved his hand to rest along the side of Elrohir’s face, on an undamaged section of skin where he could provide comfort.

“Still an elfling,” contended Glorfindel softly. “A heroic, brave, courageous, tenderhearted elfling.” He smiled at Elrohir as the young elf pressed against his hand, seeking comfort in that touch.

“How. . is. . Arwen?” asked Elrohir in small gasps.

“Shhh, no more talking,” soothed Glorfindel. “I will tell you everything, but spare your lungs and ribs that pain. Arwen still sleeps.  Her hand is broken, and she has many scrapes and bruises.  Two long gashes we stitched.  She will wake with a headache from the blow to the head, but I will ensure the pain is dulled as much as possible.”

He stroked Elrohir’s hair, and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. “Garthon has ridden to Imladris for help, but it may take a few days.  You cannot be moved anywhere soon, but he will get the word that Arwen is with us to your parents as quickly as possible. Elladan is seeking a better campsite, closer to clean water.

“You have many bruises and cuts, broken ribs and a broken leg.  Dirty river water got into your throat and airways.  You are sore and hoarse and in pain, little one,” Glorfindel leaned close. “Go back to sleep. When you next wake, we should be able to bathe you and make you more comfortable.”  Glorfindel looked into Elrohir’s pain-dulled but trusting eyes, and pushed him back into healing sleep.

Elladan returned mid-afternoon, sounding the Imladris call as he approached. Glorfindel answered, grateful for his safe return, though he knew that his worry was likely needless.  Elladan nodded at him as he dropped to his knees by his siblings, quenching his need to see how they fared before sharing any news he had brought.  After several moments spent with each, he came to sit near Glorfindel.

He unfolded a map and spread it out across the rock between them.  “I estimate that we are here,” said Elladan, pointing at a small x he had made on the parchment, “probably fifteen to twenty miles south of the bridge.  I was surprised to think we had come that far, but from the few landmarks on this side, it seems to be true.”  He carefully opened a second piece of parchment, this map drawn entirely in his own hand. “This is our location, and here is the spring Garthon found.  I found two others, one farther south from his and one slightly closer to us.  The best location of the three is the one Garthon found. We would have a clear view of the river and of any approach from the high ridge.  A fire would be seen a long distance. The closest location is not bad, but the view to the river is impeded. The other is simply too far, I think.”

Glorfindel picked up the map Elladan had drawn, noting the distances and locations of springs, natural trails and passage to the river. At each spot he had also estimated the width of the riverbed and the terrain of the land near the shore on either side. Glorfindel was impressed by the map and all Elladan had thought to include, and he could not help but to test his pupil and see what ideas were percolating in his mind.

“Do we have enough rope?” he asked.

Elladan immediately shook his head.  “No, the length is too great.  To create an adequate rope bridge over the river anywhere along here would require a double or triple stranded line.  I have never tried a rope bridge over this length. Have you?”

“No,” answered Glorfindel honestly. “It would be dangerous, but perhaps we could rig a carry line to transport supplies across.” Inwardly he smiled, pleased that Elladan had considered the option and what it would take to do such a thing.

“Elrohir is badly bruised across his back and chest, and his broken ribs make any movement painful,” said Elladan thoughtfully.  “We can make a litter, but we cannot both carry him and leave Arwen alone. This ground along the upper ridge is level enough that Elrohir’s horse could pull the litter, but even still it would jostle him.” He considered this for a moment, then grinned. “Arwen is so small, we can lay her on the same litter with Elrohir and barely notice the difference in weight.”

Glorfindel grinned back at him.  “I will pack the supplies we salvaged and load them on the horses.  The little mare is to carry nothing.  She is walking well enough, but her back is strained. You start work on the litter.”

Glorfindel caught the pleased look on Elladan’s face, but said nothing.  The young elf would find it inappropriate to take joy in anything right now, yet he was obviously pleased to be able to try his hand at creating the design in his head while also helping his siblings.  He went immediately to work, using parts of the wagon he could pry apart, and wood and boughs from the nearby trees.  Tarps to be used for tents on their trip were still in the wagon, undamaged, and in just over an hour Elladan had used the rope to bind the contraption together.  He disappeared back to the river one last time, and reappeared carrying the remains of the statue, now armless. He set it down on top of the litter.

“This thing weighs more than Elrohir and Arwen combined,” said Elladan. “Let us see if the litter can support its weight.”

Glorfindel took two poles in hand, while Elladan picked up the rear poles.  They both bounced the statue a bit and rolled it slightly from side to side, but the litter held.  Unable to hide his smile, Elladan rolled the statue into the nearby woods and then the two of them set the litter down near Elrohir. Elladan began padding the litter with all the blankets and bedrolls they had left, and then waited for Glorfindel to lift his twin and move him on to it.

Glorfindel slipped an arm under Elrohir gently, cradling him in his arms while trying to lessen any pressure on his broken ribs and bruised back.  Despite his caution, Elrohir moaned and cried out softly, and then coughed, a slight rattle heard deep in his chest.  His eyes fluttered open, but the only sound he could make was one of pain.  Glorfindel winced as well, and laid the injured elf on the litter. He tucked the blanket in around him.

“I am sorry, Elrohir,” he murmured as he again touched the elf’s face. “I will give you something for the pain in just a moment.”

Glorfindel moved to the healing kit he had just packed, and quickly withdrew the vial he had already prepared. He mixed it with water, and then turned back to Elrohir. Elladan lay on his side next to his twin, his arm beneath Elrohir’s head and neck, so that their faces were nearly touching.  His other hand rested lightly against Elrohir’s face.  He took the vial from Glorfindel, and with coaxing and soothing words poured the bitter liquid into Elrohir’s mouth and then lightly stroked his neck to help him swallow.

“Sleep, my brother, for I do not want you to feel even a twinge more pain,” he whispered in Elrohir’s ear.  Elladan held him until Elrohir’s eyes glazed over and slipped shut, and his pain-wracked body relaxed.

Glorfindel watched as Elladan sighed and then steeled himself as Glorfindel picked up Arwen, preparing himself to see another loved one in pain.  Thankfully, Arwen remained asleep and blissfully unaware. He laid her next to Elrohir, and straightened and tucked the blanket in around her.  Her arm was exposed for a moment, and Glorfindel saw the tiny flicker of light from another shard of plaster embedded in her arm.  He gritted his teeth in frustration as he gently removed it and flicked it aside.

“I have visions of Arwen as a grown lady, still plucking the occasional piece of plaster from her skin,” he growled in annoyance.

Elladan managed a brief smile as they gently tied the two to the litter, using their own trousers and other strips of cloth in hopes of irritating their wounds the least.  Glorfindel stowed the remainder of their gear on the horses, and then gathered the four near to him. 

“We are going to walk to a new campsite,” he informed the four horses.  He turned first to Elrohir’s horse, acknowledging the concern the horse had for his elf.  “You may follow behind Elladan, so you can see your master.” He stroked the head of his own horse.  “I ask you to bring up the rear.  Make sure we stay together, and ensure your lady friend is well.” He stroked the nose of the little mare last.  “You have been brave thus far, and made it many miles despite your injuries.  This trip is only a few more miles, and then you will rest for several days.  You bore the heaviest burden before; now you shall bear none. Be strong, brave one.”

Glorfindel moved back to the litter, squatted down, and grasped the back poles in his hands, and then lifted on Elladan’s command.  Elladan would lead, as he had scouted the terrain and knew the route, while Glorfindel would watch the injured ones for any signs of duress.  With a short whistle, Elladan began climbing the rocky terrain to the high cliff, and all followed his lead.

* * *

Elrond climbed into the maple tree at the spot they had chosen to rest the horses.  He climbed as high as the limbs that were sturdy enough to hold him allowed, and searched to the southwest.  They were close enough to the Hoarwell that he could make out the ridges that bounded the river on each side, though he could not yet see the water.  He needed this moment of silence to think, to make sure he was clearly thinking of what choices he had to make. Celebrían was intent on heading down the banks of the Hoarwell. Erestor was torn between wanting to ensure that Glorfindel, the twins and Garthon were well; and not wishing to abandon the search for Arwen.  It was not that they were abandoning the search for Arwen, Elrond reminded himself.  Groups were searching the grounds and the patrols were searching from their borders inward.  But Erestor is right to want someone present should she be found, he argued Erestor’s position. Elrond knew she was harmed in some way, but alive. Celebrían now seemed to sense it even more strongly than he did.  She insisted that whatever harm had befallen Arwen, they still had to go south.  Even now, Elrond could hear them arguing, something which he had not witnessed before.  His advisor and his wife had always acted as a team; never had they been at serious odds like this.

“The only way Arwen could be this far from Imladris is if she stowed herself away in the wagon and went with her brothers!” said Erestor, exasperated. “Please, Celebrían, we do not . . . .”

“Wait!” Celebrían interrupted him. “What did you just say?”

Elrond would have laughed at the sight of Erestor rendered momentarily speechless - Celebrían had just raised her voice at him! – but he was stunned at what he had heard. Elrond climbed swiftly down from the tree.

“Erestor!” she pulled on his tunic sleeve.  “Could she have done that?  Was there room for her in the wagon?” When he did not immediately answer, she shook him. “Erestor, think!”

Elrond reached the ground and immediately moved between them. He could tell Erestor was deep in thought, and he also knew that one had to let the advisor think through whatever he was pondering, without interruption.  His answers were always sound.

Erestor backed up against a rock, leaning on the edge of it.  His eyes were far away, but his lips were moving as he spoke quietly to himself.

“We pushed the wagon back inside the barn, and then let the mare loose, so we could check the front wheel.  I had pulled the canvass top tight before that, and when I came back into the barn, after the groom had finished the repair and reported to me that it was done, the canvass was loose on the edge.  I thought nothing of it, that the groom might have tucked a tool back inside the edge.  Everyone was ready to go and laughing and singing in the courtyard, so I tightened the cover down again, to make sure no water could get through it, and then the mare was rehitched and she pulled the wagon from the stable.”

“And they got a late start because of the wagon wheel,” Celebrían added breathlessly.  “Arwen had time to go to the waterfall, see the other children, and then return to the stable. This is why she cannot be found anywhere in Imladris!”  She paused then, as the same realization had occurred to all listening to Erestor’s words.  “Arwen was in the wagon! The wagon that fell from the bridge!”

Elrond pulled Celebrían to him, covering her shaking hands with his own, and calming her.  “She lives,” he reminded her, whispering those words in her ear.  He paused then, looking at the waiting guards and Erestor. “That Arwen is with her brothers is the most likely reason we have not yet found her.  Let us continue to the Hoarwell, and then we will head south.”

Elrond held Celebrían’s horse as she mounted, and then turned to his horse.  He realized Erestor was still leaning against the rock, still talking to himself.  “I can not believe I did not check that wagon one more time. How careless of me!”  Elrond felt a flash of mirth at the picture his advisor presented - Erestor who doublechecked the doublechecking, who thought of every eventuality! Excitement rose within him, then, for if Arwen were with Glorfindel and the twins, then her situation was far better than what he had imagined when he thought her all alone or in the hands of someone who wished her harm.

“Come, Erestor!” he called.

The elf broke from his reverie and leapt on to his horse.  With a new determination, he pushed his horse to the head of the column, his body language clear: if he had helped to lose Arwen, he would also be the first to find her.

* * *

Elladan led the way into the small clearing near the spring.  He had selected the spot earlier, sure Glorfindel would agree with his choice, and already had dug a small fire pit, gathered some dry wood and cleared the ground of stones where the bedrolls would lay.  He stopped, and called out to Glorfindel, “Here.”

The pallet was set down, and both elves immediately knelt on either side of it to check their passengers.  Arwen licked at her lips when Elladan touched her cheek, and moved slightly under the blankets.  Elrohir, still drugged, did not move or respond when they touched him, but his chest slowly rose and fell.

“It is better he not feel the pain right now,” said Glorfindel, voicing Elladan’s thoughts as well.

The bedrolls they had lain on before were shaken out and laid on the ground again, but this time they lifted the blankets that the two lay on, and slid them to their beds.  The litter was undone, and Elladan used the tarps to build a small shelter in the trees while Glorfindel started the fire.  The water from the spring was cold and clean, and Glorfindel filled all the skins and containers they had and then started heating water in their pans.  He fingered the largest of the pots, and laughed softly.

Elladan leapt down from the tree where he had been securing the tarp, and sat across the fire from Glorfindel.  He cocked an eyebrow, knowing full well he looked like his father when he struck this particular pose, and waited for Glorfindel to explain the source of his mirth.

“Erestor,” said Glorfindel finally, still smiling. “He packed twice as many pots as any group could ever use, including this big one.  Because we have it, we can heat water to bathe Elrohir and Arwen.”

“Good old Erestor,” replied Elladan wistfully.  He was quiet for a moment as he determined that he would do something nice for the old underappreciated elf who did so much for them.

“Do not overdo it being nice,” warned Glorfindel with a laugh.  “Good old Erestor enjoys every moment of the verbal sparring he does with you. He would not know what to do if you were suddenly nice to him all of the time.”

Elladan laughed aloud then.  There were some things in his life he was glad for, and even took for granted.  One was that Glorfindel always seemed to read his thoughts, and another was that Erestor would always scold him and he would always tease back.   A feeling of warmth settled over him as he thought of what he was most glad for: that his father and mother would know that their children needed help and that nothing would stop them from finding him and his siblings.

* * *

Arwen awoke just as the sun was setting over the tops of the trees in the western sky.  Her first thought in that brief moment between sleep and waking was that she could not see the sun like this from her room.  Then she moved her head slightly, and a terrible throbbing pain made her cry out. She tried to raise her hand to touch her head, and a shooting pain ran up her arm.   She felt loving hands touching her forehead and soothing words filtered to her through the pounding in her head and her own sobs.

“Arwen, sweetheart,” said Elladan tenderly. “I am here.  You are safe, little one.”

Arwen calmed herself and forced her eyes open.  Elladan was next to her, and Glorfindel on the other side. She could see unfamiliar trees and what looked like a tent above her.  A flood of memory returned to her, then, of the terrible trip trapped in the wagon, her fears of being caught where she should not have been, and then the sounds of the screaming horse and falling a long way into the river.  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to go away, but they did not.  She bit her lip, trying not to cry, but the sobs started again and with each one her head ached more.  Pain and fear overwhelmed her, and she could feel Elladan’s hands on her but could not hear him.

“Nana!” she cried out.  “Ada!” But neither her mother nor her father came to wake her from the nightmare she was in.  Instead firm hands grasped her chin, and a bitter liquid was forced into her mouth.  Gentle hands stroked her throat and held her mouth closed until she swallowed, which she had to in order to breathe.   “Nana, I need you. Ada, make the hurt go away, please, Ada,” she pleaded through her sobs.

The pain dulled, her eyelids became so heavy she could not open her eyes, and she felt herself slipping into the darkness.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 6: Found

Elladan and Glorfindel sat back down on the ground, relief evident on both of their faces. Elladan sighed, and then gently stroked his sister’s cheek, glad Arwen was finally calm, even if her sleep was drug induced.  Turning his gaze to Glorfindel, Elladan saw the weariness in the warrior and realized he had not slept at all the night before. He stood, and spread another bedroll out next to Elrohir and Arwen.

“I will take first watch,” Elladan informed Glorfindel.  He watched as Glorfindel considered arguing, but gave in to his need for rest and lay gracefully down by the injured ones. Elladan sat back down near the fire, building it up to shine brightly in the night.

May the light be a beacon to you, Adar, he thought.  Elrohir and Arwen need you.

* * *

Elrond lay with Celebrían nestled in his arms, her body spooned against his, as she slept soundly. He pressed his lips to her hair and kissed her gently, glad that she had found rest. He had slept fitfully, his mind not allowing him any respite from the thoughts and worries for his children and the plans he was detailing for whatever they might find on the road ahead.  Their camp was quiet, with those not on watch sleeping or resting quietly. In the distance Elrond could see Erestor perched on an outcropping of rock a half dozen feet above the path.

He absently stroked Celebrían’s hair as his mind inventoried what provisions they carried with them against what resources they might need in the days ahead.  They were traveling light and fast, and already messengers were being arranged to transport messages and supplies, if needed.  You were regent to Eregion and Herald to the High King, he reminded himself. The preparations and plans for this mission could be made in your sleep, were your children not involved.  But his children were involved, and they and Celebrían were his only weaknesses.

A soft call sounded in the distance, and several guards quickly faded into the night while others extinguished the glowing embers of the few fires within their camp. Elrond sat up, disentangling Celebrían from his arms, and turned to where Erestor had been sitting. The spot was vacant. Elrond rose and moved quickly to where Erestor had been.

“Elrond,” called Erestor softly.

Elrond looked up to see Erestor standing on a high point on the rocks, and in just moments had joined him.

“There,” said Erestor, pointing to the southwest. “A fire.”

A flicker of orange could be seen perhaps twenty miles in the distance, in a clearing by a clump of trees along the river. The size and intensity of the flame did not vary much, confirming the idea that it was a controlled blaze. Elrond felt his heart leap and knew that they had located his children.  He clapped Erestor on the shoulder.

“It is them, Erestor,” he whispered.

He turned, leapt quickly down the rocks, and ran back to camp.  He had instinctively strapped on his sword before leaving the campsite, and now he grabbed his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. He felt Erestor’s restraining hand a moment later.

“You have scouts, Elrond. Let them do their job, and wait until morning.  The river is treacherous in daylight, and more so now.”

Elrond jerked his arm from his advisor’s grasp, but Erestor’s other hand quickly descended to stop him. For a moment their wills locked, and the two engaged in a silent struggle as Elrond tried to pull away and Erestor tightened his grip.

“If you go, Celebrían will follow.  Do you wish to risk her on these banks in the dark?” hissed Erestor.

Elrond started to argue, formulated words permitting Erestor to keep Celebrían safe, even thought of ordering Erestor to release him immediately.  It was the pain in his wrist that Erestor held in an iron grasp that brought him to his senses. He relaxed, knowing that Erestor was right on all counts. The ground was treacherous, he did have capable scouts whom he needed to trust to do their jobs, and he would not have Celebrían endangered. Erestor’s grip slowly lessened, and he took the pack from Elrond and placed it back on the ground. He motioned to one of the guards to indicate where they were going, and then led Elrond to the rock where he had been sitting.

“Anor will rise and the scouts will return not long after.  With the information they bring we will know what to expect and will be able to formulate a plan of rescue,” said Erestor, his words meant to soothe and comfort, for both knew that Elrond already knew these things. They sat on the rock and watched the tiny orange flame until the rising light of Anor obscured it.

* * *

Elladan was finishing his watch when Arwen stirred, restless.  Glorfindel was awake and took up a position near the fire, while Elladan moved to comfort his sister.  He lifted her carefully into his arms, pillowing her head against a rolled blanket on his arm and cuddling her against his chest. She was immediately comforted by the presence of her brother. He sang softly to her, and she awoke gradually as the pain draught wore off.

“Arwen,” Elladan spoke her name in song, humming around the word. He watched as her eyes fluttered open and slowly focused on him.  The way he held her, she could not move quickly, nor would she feel the need to. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Elladan?” she asked hesitantly, unable to see anything beyond her brother and the curtain his hair formed around him.

“I am here, and you are safe in my arms, little one,” he said and kissed her on the forehead. “You are still hurt, so do not move quickly, for that will aggravate your wounds.”

Arwen was silent for a moment, secure and content in her brother’s arms.  She again felt pain, but it did not scare or surprise her now, and she concentrated on Elladan instead of it, just as her Ada had taught her.

“Where is Elrohir?” she finally asked.

“He is sleeping,” answered Elladan truthfully. “He awoke last evening and spoke to Glorfindel. He wanted to know if you were well.”

“He is badly hurt,” stated Arwen softly.

“Yes, he is.  But he is strong and will recover.”

Elladan watched as tears formed in Arwen’s eyes, but knew these were not due to physical pain or fear. Shame and guilt could be easily read in her expression.

“Will he ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what, Arwen?” asked Elladan gently.

“He is hurt because of me,” came the tearful reply.

“Elrohir is hurt because the bridge collapsed in the flood,” answered Elladan firmly. He saw confusion in her expression. She opened her mouth to speak, stopped, and then repeated the action. Pity filled his heart.

“Arwen, how did you come to be in the wagon?”

Arwen buried her face in his tunic, and Elladan regretted his words.  He wished to relieve her of the guilt she felt, but perhaps she was not ready to speak of this now.

“We can talk about this another time,” he whispered, stroking her hair.

“I was so scared,” Arwen choked out. “I fell in the water and mud, and could not get my doll and it was the one you and Elrohir gave me and he said that you did not like little sisters who cried and so I ran back but I did not want Nana and Ada to see me cry and so I went to the barn and the wagon was there.  I crawled inside, because I wanted to see you before you left. But I fell asleep and you closed me in and when I woke I could not get out and it was hot and I was so scared!”

Elladan felt tears slipping down his own cheeks as Arwen poured out her grief. He rocked her and hummed to her until she calmed, and wisely remained silent, allowing her to decide if she wished to continue.

“I was scared, but then I decided I wanted to go with you!  So when Glorfindel checked the wagon I kept silent. He is going to be angry with me, and Nana and Ada too. I should not have done what I did.  I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway,” Arwen finished in a whisper, her face again buried in his tunic.  When Elladan did not speak, her misery heightened and another sob choked her. She pushed away from him, whimpering softly as she put pressure on her broken hand. “I am sorry, Elladan. Please forgive me!”

Elladan turned her to face him again, gently setting her splinted hand back on her chest.  He waited until she looked him in the eye, and then spoke, “Arwen, I am not angry with you. You are my sister, and I love you. We thought you might die in that river, and I am thankful you are alive. Elrohir is not angry, nor is Glorfindel. I am sure that Adar and Naneth are worried sick about you, though.”

“I miss Nana and Ada,” admitted Arwen tearfully.

“I know you do.  I miss them too,” answered Elladan. “I want nothing more than to see Adar walking up the path to us.”

A low moan caught their attention then, and Elladan realized Elrohir was also awakening.  Glorfindel was immediately at his side, gently lifting his head and speaking to him. 

“Water,” gasped Elrohir, the sound just audible to elven hearing.

Glorfindel held the water skin to his lips, dribbling drops of cool water past the parched lips and then lightly washing his face too.

“Arwen?” Elrohir asked hoarsely.

Elladan moved into sight of his twin, and turned so Elrohir could see Arwen.   Elrohir was not satisfied until he could touch her, his trembling hand stroking her hair. Gradually his hand slipped back to his side and his eyes closed, but his breathing seemed forced and his pain was obvious to all.

Glorfindel held a bitter liquid to Elrohir’s lips and was rewarded with a weak frown. Glorfindel would not be dissuaded, however, and at the simple command that issued from him, Elrohir drank the potion and drifted back into sleep.

Arwen watched Elrohir with tears streaming down her face, but when Glorfindel approached her with a dose of the painkiller, she pursed her lips.

“You will sleep and heal better if you are not in pain, Arwen.  Please, take it for me.  Take it so Elladan doesn’t have to see you in pain,” he coerced her.

“Will there be enough for Elrohir?” she questioned.

“There is plenty,” lied Glorfindel.

She believed him, and took the bitter liquid willingly, and then drank of the water Elladan held to her mouth.  When she was asleep, Elladan laid her back down next to Elrohir.

Elladan exchanged looks with Glorfindel, reading the worry evident in the older elf’s face, then lay down next to Elrohir and curled about his battered twin carefully so as not to disturb his wounds.  Elrohir is strong and he will recover, he reminded himself.  He kept watch over his brother for the rest of the night, and hoped his words would prove true.

* * *

Glorfindel allowed the fire to burn to low embers as Anor appeared in the eastern sky. Their camp was well situated, and from the clearing, Glorfindel could see far to the east. As he scanned the shore he recognized small shapes moving several miles off, and when he followed his line of sight to where the eastern end of the Last Bridge would be, he saw more figures.  His heart leapt with joy as he recognized the banner of Imladris. Elrond had come for his children.

* * *

Elrond seethed under the restraint enforced upon him by his guards and advisors. Next to him, Celebrían was tapping her hand impatiently against her thigh. Dawn had come and still the scouts had not returned, for the terrain was rough and darkness had slowed their progress. Elrond stood and, grasping Celebrían by the hand, pulled her to her feet.

“Enough of this waiting!” he said impatiently, showing a rare fit of temper. “There is little point in awaiting the scouts’ arrival. We will follow and meet them on their return path.”

Elrond felt some satisfaction in seeing his guards scramble to move ahead of him on the path, but bristled at the long-suffering sigh that issued from Erestor. He turned and glared at his advisor, but Erestor merely huffed back at him and rolled his eyes.  Without a word to Elrond, Erestor began barking orders, directing a contingent of warriors to remain at the camp to await possible messages and news of needed supplies. Then, in a surprisingly swift move, Erestor situated himself behind the lead guards but ahead of Elrond and Celebrían, and led them forward.

“I did not know Erestor could be so commanding,” whispered Celebrían.

“We all tend to forget that Erestor was a scout and warrior long before he chose lore and administration,” answered Elrond with a smile.

A slight growl ahead of them indicated Erestor had overheard their comments, and Elrond could not help but add, “And he has the finest in elven hearing.”

“I chose this path in life,” Erestor spoke as if to himself. “I blame no one but myself.”

Celebrían laughed aloud, and Elrond silently thanked Erestor, for he had again lightened her spirits by poking humor at himself. Then he turned his attention to the path and the western shore. They had gone only a few miles when a hint of gold among the trees in the far distance caught his attention.  He stopped abruptly, causing Celebrían to bump into him, and he quickly pulled her to his side and pointed to the southwest.

“Look!  Do you see the hint of gold?” he asked, excitement in his voice.

“Glorfindel!  It is Glorfindel!” cried Celebrían.  She climbed swiftly to a high rock a short distance ahead and waved her hands, knowing that her silver mane would be as easily seen as his gold. She jumped up and down, calling a shout of joy when Glorfindel waved back.

The miles seemed to fall away slowly, when in reality they covered the distance swiftly considering that the rough terrain made horseback riding nearly impossible.  The guards had taken the horses on a higher trail a mile or so east of the river, where the path was more suitable for the animals. Those on foot stayed near the river, the rushing water at times drowning out all other sound, and moved with all speed on feet made light by hope to where the missing ones awaited them. It was noon when they reached their goal.

Glorfindel stood on the bank of the river, relief on his face, and at his call Elladan appeared from a clump of trees further up the hillside.  His face lit at the sight of his parents and he called his greeting, though it was lost in the sound of rushing water. He disappeared for a moment, and when he next appeared he had a small bundle in his arms.

“Arwen!” cried Celebrían.  “Arwen!” She sank to her knees, thankfulness and joy overcoming her, and it was Erestor who knelt beside her and rejoiced with her.

Elrond’s clinical eyes were taking in the bandages and blood matted hair, as well as the slightly glazed look in his daughter’s eyes.  The smile on her face, however, and the way she held her arms out to them, answered the most important questions in his mind.  She was safe and not seriously injured. His seeking gaze moved next to the slightly hidden area in the trees, but a tarp obscured his view.  He knew Elrohir must be there, and the looks of worry, but not grief, on the faces of Elladan and Glorfindel told him his son was badly injured but alive. Garthon was unseen, but Elladan and Glorfindel had communicated adequately that he had ridden south for help. 

“Master Elrond,” Athranen was at his elbow.  “Stand to the side.”

Elrond moved aside and watched as Athranen took an arrow with a long length of rope attached to it and nocked it in his bow. He was aiming for a large tree on the western shore, and after a moment drew back the bow and loosed the arrow at the target.

It landed in the river many feet from the shore.

One of the warriors quickly pulled the rope and arrow back to them, and Athranen adjusted his stance and angle to try to compensate for the gusts of wind that blew down the river and the arc created by the added weight of the rope.  He loosed a second arrow, but it again fell short.

Much discussion ensued, and a young warrior moved to stand near Athranen. He carried a more powerful bow, longer and with a higher draw weight. He had long been the recipient of both respect and teasing over his excellence in shooting with accuracy over long distance, for he was young and had never used the bow in warfare or defense.  He spent several minutes attaching the rope to one of his arrows, and then aimed for the same tree.  The twang of the bow sounded loudly, and all watched as the arrow sailed west and imbedded itself neatly in the large tree. 

Across the river, Glorfindel’s smile nearly split his face as he tugged the arrow loose and tied the rope loosely about the tree. He stood back and watched as the young warrior nocked a second arrow, and imbedded it close to the first. Glorfindel then took the unused sleeve of the tunic he had cut down for Arwen, and tied it around the tree.  He tied the two lengths of rope together around the tree and over the smooth fabric, allowing the tree to act as a pulley. He tied another piece of short rope, left from their supplies, snugly below that to serve as a lower anchor to the pulley, to help keep the rope looped about the tree from sliding down.   When satisfied with the knots, he tugged on the rope, and waited patiently as the actions were repeated on the other side of the river.

While Arthanen finished the pulley, Elrond was busy preparing a basket they could send over immediately.  He packed bandages and strips of linen, herbs for pain killing and healing of wounds, and his small package of surgical instruments.  Last, he included pieces of parchment and quill pens, with a note stating his relief and love and asking for details of the injuries to Elrohir and Arwen.  

The basket was attached with a strong clip to the rope, and the slow process of pulling the ropes around the trees was started.  The wind caused the basket to teeter at times, but it did not open or fall and Elrond breathed a sigh of relief when the basket was finally in Glorfindel’s hands.  He could not help but think of elflings opening gifts on their begetting days when he saw Elladan and Glorfindel quickly go through the basket, but the moment of humor disappeared as quickly as it had come when Elladan grabbed a small packet and went immediately to the tarp where the injured ones lay. They are in need, thought Elrond with dismay. Glorfindel sat down with the parchment and pen, and spent several minutes writing. Elrond’s impatience grew and he paced along the muddy shore until the basket was returned to him.

He grabbed the basket, snatching the note out of the bottom.  He read it quickly, his heart falling as he considered the words before him. He raised his eyes to meet Glorfindel’s across the wide expanse of water, and much more than facts were communicated in that moment.  Glorfindel’s fine script outlined symptoms and the items they would need to treat him properly, but his gaze carried the message Elrohir needs you.

“Erestor!” barked Elrond. When Erestor appeared instantly at his side, he handed him the note from Glorfindel.  “The checked items remain back at the camp by the Last Bridge.  Send for them.  The rest I will prepare to be sent over now.”

Erestor took the parchment silently and scanned it quickly. 

“Athranen!” Elrond called for his captain next.  He drew the warrior aside, and spoke in a soft voice. “How can I get across the river using those ropes?”

Athranen blinked and opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by Elrond’s upraised hand. “I do not want to hear it is unsafe or not a good plan.  My son is in need of my aid, and I will go even if I have to swim.   If you can stabilize a second line, I will walk the rope.  If you want to tie me like the basket and winch me over, I will go as cargo.”

“Lady Celebrían also?” asked Athranen softly.

“No,” answered Elrond shortly. “I will have Erestor ensure she does not follow.”

Athranen directed the retying of the lines after the basket was sent over and returned for the last time.  The second line was set several feet above the first to allow for a handrail, while the bottom would serve as the footbridge. It was tied tight on Glorfindel’s side of the river, and then wrapped several times around the tree on Athranen’s side and anchored to trees behind them. Athranen tested the line’s safety, applying weight and force to the line while his warriors added their strength to the anchoring lines. When satisfied, he nodded to Elrond.

A third line of rope had been belted about Elrond’s waist by a tight-lipped Erestor.  None present felt the rope bridge adequate, and Erestor had even snapped at him that not even a wood elf would attempt such a crossing. Elrond had faced them grimly, his glare and body language brooking no argument, and instead of listening to them, he had pulled Erestor aside and informed him that Celebrían was not to follow, even if that meant they had to tie her up and put her on her horse for the journey to Tharbad. Celebrían had not argued with Elrond about making the attempt, nor attempted to dissuade him. But Elrond could see the gleam in her eyes that said she would go if he did not, and if he made it she would follow.

Elrond leapt nimbly to the rope where it was wrapped about the tree, and found his footing sure as he began the walk across the Hoarwell.  He held the top line loosely, allowing it to slide through his fingers as he moved forward, and found the crossing relatively smooth until he reached the middle of the current. There the winds were strongest, and he found himself buffeted by the air currents as they alternately seemed to push him to the side and downward, and then uplift him and knock him forward.  Twice he slipped and grabbed on to the top line, leaning over it as his feet sought purchase on the footrope.  Once his feet were back under him and he felt balanced, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on his body and its relationship to the rope and ignore the swirling water and debris below him.  When he opened his eyes, he turned his gaze to the shore ahead of him and saw his son watching him intently.  Elladan was holding the rope so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his gaze was equally intense.  Elrond concentrated on his son, and resumed his journey.  Just then another gust of wind roared down the river valley, and Elrond felt the lower line swept from beneath his feet. As he fell, he grabbed the top line and held on tight.

* * *

Glorfindel saw Elrond slip the third time, and without thought, he grabbed the lower line and began wading out into the raging current.  His mind raced with ways of bringing the elf in safely, but then suddenly he saw Elrond turn to face the opposite shore, swing his legs up on either side of the rope and cross his ankles over the line, and begin pulling himself hand over hand to where Glorfindel was waiting.   Glorfindel stayed in the water until Elrond was above him, and then made his way back to shore, climbing up the muddy bank as Elrond dropped on to the ground near the tree and gathered Elladan in his arms.

“Glorfindel, my friend,” said Elrond as he pulled him into an embrace as well.  He released him and stepped back, looking briefly at Glorfindel’s soaked trousers and boots. “Have you so little faith in me?”

Glorfindel laughed as the tension fled his body.  “I was concerned your eyes saw only your children and not your own safety,” he admitted.

Elrond replied, “I would have swum if I had to.” Then he turned abruptly and began heading up the hill to where his injured children lay.

Glorfindel looked back at those on the opposite shore to see Erestor and Celebrían facing each other near the rope lines.  He could tell from the motions the two were making that Celebrían was arguing she could go over the entire way in the manner that Elrond had used to finish the crossing, and Erestor was threatening to tie her up and carry her up to the path.  “I do not envy you, Erestor,” he murmured to himself. “I would take on another balrog before I’d argue with Celebrían.” He turned then, and followed Elrond up the path.

* * *

Elrond knelt down quickly between his injured children, both in a drugged sleep, and laid a hand on each of them as he bowed his head in thanks that they were alive.  Arwen, he could tell, slept peacefully, and he kissed her briefly before turning his attention to Elrohir. His quick mind had immediately memorized the detailed list of injuries that Glorfindel had sent, and he turned his attention first to his son’s ragged breathing.  Already Glorfindel had started the treatments he had sent over, and he could smell the eucalyptus and menthol that they hoped would help to ease Elrohir’s breathing.  They had elevated Elrohir’s upper body to ease the exchange of air, and Elrond slid an arm behind his son and gently sat him upright.

“Hold him there,” he said to Glorfindel. He sat behind his son, and began softly tapping over his lungs, avoiding the bruised areas as much as possible, and then pressed his ear to Elrohir’s chest to listen to him breathe.  He motioned for Glorfindel to ease Elrohir back to the blankets, and then removed the bandages and splinting from his lower leg. Examining it carefully, he found Glorfindel and Elladan had done a good job of aligning the bones, but he thought he could make some further minute adjustments that would aid Elrohir’s healing.

He sat back on his heels, and contemplated his injured son.  The bruises and scrapes that covered his pale skin were healing, and for this Elrond was thankful. He lightly rubbed across Elrohir’s breastbone, and then repeated the action with slightly more force when Elrohir did not respond.  The second time roused Elrohir slightly, enough to make him try to move away from the pain. His level of consciousness was appropriate to try the procedures now.

“There is fluid in his lower left lung, as you suspected,” Elrond informed Glorfindel, “and the bones of his leg are setting well, but I would like to adjust them a little more.”

Glorfindel moved without question to Elrond’s surgical supplies, and began preparing for what needed to be done.  Elrond turned his attention to Arwen then, inspecting her injuries more closely, especially her broken hand.  His critical eye immediately noted the slight deviation in the broken fingers, and he decided he would reset them as well. While the imperfection was unlikely to be noticed by anyone else, he could not bear to leave alone that which was in his power to fix.

Elladan helped Glorfindel and his father prepare for what had to be done, and while they set to work, he penned a note of instruction on his father’s behalf to be sent to those on the opposite shore.  He readjusted the ropes as Athranen motioned for him to do, and when the basket came he slipped the note inside.  By the time the note was back and read by his mother and Erestor, Elladan knew his father and Glorfindel were deep in their work. He heard Elrohir moan once, and then trembled as he felt a sharp pain in his own side, followed by a slightly louder cry of pain from his twin. He dropped to his knees and then sat back against the tree. A few moments later and he felt a deep grinding pain in his leg, and he willed all his strength to his brother. Even though Elrohir was unconscious, he felt his connection to his brother grow strong and he sensed Elrohir’s pain and confusion. Elladan was both fascinated and scared by what he was experiencing, but continued concentrating on that bond and on Elrohir, feeling growing pain within his own body even as he felt Elrohir’s pain lessen. The pain was not a part of himself, however, and he bore it without question or complaint.  He knew he would never be able to describe what was happening, but he knew without doubt that he could bear the pain without difficulty and that in doing so, Elrohir was aided.

Elladan did not know how much time had passed when he realized that Elrohir was resting peacefully, and he again heard the roar of the water, the rustle of the wind in the trees and birds singing around him.  The sun warmed him, and seemed to wrap its arms about him in a soothing embrace. He finally opened his eyes, unaware that he had closed them, and looked around him.

Across the river, a small contingent of warriors remained to bring them supplies and communicate messages back to the camp or Imladris. Further south, but now on the high road some distance east, Elladan could see the silver of his mother’s hair and knew that she was in a party riding to meet them.  He turned his gaze to his father, then, and saw him holding Arwen as Glorfindel finished replacing the bandages and splints on her hand.  He rose to his feet and made his way silently to Elrohir, and lay down beside him.  He could hear the ease with which his twin now breathed, the raspiness and gasping sounds nearly gone, and tears of relief slid down his cheeks.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 7: Healing

“Elrohir jumped off the bridge into the river?” asked Elrond incredulously.

“He did,” answered Glorfindel softly. “I would have thrashed him if I had not been so proud of his courage and selflessness.”

“His actions were unnecessary?”

“In hindsight, yes. But had Arwen fallen out of the wagon, Elrohir would have been her only hope.  She might have been sucked beneath the debris and never found.”

Elrohir heard snatches of the conversation as he fought towards wakefulness, the words drifting through the haze that clouded his mind.  He stirred slightly, and felt a warm body pressed close to his own. He realized without opening his eyes that it was Elladan, a presence as much a part of himself as his own body.  Elladan’s hand covered his own, and he squeezed that comforting grip gratefully.

“Elrohir? Are you awake?” Elrohir felt Elladan’s breath on his cheek, the words whispered in his ear.

“Yes, but I think Glorfindel is going to throw me back in the river,” answered Elrohir with a tentative smile.

“I am sure he will wait until you are fully recovered,” replied Elladan with a low laugh. “Adar is here.”

Elrohir felt tears pool in his eyes. “I heard his voice,” he choked.

“Elrohir, what is it?” asked Elladan, concern in his voice.

Elrohir drew in as deep a breath as his injured lungs allowed, attempting to gain control of his emotions.  Before he could answer, he felt the presence of another standing near and finally opened his eyes. His father stood before him, his face unreadable. When his father did not speak, Elrohir closed his eyes again as tears ran slowly down his cheeks.

Suddenly his father was on his knees beside him, carefully lifting him into his arms. His touch was tender, and Elrohir pressed his face into his father’s tunic, the warmth and scent of his father a soothing balm to his senses.  He felt the hand that he still believed could fix anything stroke his hair. Even as he accepted his father’s comfort, he grew angry with himself that his father’s approval still meant so much to him that, even now as an adult, he could be reduced to tears by his father’s displeasure.

“Elrohir, are you in pain?” asked Elrond gently.

Elrohir was in pain, but he knew that to answer yes meant only more drugs that would numb both the discomfort and his mind. He shook his head, keeping his eyes closed.

“What is wrong, Elrohir?” asked Elrond again.

In his pain and confusion, Elrohir was unsure how to respond, but he had been a compliant child and that aspect of his personality was not going to change overnight.  “I would do it again, Adar,” he rasped out, his face still buried against his father’s chest.

There was silence for a few moments, and then sounds of movement near him and gentle laughter.  “Elfling, look at me, please,” came Glorfindel’s musical voice.

“Not an elfling,” answered Elrohir without thought as he opened his eyes. He found himself looking into the amused yet tear filled eyes of his father, and beyond him the twinkling blue eyes of Glorfindel.

“Yes, you are,” laughed Glorfindel.  “All grown up into a wonderful adult, but still my elfling.  Now listen carefully, for you heard only a little of what we said and your mind is clouded by the potions we keep pouring into you.”

Elrohir never could stay angry with Glorfindel and found himself smiling at the golden warrior who teased him while making him feel loved. He nodded.

“You made a split second decision when you saw Arwen falling into the river.  Decisions like that are always proved right or wrong based on their outcome, and hindsight fails to take into account what might have happened.  It turns out you did not need to jump into the river.  But how much worse would we all feel if Arwen had drowned because we rescued the wagon and she was not in it? Your brave, wonderful, courageous and selfless act remains all of those things, for it was your willingness to sacrifice that made it so, not its ultimate necessity. Am I clear, elfling?”

As Glorfindel spoke, his knuckles gently caressed Elrohir’s cheek.

“Yes,” answered Elrohir.

He turned his gaze back to his father, then, and the expression on his father’s face nearly took his breath away. Elrond leaned forward and kissed Elrohir on both cheeks and his forehead, and Elrohir could feel his father’s tears.  “You think I could be angry with you for what you did?” he murmured.

Elrohir smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through him at the touch of his father’s hands. He felt like he was floating, and was reminded of the one who had held him up. “And Elladan saved my life again. He pulled me out of the water so I would not drown, just like when we were young.”

Elladan laughed. “Now you owe me twice, muindor-nín,” he teased his twin. “And Adar threw caution to the wind and came after us, just like when we were young.” He paused, thinking.  “Adar, if you and Naneth have any more children, I think you should skip the year of their thirteenth begetting day.  Or at least not allow the elfling anywhere near water.”

Everyone laughed, and Elrohir closed his eyes again as he enjoyed the sound as well as the feeling of safety that came from being in his father’s arms. “You are breathing much more easily, Elrohir. How is the pain?”

Elrohir opened his eyes again, his thoughts drifting from how wonderful it was to hear his father’s voice to amazement at how heavy his eyelids had grown in just the short while he had been awake. “The pain is lessening,” he answered.

“I am still going to give you something to dull it.” Elrond started to ease Elrohir back to his blanket, but Elrohir grasped his sleeve.

The smile that covered Elrond’s face was radiant, and it was Glorfindel who mixed the pain draught and held it so Elrohir could drink it. Elrohir slipped back into sleep content, rocked gently in his father’s arms.

* * *

Arwen was sure she was dreaming.  The sun was warm and bright, and she was snuggled comfortably in her father’s arms. She must have dozed off on the swing again, she decided.  She always liked waking up in her ada’s arms. He held her just right, not too tightly but tightly enough so she felt very safe and secure.  Her eyes slowly came into focus, and she looked up to see her father smiling down at her.

“Ada,” she murmured sleepily.

“Hello, Arwen,” answered Elrond with a smile.

She snuggled closer for a moment, sighing, but when she moved her hand it ached. Memory slowly returned to her, and she realized the last time she had seen her ada he was on the other side of the river from her.  She stared at her father, speechless for a moment, but then grabbed his tunic with her good hand.  “Ada!”

Elrond laughed and leaned forward to kiss her. “I am so glad to have you safe in my arms again,” he said as he hugged her close.

“Oh, Ada,” she said softly. “I do not want to ever leave home or be away from you and Nana again.” She closed her eyes and sighed, still held tight in her father’s embrace, her face buried in his hair.  She loved the smell of his hair.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?”

Arwen began stretching her limbs as her father relaxed his hold, then reached her uninjured hand up to touch the back of her head. She felt the matted hair at the base of her skull and ran her fingers through her long mane, drawing some strands forward so she could see them. She frowned, for her hair was dirty and lifeless, and it even smelled bad.

She pushed her good hand against her father’s thigh, trying to raise herself into a sitting position, and was grateful when he helped her sit upright and supported her.  She fingered the material of whatever it was she was wearing, and pulled it up slightly to look at her legs and feet.  Her feet were dirty.  She bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears, but they spilled down her cheeks anyway.

“Arwen, what is it? Where does it hurt?” asked Elrond, concerned.

Arwen felt her cheeks grow warm and she blushed. Her father pulled her back against his chest, her tears dampening his own tunic.

“Ada, I am filthy,” she whispered, embarrassed, then added, “and I am not wearing anything underneath this . . . whatever I am wearing.”

Elrond laughed aloud and kissed the top of her dirty head.  “You are wearing one of Glorfindel’s tunics, and it does not matter to me how dirty you are.  You are alive and you are safe in my arms.   I care about nothing else, little one.”

Arwen was silent, her lower lip still trembling as she considered this.  Her father tipped up her chin to look at her face, and his laughter stopped, replaced by a sweet smile.  “If your wounds are healing well, I think we can give you a bath.  We can heat some water and wash your hair, and you will look and feel much better. Would you like that?”

Arwen nodded and nestled back against her father’s chest.  Ada could make anything better.

* * *

Erestor slowly breathed in and leisurely counted to five, then released the air while completing the count to ten.  His fingers tapped impatiently against his thigh, and he jabbed himself hard in the flesh as he considered the long list of grievances he held against the Lord of Imladris.  Shorter jabs followed, each signifying an item on the list, and it was only when he realized that his leg was getting sore that Erestor ceased the self-abuse.  I am going to have a bruise. He stared down at his thigh for a moment, then jabbed it hard one last time.  That is his fault too!   He stared ahead at Celebrían’s back, the sting of her words still fresh.  In her mind, he was the one keeping her from her children, and that made him the enemy.

“Erestor, we will stop here for the night,” announced Athranen.  The captain spoke to Erestor, but his eyes strayed to the Lady Celebrían.   Erestor nodded, indicating his agreement, and watched as the soldiers began to dismount and lead their horses to an area sufficient for grazing.  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before nudging his own horse into a trot.  Several of the guards scrambled out of his way, and others were already remounting to follow him.  As he passed Celebrían, he deftly reached out to grab the bridle of her horse, then leapt on to the path when the horse obediently stopped.

“Lady Celebrían, we stop for the night,” he informed her politely.

Celebrían glared at him. She nudged her horse in the side, and the poor animal whinnied in confusion at the one telling him to go while another told him to stay. Erestor held the reins firmly in hand.

“You may stop for the night; I plan to continue,” said Celebrían finally, steel in her voice.

Erestor leaned against the horse, murmuring soothing words in its ear as he himself began counting again.

“What are you doing?” asked Celebrían, exasperated when he refused to get out of her way.

“Counting.”

“Counting what?”

“Numbers.  I have just reached twenty.”

“Why?”

“Because ten is no longer sufficient,” snapped Erestor.

Celebrían slid from her horse and grabbed the bridle, but Erestor refused to relinquish his hold. “No longer sufficient for what?” she demanded as she tugged on the leather strap.

Erestor’s eyes darkened as his grip on the bridle tightened. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he faced the irate silver elf before him. “No longer sufficient to ensure that I choose my words carefully, reminding myself that you are the Lady of Imladris and have suffered a grievous several days with regards to your children,” Erestor almost snarled in return. “We are moving with all due haste to the bridge to meet Elrond and your children, but the horses must rest, the scouts must be relieved, everyone must eat, and this includes you.”

Celebrían released the bridle and stepped back, the expression on her face changing from anger to shock to embarrassment.  She looked back down the path at the guards already stopping to set up camp, and there was obvious relief on her face that no one was watching them. She turned back to face Erestor.

“I. . .,” she began, then faltered. She turned away again, this time her gaze to the northwest where she knew her family remained.  “I am sorry, Erestor,” she said softly. “I just want to be with them.”

Erestor felt his frustration dissipate and compassion again filled his heart, as he forgave and forgot her doggedness and determination to do as she wished in spite of their counsel.  Her children are injured, he reminded himself. She cannot help that she was born to such stubborn and powerful people, or that she inherited these qualities from them.  I certainly cannot blame her because her husband made me responsible to ensure she did not follow him into certain danger either.  He touched her gently on the arm, and then escorted her back to the camp, the horse following at their heels. 

Celebrían chose a high flat rock on which to sit, her back to the camp and her gaze to the northwest. Erestor laid out a bedroll on the smooth surface, and wrapped another blanket around her shoulders.  As darkness fell and she finally lay down to rest, he moved to stand behind the rock, one watchful eye on the one he had been chosen to protect and the other on the darkness beyond her.

* * *

Elladan sat next to the fire with Arwen wrapped in a blanket and snug in his arms.  Her hair was freshly washed and drying now in the heat of the fire, again glowing with its normal sheen.   Elrond had bathed her, using care around the still healing wounds, and even had made her giggle as he pulled out still more pieces of plaster from her skin.  He had expressed his pride at how she had born the pain, but Elrond could tell the whole process had tired her. Elladan had been brushing her hair, but now she was leaning back against his chest, relaxed.  He pulled her hair from between their bodies and braided it into one thick braid that he laid over her shoulder.

Elrond watched them from across the fire, needle and thread in hand as he further altered Glorfindel’s tunic.  He kept a watchful eye on Elrohir, who still lay sleeping a few feet away.

“You should sew a flower there,” commented Glorfindel as he sat down next to Elrond.

Elrond looked up at the tall warrior, expecting to see mirth in his eyes, but found none.  Glorfindel seemed quite serious.

“It already has little golden flowers,” he answered with a smile as he pointed to the tiny embroidered flowers near the hem.

“Arwen needs brighter colored flowers,” replied Glorfindel as he studied the drowsy elfling in Elladan’s arms. “Bright blue, or pink or red.” With that he stood and began rummaging through the items that had been salvaged from the wagon and their own packs.  With a triumphant laugh he held up bright blue and red ribbons.  A few more moments of searching and he had a needle and some gaily colored threads. He sat back down next to Elrond and waited patiently until the alterations were done.

“Now it is my turn,” Glorfindel informed them as he took the garment in hand. He grinned at the confused look on Arwen’s face, then took the red ribbon and cut a length of it and began sewing it to the tunic. After a few moments work, he took up green thread, with a single strand of yellow mixed in, and completed the stem of the flower.  He shook it out and admired his handiwork.

“Glorfindel, when did you learn to do this?” asked Elrond, admiring the work.

“May I see?” asked Arwen, curiosity brightening her eyes.

Glorfindel moved to sit near Arwen, his face lighting in a smile when he saw the joy in her face.

“Glorfindel, this is beautiful! It is a perfect rose!” exclaimed Arwen. “Please, make another one?” She suddenly sat up straight and looked at her father.  “Ada!  In my bag I had a pink ribbon!  Did my bag survive?”

Elrond rose and began searching through the bag that had held his daughter’s playthings. In the bottom of the bag was her embroidery. “Arwen, all of your embroidery is here!” he called to her.

Soon Arwen was in Glorfindel’s lap, and the two were surrounded by ribbons and thread. Arwen sat mesmerized as Glorfindel showed her each step of making the ribbons and threads into a beautiful garden of flowers. “Here, I will hold the ribbon and you sew it,” encouraged Glorfindel.  Even with her left hand she was able to draw the needle in and out while Glorfindel held the ribbons and maneuvered them for her.

“I did not know Glorfindel could sew. Am I dreaming?” came Elrohir’s hoarse voice.

Elrond rose to grab a water skin, while Elladan carefully helped his twin sit and then sat behind him to support his weight.  Elrohir drank thirstily and then allowed his brother and father to tend to his needs.  The healing touch of his father lessened his pain, and he smiled gratefully at Elrond. And even though he told his father he was not hungry, he obediently ate bits of lembas that Elladan held to his lips.

“Elrohir, Glorfindel is making flowers!” called Arwen.  She smiled at her brother, remembering how he always helped her pick out colors for her embroidery.

“Glorfindel, when did you learn to do that?” asked Elrohir, his interest piqued at the garment Arwen held up for him to see.

Glorfindel smiled tenderly at his other elfling and answered, “I learned this in Valinor.”

Elrohir’s face brightened and his eyes cleared somewhat.  “Glorfindel, please continue your story. You were waking up in your new body,” he remembered.

“So I was, and an odd experience it was too,” recalled Glorfindel, momentarily stopping sewing as he thought back to that time. “The next time I recall awaking, my mind and body seemed a little more coordinated . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

His eyes focused as his mind came into awareness, and a smile crossed his face as Glorfindel recalled that he was re-embodied. He stretched his arms and legs, moved his hands and feet, and then paused to contemplate how soft the linen coverlet over him felt.  Music could be heard, but its source was not obvious to him.  Overhead, a carving of trees and birds so detailed it appeared real caught his attention, and he gazed at it, fascinated.

“There is much to look at, much to entice the senses,” came the voice of Olórin.

Glorfindel looked about, but did not see him.  He pressed his hands down against the couch upon which he was lying and attempted to rise to a sitting position. Suddenly Olórin was standing over him, smiling. He picked up Glorfindel’s hand, and Glorfindel grasped the hand with pleasure.  Olórin slid an arm behind Glorfindel and helped him to sit.

The world seemed to spin for a moment, but gradually Glorfindel gained his bearings.  Olórin sat beside him, smiling, and he seemed to take as much joy as Glorfindel did in each new experience. After a few moments spent learning control of his body, Glorfindel turned to Olórin. “Stand?” he said and laughed at his own voice. “May I stand?” he repeated.

“You may do whatever you desire!” laughed Olórin in return.  He pushed the coverlet off Glorfindel and kept an arm near as Glorfindel swung his legs off the bed and rose. He nearly fell, but Olórin wrapped an arm about the waist of the joyous elf and steadied him.

Glorfindel immediately began to move towards the sunlight he could see streaming in from a nearby entrance. His first step was a stumble, but his feet quickly learned to work in tandem and Olórin moved in stride with him to the opening.  

“Ai!” he cried as he stepped into the golden light. He spread his arms out wide and closed his eyes as he turned his face up to Arien’s rays.  He breathed in deeply and felt a tear trickle down his cheek. The warmth was like a caress upon his skin and he reveled in the sensation. “I know I shall rejoice when I see the stars again,” he said, “but it has been long since I have felt this kind of warmth.”

He opened his eyes again, and began to take in his surroundings. He knew he was in Valmar, but he had last seen these lands when he was just a child. He had attended festivals in the city of the Valar, and he searched deep to recall the memories of those times. He turned and looked around him, and would have begun walking had Olórin not gently grasped his arm.

“Not yet, Glorfindel,” laughed Olórin. “I think before we venture out, you are in need of a few things.”

Glorfindel looked at the Maia curiously. When he did not answer, Olórin’s eyebrows raised in amusement and his gaze swept down and then back up Glorfindel.  Glorfindel looked down at himself and then back at Olórin. 

“I am not wearing any clothing,” he finally said, his brow furrowing.

“They do not come with the body,” laughed Olórin. “However, we did think to have some made.  Come with me.”

Glorfindel walked back into the antechamber with a last, wistful look at the sun that caused Olórin to laugh again, “This will not take long, my friend.”

Several boxes were stacked on a table inside, although Glorfindel had not seen them earlier. Olórin began opening and rummaging through them, drawing forth light silk undergarments. After a few comical attempts to don them, Glorfindel laughed and let Olórin help dress him.  His movements seemed to be growing more coordinated by the minute; however, the tiny fasteners were too much for his fingers.

“Here is your tunic,” said Olórin as he opened another box and pulled out a white tunic made of the softest silk. Glorfindel drew in his breath at the beauty of the garment before him.  It was long, with a finely stitched hem at the bottom and along the edges of the slit that would come up to the top of his thigh. Embroidered all along that hem were tiny golden flowers along a vine of veined green.  An occasional blue flower provided contrast.  The stitching of tone-on-tone threads was of the same vine pattern and covered much of the tunic. Along the front of the tunic on either side of the flap of the fabric covering the fasteners were more flowers - turquoise blue, mixed with golden yellow again, only this time cunningly wrought from ribbons.  Blue braid edged the collar and the end of the sleeves.

“The colors of my house,” he murmured as Olórin helped him slide his arms into the sleeves and fasten the long row of clasps down the front. The trousers followed, less ornate, but still exquisitely done. “These were made for me.”

“Yes, of course,” answered Olórin, puzzled, as he slipped shoes on to Glorfindel’s feet. “You seem surprised.”

Glorfindel did not answer as his mind raced with questions. Did someone from his house make the clothing? Did they know he was again in Aman?  Were there others, also re-embodied and waiting for him?

“No, Glorfindel,” came Olórin’s answer to the unspoken questions. “Everything has a time and a purpose.” He paused, his searching gaze considering Glorfindel for a few moments.  “Now you are dressed and may walk about Valmar.”

Glorfindel did not rise however. His brow still furrowed, his thoughts seemed to swirl around him. There was much to see and experience – textures and colors and smells and tastes. There was such joy in just being in his body again! But already a slight discord was pervading his spirit.  There were none left of the House of the Golden Flower. Those he served were either in Mandos’s Halls or still in Middle-earth. He had no purpose, except to himself.

“Come, Glorfindel. Let us walk about Valmar and visit the gardens of Lórien, where you will be staying.  It has been long since you have held a harp in your hands, and that kind of practice will help you to gain the fine control of your fingers. Vairë’s handmaidens made your clothing; we will meet them and you may see what other items of beauty they have created.  Perhaps they will even teach you!” As Olórin spoke he had pulled Glorfindel to his feet and guided him back into the sunshine. His soothing voice and plans gave purpose to Glorfindel’s steps, and his words reminded Glorfindel that he had much to master before he could again serve anyone. “In time, Manwë will wish to speak to you and then your future will be discussed.”

Glorfindel remembered those words through all of the days he stayed in Lórien with Olórin. He again played the harp, painted and even did learn at the hands of Vairë’s handmaidens, who found him a willing and apt pupil. But all the while his thoughts drifted to the mansion of Manwë and Varda. He wondered if he would stand in the Ring of Doom to hear his fate before all, or if it would be a more private meeting. Then one morning Olórin came to him.

“Eönwë, herald to Manwë, has summoned you,” he announced.  “I shall accompany you.”

Glorfindel dressed in the garb given to him that first day, and braided his hair in the style of his house. He walked between Eönwë and Olórin, who spoke as old friends, Indeed, Glorfindel reminded himself, both were servants to Manwë.  In the distance, outside of the golden gates of the city, Glorfindel could see that the thrones at the Ring of Doom were empty. Eönwë led them instead to Manwë’s mansion and into his receiving Hall.  Of all the items of grandeur and beauty in that place, none surpassed the one sitting on the throne. Even before Eönwë announced his presence, Glorfindel had fallen to his knees before Manwë, King of the Valar, and bowed his head.

“Rise, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower,” commanded Manwë.

Glorfindel rose to his feet and faced Manwë. He actually trembled, not with fear, but with awe of being in the presence of one who alone had the ear of Ilúvatar.  The face of the Vala was strong and stern, yet also wise and just. He seemed to know the depths of Glorfindel’s mind, to test the purity of his heart and the strength of his will with his powerful gaze. Glorfindel did not flinch at this invasion, but bared his heart.

“A task I set before you, Glorfindel,” said Manwë unexpectedly. “You desire to serve your king.”

“Yes, my lord,” answered Glorfindel.

“Elrond, son of Eärendil, yet resides in Middle-earth, where shadow again grows. You may return to Middle-earth to protect and serve Eärendil’s son.”

“Yes, my lord,” answered Glorfindel as joy filled his heart.

Eönwë approached at a nod from Manwë and presented to Glorfindel an ornate sword. Even as Glorfindel accepted the sword, he could feel power coursing through its metal. He pulled it from its scabbard and could hear it hum and feel it vibrate. Runes of protection and power were carved into the length of the metal. Stunned by the power and majesty of the sword in his hands, he suddenly realized that his attention had strayed from Manwë to the sword.  He quickly looked back at that Valar, who appeared amused.

“That sword will never fail you.  Servants of the enemy will flee when you wield it against them.”

Glorfindel swung the sword in an arc, feeling the perfect balance and grip of the hilt. He lifted it high into the air, and then slowly lowered it.  With the sword still unsheathed, he knelt and laid it at Manwë’s feet.

“Will you accept my oath of fealty in the absence of my king?” he asked.

Manwë actually smiled.  “There is one who may accept the oath on behalf of the King.”

From a side entrance, a figure entered. He stopped and bowed before Manwë, and then walked to face Glorfindel.  He seemed ethereal, and a star was bound to his brow. A great sea captain he seemed, yet the dark hair and grey eyes . . ..

“Lord Eärendil?” Glorfindel finally asked.

Eärendil smiled. “I am he,” he answered. “I would know you anywhere, Lord Glorfindel. Chief of the House of the Golden Flower, mighty captain of Gondolin, Balrog slayer. I watched you die defending us. Yet you are willing to return?”

“Aye,” answered Glorfindel. He placed the sword at Eärendil’s feet and knelt before him. Even as he swore his oath and Eärendil accepted his service on behalf of their king, Glorfindel was stunned by the sense of sadness he perceived in Eärendil.

Later, after being excused by Manwë and allowed to return to the gardens of Lorien, Glorfindel sat quietly by a reflecting pool, the sword laid across his knees.

“Eärendil accomplished a great mission, one foretold by Ulmo,” explained Olórin as he sat down next to Glorfindel. “Because of his sacrifice, the hosts of the Valar returned to Middle-earth and fought and bound Melkor. The price to Eärendil was great, however. He was not allowed to set foot ever again on the lands of his birth. His sacrifice meant leaving his young sons to whatever fate befell them. As one of the half-elven forced to choose his doom, he allowed Elwing to choose for them both and she chose that of the Firstborn. His heart is rather with Men, as his son Elros chose. He sails the skies each night, a lonely existence, but there he is happiest, for he is free.”

“And his son, Elrond, has chosen the fate of the firstborn?” asked Glorfindel, though he already knew the answer.

“He has. He and Elros were raised by Ereinion Gil-Galad, grandson to Fingolfin, and Círdan the Shipwright. Gil-Galad is as a father to Elrond, but in his life he has suffered great loss.”

“As has been the fate of all the half-elven,” replied Glorfindel, his eyes straying to the edge of the garden where Melian dwelt.

“Yes,” agreed Olórin.  “Tomorrow we shall begin to prepare you for your journey. Rest well, my friend.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond looked in surprise at his long time friend, for Glorfindel had never told him about the experience of being re-embodied or meeting his father, or even this explanation for why he had returned. Glorfindel grinned at him and said, “You have never asked.” 

Elrond sat speechless for some minutes, grateful for a moment to think while his children were speaking to Glorfindel. This elf had left the bliss of Valinor to return to a cursed land to protect him, because he was the great grandson of King Turgon. He watched as Glorfindel laughed with Arwen and the twins, and knew the love the golden warrior felt for each of them was genuine. He thought of how this unassuming presence was always where he was needed, thought of how that sword had protected his back at Dagorlad.  Glorfindel teased him and pushed him, and most of all, loved him and loved his children.

“You really want to try this?” Glorfindel was asking Elrohir.

When Elrohir nodded, Glorfindel stood and placed a very sleepy Arwen into Elrond’s arms and then exchanged places with Elladan. Once Elrohir was settled comfortably against Glorfindel’s chest, Glorfindel threaded the needle and placed the ribbon in place, and showed Elrohir how to make a ribbon flower.

“There,” said Elrohir as he finished, a yawn escaping him at the same time.  “In Arwen’s garden, she is this tiny pink flower. I have made my flower, and an identical, although straighter, one to be Elladan.” He grinned at his twin. “El can make one for Naneth and Adar has to add his. Glorfindel, you have made many, but you must make one that is you.”

“Yes, Elrohir,” agreed Glorfindel, and Elrond watched as he gently took the tunic and supplies from Elrohir’s hand as weariness overcame his son.  Glorfindel kissed the injured elf on the forehead, and rocked him gently back into sleep.

Elrond did not try to stop the tear that ran from the corner of his eye down his cheek.

* * * * *

 Author’s Note: When Glorfindel returned to Middle-earth, or why, is not known.  Christopher Tolkien in HoME Vol XII reconstructed some of his father’s writings on Glorfindel, and speculated that he knew Olórin, that he returned to fight shadow.  But, this interpretation is all speculation on my part.

My apologies for the delay between chapters.  I unfortunately have had the flu and been laid up for the last seven days.  I know I am sick when I do not even want to write!

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 8: First Meetings Remembered

Elrond sat quietly in the growing darkness, watching as one by one, his children settled into sleep.  He had dressed Arwen in his silk undertunic, and she lay near his feet and close to the fire.  Elrohir was also close to the fire, with Elladan curled protectively around his twin.  Elrond had taken first watch, for his mind was too preoccupied to sleep. Not far away he could see Glorfindel lying on his back on a flat rock beneath the stars, and he knew the elf was finding his rest in the twilight.

Elrond’s thoughts drifted towards his friend as he thought back to the story Glorfindel had told them about meeting Eärendil, Elrond’s father, and swearing an oath to return to Middle-earth to protect the line of King Turgon. While he intellectually knew these things, having heard them straight from Glorfindel lent the tales new credence.  Elrond understood the attitude of servant leadership.  Gil-Galad had practiced this, and Elrond did as well in leading the household of Imladris.  But Glorfindel had taken serving to a higher level in choosing to protect and serve Elrond and his family. Elrond smiled as he recalled the first time he had met the golden warrior, and the interaction he had witnessed between Glorfindel and Gil-Galad.

Glorfindel rose from the rock and returned to sit next to Elrond. “What thoughts fill your mind this night, mellon-nín?” asked Glorfindel.

“You,” laughed Elrond quietly. “I was thinking of when I first met you.”

Glorfindel smiled indulgently. “I do recall that time well. Middle-earth had changed much, and I was surprised when I had sailed from Tol Eressëa to Númenor, to find that the loyal Edain had grown into a great seafaring nation, and that on their ship I would return to Middle-earth. . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel stood at the prow of the ship, watching as the Númenorian captain maneuvered the ship deftly into the port at Mithlond.  Overseeing the berthing of the ship in the Havens was a tall, old, bearded elf, and a broad smile crossed Glorfindel’s face as he realized it could only be Círdan.  He waited patiently, his white cloak blowing in the breeze, as the gangway was lowered and the ship secured. Círdan was greeting the captain and inquiring about the trip, yet Glorfindel noted that the old mariner’s eyes never allowed him out of sight.  Finally, the time came for him to disembark, and he walked slowly down to meet the old elf.

Círdan was silent as he regarded Glorfindel thoughtfully, looking him up and down, and then peering into his eyes as if seeking the answer to questions unspoken. 

“Círdan,” Glorfindel acknowledged the elf.

Círdan walked in a slow circle around Glorfindel, finally stopping in front of him and folding his hands together with a sigh.

“I can hardly believe it is you,” said Círdan gruffly. “Songs are still sung of your fall, and even as Beleriand fell into the Sea your grave was remembered.”

Glorfindel inclined his head in a slight bow, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. One seldom rattled Círdan, and he had to admit he was enjoying it.

“Why do you return?” asked Círdan bluntly. “I would not have thought you tied to Arda, and the lands you knew well are gone.  Turgon is dead, and Idril, Tuor and Eärendil all reside in the West.”

“My work was not completed,” replied Glorfindel lightly.

Círdan snorted.  “Death in battle, protecting the line of your king, was not enough to call your work complete? Do you deserve no peace for your sacrifice?”

“Peace I have found, and the sacrifice was willingly given.  I would give so again, should the need arise.”

“You always were a strange elf,” answered Círdan incredulously.  “How did you manage to be released from the Halls of Mandos?”

Glorfindel smiled. “I do not know.”

Círdan snorted again. “Well, come. Dinner is waiting.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, amused that his presence had caused Círdan, one of the oldest of the Firstborn, to be thrown off guard.  “You were expecting guests?”

“My cook always fixes enough for six. Elros used to eat enough for three or four, and she has never broken the habit of fixing far more than what the household can possibly eat.”

“I would like to hear about the sons of Eärendil,” said Glorfindel suddenly. “You helped raise them, and Elrond still lives in Lindon?”

Círdan stopped walking and eyed Glorfindel suspiciously. “So he is your ‘work’?” Glorfindel again inclined his head slightly in reply. “You will like him. He is an intense person, very loyal to Gil-Galad. He holds his feelings inside, more so than the average elf. He experienced much loss in his early years; but, then, I guess many did in that age.” Círdan paused and then added quietly, “He has an important role yet to play in Middle-earth.”

Círdan resumed walking, and Glorfindel fell into step beside him.  They moved through the streets of the Havens in silence, allowing Glorfindel to take in the sights and sounds of the elf haven. It reminded him very much of the Falas, which he had last seen before the completion of Gondolin early in the First Age. They rounded a corner, and as they approached Círdan’s home on the hill above the docks, Glorfindel could see a shining city across the bay.

“That is Lindon,” explained Círdan. “The Palace sits at the end of the long courtyard. It is a beautiful building, yet very practical and warm. Ereinion was strongly influenced by the architecture of the Falas and Balar, and that style is reflected throughout Lindon. The library, where Elrond can usually be found, and amphitheater are to the left, visible through the trees. The adjacent rose gardens are among the finest I have seen.”

Glorfindel could not help but notice that beneath the gruff exterior that he remembered in Círdan, a very proud and paternal demeanor was present when he spoke of Gil-Galad, Elros or Elrond.  They entered Círdan’s home, and Glorfindel followed Círdan to the dining room, where, as predicted, far more food than his house could eat was prepared and waiting for him.   Another place setting was laid on the table, and they sat down to a meal of fish and vegetables.

“Well, what do you want to know?” asked Círdan without preamble.

“Tell me about what is happening in Middle-earth,” replied Glorfindel. “I had never been beyond the Blue Mountains; irrelevant now, perhaps, as they appear to have changed much.”

“Most of the Noldor and many of the Sindar sailed West after the War. Gil-Galad founded Lindon, and here all the remaining elves stayed initially. Recently Amdir and Oropher, Sindar from Doriath, have led some of their people east, searching for lost kin. Word came recently that they have settled in the forests on either side of the Anduin with the Silvan elves, who have accepted their rule.

“More recently, Galadriel and Celeborn have founded an inland settlement at Ost-in-Edhil, the city of the elves in the land of Eregion. It is directly east of us, near the juncture of two great rivers and the dwarven settlement of Khazad-dum in the Misty Mountains. The dwarves have discovered Mithril there. Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, has founded his Gwaith-i-Mírdain nearby.”

“Brotherhood of the jewel-smiths,” repeated Glorfindel slowly. “A fitting occupation for the grandson of Fëanor, yet the mere name fills my heart with trepidation.”

“As maybe it should,” answered Círdan reservedly. “His motives are good – to create and heal and preserve - to slow the decay of time and the fading of these lands. Rumor has it that he possesses the skill of his grandsire in capturing the essence of life and knowledge in these jewels.”

Glorfindel ate his meal in silence as he listened to all Círdan had to tell him of the elven realms in Middle-earth.  The captain of Númenor had told him of their voyages and inland explorations to the south. He knew the dwarves inhabited the Iron Hills and the Ered Mithrin, but their main stronghold was Khazad dum.

“Sauron was not destroyed when Angband fell. Rumors have come from the east that he rises in power and strength,” finished Círdan.

Despite this gloomy news, Glorfindel sighed contentedly as he finished his meal, then leaned back and looked around the room. Maps covered one wall, and he pushed back his chair and walked to them, carefully learning the layout of the new geography of the Ered Luin and all the lands to the east.  Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Círdan finishing his dinner.

“You will stay here this night,” announced Círdan.  “Your trunk is upstairs in the guest room, second door on the left.  I will have wine on the balcony, should you wish to watch the stars. Tomorrow I will take you to meet Gil-Galad.”

Glorfindel turned and nodded his acknowledgement of the elf’s offer.  He easily found his room, and washed and changed into a comfortable robe. He found Círdan on the balcony off the hall as promised, wine poured and waiting. The sun was setting as they settled into cushioned chairs, and they sat in companionable silence as Anor set and the stars appeared. Glorfindel bowed his head slightly as Eärendil flew overhead, and it seemed as if the great ship tipped its sail in reply.

* * *

It was early morning when Glorfindel rose and returned to his room for a few hours’ rest. He bathed in the tub he found prepared for him in a side chamber, and dressed and braided his hair carefully. His clothing and grooming bore reflections of the House of the Golden Flower, but was understated.  He did not know Gil-Galad or Elrond, or what signs of outward loyalty they might require of him.  Repacking his trunk, he left it where it had been deposited, trusting that it could be sent for when he knew where he would be residing. He stepped into the hall as Círdan appeared from his own chamber.

Círdan looked the golden elf up and down with a critical eye. “They will not care how you dress,” he informed Glorfindel.

Glorfindel laughed. “I did not mean to be obvious.”

“You are not.  For all your status as an Eldar of Valinor, and reborn, I can still read you like an elfling.”

To this Glorfindel merely grinned. Olórin had told him as much, that his innocence had returned and he appeared transparent to those he trusted. Círdan was trustworthy, and Glorfindel knew he would remain a friend for the remainder of years they all spent in Middle-earth.

After a light breakfast, the two walked to the docks and took the Mithlond ferry across the bay to the north side of the Lune and the city of Lindon.  Círdan declined transportation for them at the dock in Lindon, and instead they strolled comfortably about the city streets with Círdan identifying important city buildings, the citadel of the Lindon guard, and other points of interest. It was mid-morning when they reached the palace.  The guards nodded respectfully to Círdan, allowing him to pass without question, and thus Glorfindel as well.

“I have gained an audience with Gil-Galad alone. You may wish to explain your purpose without Elrond present,” said Círdan when a guard escorted them into a private chamber.

To Glorfindel’s surprise, Gil-Galad was waiting for them.  The young king did not stand on ceremony, but rose from his seat and bowed to Círdan before embracing him.  Glorfindel barely heard the exchanged pleasantries as he instead studied the High King of the Noldor, and acknowledged king of all the elves remaining in Middle-earth. His resemblance to Fingon and Fingolfin was unmistakable, and Glorfindel knew he saw some of Turgon in Gil-Galad as well.

He was tall, dark-haired and slender, and carried himself with a proud but easy bearing. He was approachable, and gave his full attention to Círdan in a manner that Glorfindel thought would endear him to his people if he treated them with half the courtesy he did his mentor.  He did not dress as a purely Noldor king, but wore a unique style that Glorfindel thought reflected the heritage of his people.  Glorfindel reined in his thoughts as he noted that Círdan and Gil-Galad had turned to face him. Quickly making his decision, he bowed before the king.

“King Gil-Galad,” he said as he knelt.

“Please, rise,” responded Gil-Galad. His clear eyes met Glorfindel’s as Glorfindel rose, and it seemed as if Gil-Galad was at a loss for words.

“I am pleased to meet you, my lord,” continued Glorfindel, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He had never met Turgon’s young nephew before Gondolin’s fall, so he knew the elf could not be surprised by his presence as Círdan had been.

Círdan whispered in the king’s ear, and Gil-Galad replied, “Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin. It is my pleasure to meet one of whom so many tales have been told and so many ballads sung.”

Glorfindel smiled and nodded nearly imperceptibly. To his pleasure, Gil-Galad quickly regained control of this audience, and motioned for him to sit.

“Círdan said he had a surprise meeting for me, and he is correct.  You have the light of one come from Valinor, and your presence reminds me of King Finarfin and the elves we fought with against Morgoth. I wish I had seen Gondolin and met my father’s brother.”

“You bear some resemblance to your uncle, but more so to your father and grandfather,” he told Gil-Galad, glad for the smile of pleasure from this young king who barely remembered either.

They exchanged news for a few moments, and then Gil-Galad asked, “Many an elf has left these shores since pardon was granted for our return, yet never before has an elf returned to these lands. Why have you returned to Middle-earth?”

Glorfindel laughed at the bluntness of the question. “I can not say exactly why, as I do not know. But I come to serve and protect the line of my king.”

“Does Elrond know this?” asked Gil-Galad as the implication of Glorfindel’s words became clear to him.

“No, my lord.”

Gil-Galad studied him for a few moments. “In what way do you mean to serve and protect him?”

Glorfindel had pondered this question.  Elrond was hardly in need of a guard at his back while living in the peace of the city of Lindon. “His protection is my purpose, and should he be in a situation of danger, I would see to his safety. In such times when there is not a need, I am at the disposal of my lords to serve as you see fit. I will serve in the defense of this realm or of your armies.”

“Is your fealty to Elrond or to this realm?” asked Gil-Galad bluntly.

Glorfindel held the gaze of the king steadily as he replied.  “Should the two ever be in conflict, my lord, my oath is sworn to protect the line of Eärendil – Elrond and any children he should sire.”

Gil-Galad suddenly smiled.  “Elrond is fortunate to have you, though he may not initially think so. I will arrange for quarters for you near his, here in the palace.  For now, you will serve in my court as advisor in matters of defense, eastward expansion, and relations with elven settlements and foreign realms. Elrond also has responsibilities in these areas, though I will spare you in matters of lore, herbology and the healing arts that appeal to him, unless they are of interest to you.”

Glorfindel returned the smile, then stood and bowed. “It will be my pleasure to serve both you and Elrond, King Gil-Galad.”

“Come,” said Gil-Galad with a glint of humor in his eye.  “It is time for you to meet Elrond.”

* * *

Elrond waited impatiently for Gil-Galad to emerge from a special meeting, a meeting he had not even been told about.  It was unusual for Gil-Galad to excuse him from any audience with a foreign visitor, which is what the secretary had told him this was.  Also of interest was that Círdan had been included, had even reportedly escorted the guest.  While Elrond did not believe he needed to know every detail of Gil-Galad’s rule, as the king’s herald and chief advisor he had never been excluded.

His brow furrowed, he was deep in thought about the situation and thus did not hear the door from the private chamber open, or Gil-Galad approach him from behind. The sound of the king’s voice startled him, though he did not show it.

“Elrond, we have a visitor from a distant land. He shall reside in the palace and work with you on matters of advisement,” said Gil-Galad, as if such things happened every day.

Elrond arched a brow in surprise, his gaze moving quickly to the very tall, golden haired elf who stood behind Gil-Galad and next to Círdan.   He reminds me of the elves of Aman, he thought. He turned his attention back to Gil-Galad, noting the amusement in the king’s eyes.  He glanced briefly at Círdan, noting the same mirth.  His eyes flicked back to the golden elf, wondering if he was supposed to know this person.

“Welcome to Lindon,” he finally said in an attempt to be gracious in his greeting. “I hope your travels were pleasant.  How long do you plan to be in Lindon?”

“As long as necessary,” answered the golden-haired elf with a smile.

“This is Glorfindel, who was well acquainted with your great grandsire, Turgon, and your grandmother, Idril,” said Gil-Galad, for though he enjoyed Elrond’s look of bewilderment, he also had not recognized the elf.

Elrond’s eyes grew wide as he considered the drawings and sketches he had seen of Gondolin, many of which had included Glorfindel. He had been attired as a captain of the city in some, as chief of his House in others, and in battle with a Balrog in most. None of the pictures had adequately reflected the elf who stood before him now.  Elrond suddenly realized he was staring, and forced himself to speak.  “I am Elrond, son of Eärendil,” he finally said, and to his embarrassment, his voice squeaked slightly and Gil-Galad laughed.

“A great resemblance you bear to your sire,” acknowledged Glorfindel warmly. “I am pleased to meet you, Elrond Eärendilion.”

“As amusing as it is to see Elrond tongue-tied and Ereinion enjoying the occasion immensely, I must return to the Havens,” interrupted Círdan dryly.  “Glorfindel, my house is ever open to you, should you desire to visit. I would be glad for your company.” Círdan moved to take leave of them, then sighed and said, “Ereinion, stop gloating, and Elrond, close your mouth.”

Gil-Galad and Glorfindel both laughed as Círdan took his leave of them, while Elrond blushed slightly. “My apologies,” he said seriously. “You are a figure from our history books, returned to life in Arda marred, and your presence is rather startling.”

Gil-Galad grinned at Elrond’s seriousness and might have further teased the younger elf, but Glorfindel turned smoothly to the king. “I have enjoyed meeting you also, Gil-Galad, and look forward to serving in your court.  I would like to spend time with Elrond now, if he may be spared from his duties.”

“Of course, Glorfindel.  Again, we welcome you.  Círdan will have your trunk sent to the palace, and I will send word when your chambers are prepared,” replied Gil-Galad, and to Elrond’s further surprise, Gil-Galad gave a slight bow to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel lightly touched Elrond’s shoulder, guiding him out of the antechamber and to the main exit of the palace. “I passed a fountain on the way in. Perhaps we could enjoy its beauty while we talk?”

Elrond nodded dumbly, and allowed the strange elf to escort him out of the palace.  Questions were flying through his mind at an amazing speed, and he turned his head slightly to look at the elf next to him, only to find Glorfindel watching him with something akin to . . . affection? He quickly looked away, but his mind raced with wonder over why this elf who had known his father, grandparents and great grandsire would suddenly be returned from the Halls of Mandos and interested in him.

Glorfindel chose an unoccupied bench near the fountain, and they sat in the sunshine, which Elrond noticed Glorfindel seemed to enjoy immensely.  Accustomed to silence, Elrond allowed the quiet to stretch out between them as he gathered his thoughts.  Glorfindel seemed comfortable enough lounging like a big cat in a sunbeam, he reasoned.

“Cats do seek the simple pleasures,” murmured Glorfindel in agreement.

Elrond jumped and moved slightly away at Glorfindel’s words.

“I am sorry, Elrond.  You carry your thoughts very near to the surface of your mind,” apologized Glorfindel.

“I am slightly . . . confused,” admitted Elrond. “I feel like I should know you, and you seem like you do know me. Am I to tutor you in the ways of Gil-Galad’s court, or do you seek my acquaintance for other reasons?”

Glorfindel looked at him for a long moment, as if further reading his thoughts. “I served King Turgon in Gondolin, and at his command, sought to aid Idril and Eärendil in their escape during the fall of the city.  In death, I could no longer serve my king. In my return, I seek again to serve and protect the line of my king.”

“Who is your king?” asked Elrond.

“My king will always be Turgon,” answered Glorfindel truthfully. “In serving you, however, I will also be serving Gil-Galad, unless your ways should part.”

Elrond was too stunned to speak.  Unable to even ponder what it would take to part his loyalty from Gil-Galad, he finally blurted out, “I do not need a bodyguard!”

Glorfindel laughed, his voice musical and able to fill those around him with joy. “No you do not, Elrond, and I do not seek that role.  I will serve your house, or for now, Gil-Galad’s court, in whatever way is most beneficial to you. Should there be need for defense, or should war come upon us again, I will guard your back and seek your well being in battle.”

“Why?”

“Because I loved my king, Elrond, and Idril, and young Eärendil, and you are a part of them.”

Elrond sat in silence again, pondering all he had heard and wondering what the Valar had been thinking when they sent this servant back to Middle-earth.  He had read in formal accounts of Gondolin’s history of Glorfindel’s bravery and loyalty; and diaries and letters that had survived also spoke of his wonderful sense of humor, a penchant for harmless but amusing capers, and skill in music and song.  He was a warrior first, because need had demanded it, but a keen mind and desire to learn new things had made him an enjoyable companion.  Elrond turned to face Glorfindel, who watched him patiently.

“Would you like to see more of Lindon? We can tour the palace later. Your rooms should be prepared by then.”

At Glorfindel’s nod, Elrond stood and reached a hand out to the elf. Glorfindel clasped arms with him as he stood, and the raven and golden elves walked off to explore the city.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

As Elrond finished the story that Glorfindel had begun, he smiled down at his twin sons who were again wide-awake and thoroughly enjoying the story.

“Adar, I cannot imagine you speechless, stunned or tongue-tied,” admitted Elladan with a laugh.

“I was all of those things,” confirmed Elrond. “It was several days before I gathered my courage to ask Gil-Galad about Glorfindel’s arrival. Círdan had apparently enjoyed the same mirth at his expense, for Gil-Galad was also caught unaware. Yet Gil-Galad came to depend on Glorfindel’s counsels, and they were seldom at odds.”

Elrohir sat up slightly at that, trusting his twin to support him. “You were at odds with the king, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “No, not really, Elrohir. Go back to sleep, elfling.”

Elrohir laid his head back down on his brother’s arm, whispering to Elladan, “There is a story there somewhere, brother, and we will get it out of one of them.”

Elladan laughed, and the twins drifted off again to the night sounds and the slight crackling of the fire.

“It is my watch, Glorfindel.  Get some sleep,” said Elrond, one eyebrow arching to effectively silence any arguments the warrior was about to offer.  He watched as Glorfindel made himself comfortable near Arwen, using his blanket to further cover her, then stood and walked closer to the river’s edge.

Many leagues to the southeast he could just make out a light, and he felt his heart leap as he realized it must be Celebrían’s party.  Not knowing if she was sleeping, he gently reached out to her through their bond, only intending on whispering his love to her quietly. They had been in contact since the warriors had left with Celebrían, but Elrond had maintained a distance between them as he worked on their children.  She knew of their progress and injuries, but her longing and hurt at being apart from them had only further burdened him when he needed all of his energy for healing. Now, rested, he wished to tell her he loved her, but was hesitant at the turmoil and anger he felt emanating from her.

I love you, Celebrían, he whispered anyway.

He felt a wall grow between them, then heard in response, How are our children, Elrond?

Healing, Celebrían. Elrohir and Arwen are much more comfortable, and Elrohir is breathing well now, he answered clinically, hiding his own hurt.

I am glad, came the somewhat stiff reply.

Sleep well, meleth-nín, he finished softly.

Elrond turned away from the river, steeling himself against his own pain. He regretted Celebrían’s pain, but not his actions.  He would no more risk her over that river than he would have purposefully put one of his children in danger. Once she held her children in her arms again, she would forgive him.  He returned to the camp, his spirit more melancholy, but he was glad that he had spoken the words he needed to say. 

His watch finished uneventfully, and Glorfindel relieved him, leaving Elladan the final watch that would lead into morning.  Elrond added a little more kindling to the fire, wanting Arwen and Elrohir kept warm, then took Glorfindel’s place on the bedroll by Arwen.  He smiled as he realized that in all they had sent over, his bedroll had not been among the supplies.  Pulling Arwen close, he wrapped his arms about her and allowed his mind to rest.

He felt the blanket over him straightened to better cover him, and knew that Glorfindel was nearby. As he drifted into elven dreams, a conversation with Gil-Galad replayed in his mind. He had been exhausted, and Gil-Galad had pulled an extra blanket over him.

“Sometimes people become part of our lives whom we do not deserve,” he had mumbled, mostly incoherently it seemed.

“Perhaps,” Gil-Galad had answered. “Life sometimes balances out that way, with undeserved goodness weighted against undeserved evil. Do not question such gifts, Elrond.  Just treasure them.”

Elrond fell asleep counting his treasures.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  Everything about Glorifndel’s return is based on the speculation of The Peoples of Middle Earth (HoME Vol XII, the Glorfindel Essays), but is merely my interpretation.  Please do not take any of this as set in stone canon – this is definite gap filler material.  Also, there are different sources stating who the Lord of Eregion was – whether Celeborn and Galadriel were there, or Celebrimbor only.  For this story, I am using the version that Celeborn and Galadriel were there.  Amdir is a Sindar elf, but not their son.  There are various versions of the C & G story, as outlined earlier.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 9: Trust

Celebrían felt the tears sliding down her cheeks and brushed them away angrily. She turned on to her side, allowing her gaze to settle on the darkness of the river and the trees beyond it.  She had lain brooding for hours over Elrond’s refusal to allow her to cross the river after him, his choice preventing her from being with her children.  Behind her, she could hear faint sounds of the guards on watch, and she felt Erestor’s hovering presence, even though he spoke no words.  Feeling desperate to gain control of her emotions, she sought for the bonds with her children.  They were all well, and she even sensed peace about them that stemmed from their father’s nearness. A soft sigh escaped her as she realized how glad she was that he was with them.  A small voice of anger spoke within, though, reminding her that they would be even better if she were with them too.

Elrond’s calmness was frustrating too! He had been aloof from her the entire time he was providing aid to Elrohir and Arwen, and then when they were well, he came to her, seeking to comfort her while ignoring her anger.  She drew in a deep breath. Be logical, Celebrían, she reminded herself. You knew when you married Elrond that he was logical and calm and pushed emotion aside at need.  Suddenly, she laughed. Not loudly, but enough that she heard several elves near her come to attention.  It is the middle of the night and I am arguing with myself over whether my husband is too logical and whether he is giving proper attention to my anger. She stifled a giggle.  I think I will shelf my wrath and merely push him into the mud when I see him.  That will free my mind for more important thoughts now and give me something to look forward to, for I will enjoy cleaning him up afterward.  She smiled and lay quietly for a few moments, feeling her muscles relax. After I hold my children, she amended her thought.  She concentrated for a moment on each child, and then felt for Elrond.  He was sleeping. She pictured him in her thought, for she had always been moved by the sight of him so vulnerable, and tenderness washed over her.  I love you too, Elrond, she whispered.

* * *

The scouts returned by mid-morning with news that they would be able to cross the Bruinen without having to return to the Fords near Imladris.  The water was high all along the lands of the Angle that were surrounded by the two rivers, but at one particular spot along the Bruinen the walls of the river rose dramatically and the river narrowed, and the elves would be able to build a bridge over the canyon below them. Erestor listened carefully to the details, but noted that Celebrían’s attention was only partially on the captain.  Her eyes were again turned to the northwest, and her heart to her children.

“We hope to complete the task tonight and cross tomorrow,” finished Athranen.

Celebrían swirled around, her silver hair flying about.  “Tomorrow?  Did you say tomorrow?”

Erestor nodded to Athranen, and then turned to Celebrían.  He gently touched her elbow. “Already the scouts are gathering small timbers to form the platform of the bridge, and planning rigging for the ropes that will bind the logs together and form a guide rail. We will join them in just a few hours and more hands will further speed the work.”

He looked into her eyes, and saw the pain and frustration that filled her, and then, slowly, her gaze softened and her shoulders slumped in acquiescence. 

“My head knows that it will be many days until I see my children, yet my heart refuses to believe this is so.  Never have I been apart from my daughter. From the moment she was conceived to that day in Imladris, she had never been beyond my reach.  I never thought to have an ache such as this,” admitted Celebrían, despair in her voice.

She turned away from him then, alone in her grief, and he was silent as she re-mounted her horse and waited for the signal to ride. He took up a position near her, and they continued southeast to the planned crossing.

They reached the waters of the Bruinen by early afternoon.  Erestor saw a sudden smile cross Celebrían’s face, and then she was sliding off her horse and running forward to the edge of the cliff. She lifted an arm in greeting to those before her and then, wrapping both arms about her middle, hugged herself as she laughed in joy.  For work on the small bridge was well in progress from both sides, aid from Imladris having arrived while they were traveling.  While the time saved was perhaps minimal, the lift it gave to Celebrían’s spirit made it worth much more than the simple savings of time.

* * *

Garthon had ridden hard for several days, stopping only to rest the horse when needed, and at night he allowed a few hours respite for himself as well.  He had left with great haste, yet on the second day he felt a sudden peace that the situation of the children of his lord was not so dire as it had been.  Yet he kept on, and now on the morning of the fourth day, he sat on his horse near the marshland of the Nin-in-Eilph, called the Swanfleet by Men.  He was within sight of the city of Tharbad and the bridge from The Greenway, built by the Men of the West to connect their Kingdoms in Arnor and Gondor.  He had never ridden this far south on the west side of the river, and he took a few moments to assess the landscape and layout of the city before him.  Its walls were stockades built of timber, protection from the attacks of the Dunlendings, men never wholly tamed and never allies of the Dúnedain.

The River Glanduin mixed with the waters of the Hoarwell near where he now stood, and the roar of the waters filled the air. He could see that the waters were high at Tharbad, but the flat lands of the Swanfleet and those to the south of the city spread out the volume of water over a greater land mass, lessening the burden on the riverbed.

“Come, Amlug, let us visit this city of Men,” he whispered to his horse. Even as he spoke the name, he was reminded of his mission, for it had been a very young Arwen who had named this particular horse.  Arwen had been in the barn and met the young colt as he stepped out in the cold.  His breath had left a white mist, and he had whinnied and shaken his head at such an abrupt introduction to the cool air.  Celebrían had lifted her tiny daughter so she could pet the latest addition to the stables, an early arrival. Arwen had soothed him and named him the mighty dragon for his misty breath, and the name had never been changed.  Garthon smiled fondly at the memory. Arwen was a sweet and generous child, and right now he wished for nothing more than to see her home safe and in her mother’s arms again.

He entered at the city gates, greeting the gatekeeper graciously and then giving word of the destroyed bridge to the north.

“The bridge on the Great East Road has been destroyed in the floodwaters. I seek passage across the bridge of Tharbad, that I might return north on the east side of the Bruinen,” he explained.

“Such news must be conveyed to the town mayor and then relayed north to King Eldacar.  I will escort you to the town hall,” answered the man.

“My return to the North is of the utmost urgency,” replied Garthon cautiously. “I may give these same words to your mayor or you may even do so yourself, but tarry I may not.”

The man eyed him suspiciously then, but Garthon met the look with his own unblinking gaze. The man could not bear to long meet his eyes, and soon turned away.

“I will not keep you from your mission,” the man finally replied.  He stepped aside and motioned Garthon through the wooden gates.

As Garthon again nudged his horse forward, he breathed an inward sigh of relief that he had not had to explain his mission further, nor admit that elves lay injured and poorly protected on the banks of the Hoarwell.  Although these Men were allies of Imladris, he would not disclose such information without permission from his captain or lord.

He passed quickly through the town, acknowledging those who nodded or waved to him as he passed.  Approaching the eastern gate, he felt his heart lift as he saw a banner fluttering in the breeze.  The banner of Amroth, King of Lorien, and now he could also see the special banner borne by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel when they traveled. Lord Celeborn stepped forward as Garthon dismounted and walked forward to meet him.

“Lord Celeborn,” murmured Garthon as he bowed before the elf-Lord.

“You are from Imladris,” replied Celeborn as he motioned for the warrior to rise.

“Yes, my lord, and I seek to return there with all due haste. An unfortunate event has occurred, three days ago at the Last Bridge. Elrohir and Arwen are injured, and Glorfindel and Elladan remain with them.  I do not know if other aid has reached them, but Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían do not know that Arwen was stowed in our wagon.”

Garthon had watched Celeborn’s eyes widen as he quickly told his tale. He had been part of the guard that had escorted Celeborn and Galadriel on several occasions as they traveled between Imladris, the Havens and Lórien, and never had he seen Celeborn express emotion.  He saw surprise followed by fear at the words that his grandchildren had come to harm. Celeborn asked no further questions, however, and instead motioned for Garthon to walk with him to where the Lady Galadriel waited.

“Garthon, warrior of Imladris, tell me what mischance befell your travels and of the injuries to Arwen and Elrohir.”

Garthon calmed his own racing heart, for he had never been comfortable in the presence of the Lady of Light. Yet her voice was soothing and her words guided his telling of the story. He told her of their plans to travel to the Havens, the collapse of the Last Bridge, and Elrohir’s courage in his rescue of his sister, whose presence they only then discovered.  He told what he knew of their injuries, Elrohir’s condition having been quite grave when he departed.   Lastly he told them of how peace had come upon him while he rested during the night after the second day, and that he suspected that aid had reached them. As he finished, he had to lower his gaze from Galadriel’s face, for her smile was too much for him to bear.

“You have done well, Garthon of Imladris.  Part of this tragedy I saw in a vision, but we too have sensed that their need is no longer dire.  We will send word north to Imladris while we continue west and north to meet them.  You will guide us to where they camp.”

Garthon nodded and bowed his head, unsure if Galadriel had read the desire of his heart to return to those in need, but grateful none the less. He felt suddenly as if a burden had been lifted from him as Celeborn began quietly ordering north those he would send to ensure that news reached Imladris, and informing those at the city gates of their plans to continue through Tharbad.

* * *

Elrohir awoke to find Glorfindel stretched out near him, while his twin finished out the morning watch.  He lay silent, his gaze resting on the golden haired warrior beside him. Glorfindel’s story had surprised him in many ways, and he suddenly saw his father in a new light. Hearing stories from Glorfindel as a child had been different, for he had not the life experience to be able to imagine himself in his father’s place. Now he could try to do so, try to imagine how he would react to the people and situations his father faced. What must it have been like to serve King Gil-Galad, who from all accounts was very charismatic and charming; or be in the counsels of Círdan, one of the oldest elves? An elf I guess we will not be meeting any time soon, he interrupted himself soberly.  Or to meet Glorfindel for the first time, an elf renowned for his courage and bravery; re-embodied and sent back from Aman – and then find out this person plans to serve you?  I am suddenly very glad that I am Elrond’s son, and not Elrond himself, he decided. He had been born in a time of peace, to a house ruled by his father, where his oldest memories included not only his parents, but the family protector as well.  I suppose Elladan and I are more like Eärendil, who also would have known Glorfindel from birth. How ironic that in this we have more in common with a grandfather we never knew than with our own father.   Elrohir laughed then, not loudly, but enough that Glorfindel awoke.

“Good morning, Glorfindel.”

“Suliad, elfling,” replied Glorfindel as his eyes swept over Elrohir, one hand automatically reaching to touch Elrohir’s forehead as he took Elrohir’s hand in his other. To an observer, it might seem like a gentle caress, but it was also the touch of a healer assessing his patient.  Elrohir smiled patiently, for he knew when his father awoke, he would be subject to another examination more thorough than Glorfindel’s.  The smile turned into a grin as he met his brother’s eyes across the campfire, and he rolled his eyes as Elladan came to sit beside him, his hand also reaching for his brother’s head, a stroking caress that smoothed back his hair, touched his temple and cheek to see if he was too warm or too cool, then moved down his neck, checking if his pulse was too fast or too slow, and ended with his hand firmly held in the strength and warmth of his brother’s.

“What amuses you so early, brother?” asked Elladan, teasing in his voice.

“I am only thinking,” replied Elrohir. For all that he laughed at how alike he and Elladan were to their father and probably Glorfindel, having learned at their sides, he was grateful when Elladan immediately began to help him with needs he could not take care of himself.  He did not need to ask, he did not need to even state his need – for their father had taught them to anticipate such things. Elrohir recalled the first man he and Elladan had ever really known – a soldier named Albast.  He had been injured and cared for in the healing rooms of Imladris the same spring they were injured in the waterfall cave-in. He had eventually recovered and returned to his people, but the twins had seen him several times in their adult years.  On one of those visits, Albast had told them that coming home had been wonderful and strange; wonderful to be well, but strange having to learn to state his needs or prepare in advance himself, for in his months in Imladris everything he needed had been anticipated.

“Your mind is far from here, elfling,” said Glorfindel. “Of what are you thinking?”

“Do you remember Albast?” asked Elrohir as Elladan washed him with a warm cloth and changed the dressings on his wounds, the hands so gentle and soothing that he had to remind himself to stay aware and not drift off into elven dreams.

“The soldier you met when you really were an elfling,” replied Glorfindel, helping Elrohir sit so Elladan could tend his back and hair easily.  “Aye, I remember him.  Why is he in your thoughts today?”

“He said something once that I have always remembered.  He told me that during his time at Imladris, all of his needs had been anticipated.  I was just thinking now how glad I am that all my needs are anticipated, and how alike to Adar Elladan and I are, and to you in many ways, and why that is. I was also thinking about how Adar’s experiences were so different from our own, and what I might have thought if I met you suddenly one day, and you told me what you told Adar.”

Glorfindel’s musical laugh filled the small camp, joined by Elladan’s, waking Arwen and Elrond, while Elrohir stared at the two elves as if they were mad.  “I was not intending to be humorous,” he informed them.

Elladan had been brushing out Elrohir’s hair, and now pulled him back against his chest as he laughed.  “Elrohir, I am laughing because I know exactly what you mean!”

Glorfindel handed Elrohir a skin of water, still laughing. “Elfling, I am not sure how your mind connected all of those topics together, but your deep thought and utmost sincerity cannot be doubted.”

Elladan laughed all the harder at that, hugging Elrohir to him, but Elrohir glowered at Glorfindel much as he had done when he was but an elfling.  Glorfindel leaned over and kissed the top of his head.  “Knowing your life, I followed the threads and they were connected.  Perhaps I too am laughing because of that.”

Glorfindel rose, and with a last wink at Elrohir and Elladan, turned to see to his own morning ablutions.  A yawn caught Elrohir’s attention, and he turned to see his father approaching carrying a still sleepy Arwen.  She never had been one for early mornings, thought Elrohir. 

Elrond set Arwen in the arms of her brothers, where she snuggled in against Elladan who settled her carefully next to Elrohir.  She smiled at them before her eyes drifted close and she returned to sleep. Elrond looked down at his three children, his expression again unreadable.  He seemed to be thinking, and then bent down to adjust a bandage on Elrohir’s leg.  He smiled then, and though he addressed Elrohir, his eyes were on Elladan.

“Elrohir, you look much better this morning.  Elladan appears to have taken good care of you, so I will see to my self first and then start breakfast.  After that, I will want to at least listen to your breathing and check your leg.”

“Yes, Adar,” answered Elrohir with a smile.

The twins waited until Elrond had joined Glorfindel at the spring, and then Elrohir snorted, “That was painful, but he did it!”

Elladan grinned as he pretended to smack Elrohir on the side the head.  “Adar really wanted to check you over from head to toe himself.  He showed great restraint, and trust in me.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes.  “Do not start with the ‘I am oldest and Adar trusts me most’. . .!”

“Or what?” baited Elladan playfully. “I am sure you recall that I am the level-headed one, the one who rescues you, the one who. . ..”

“The one who is going to eat dirt when I am well enough to challenge you in unarmed combat,” interrupted Elrohir with a growl, turning slightly to see his twin.

Elladan laughed and pulled Elrohir back against him.  “I am glad you will be well enough soon to try,” he replied honestly.  “I cannot lose you, Elrohir. I could not bear it.”

“Nor I you,” replied Elrohir softly, pulling Elladan’s left arm tighter about him.  Elladan pulled Arwen to them as well, and she sighed and murmured in her sleep, but did not wake.

* * *

Elrond prepared the morning meal, a smile tugging on his lips as he listened to his children banter. The sound of their voices was something he had always treasured, yet it was seldom he heard all three voices together as he did now. He wished to examine Elrohir, but he also wished to show Elladan that he trusted his work and judgment.   Waiting until after breakfast was a slight concession to make, and the laughing of the twins as he had walked away told him they knew what he was doing.

“Elrohir will one day drown if I am not there to save him,” bragged Elladan.

“He was saving me this time, so it does not count,” Arwen defended Elrohir.

“You look like someone painted you with pink stripes,” teased Elladan, but not unkindly.  “Do they still hurt, Arwen?”

Elrond looked over to see all three inspecting the many healing cuts and scratches on Arwen.  His silk undertunic was so thin and transparent that it was easy to see that she did appear to have stripes on her abdomen and back.

“Not really,” she answered bravely.  “Not nearly so much as Elrohir’s leg.”

Elrohir tugged her gently to the side, so she lay with her head on the thigh of his uninjured leg.  “My leg is healing well enough.  Barely a twinge of pain now,” he reassured her.

“I wish Nana were here, though.  I think she must be lonely without us,” said Arwen softly.

Elrond closed his eyes and sighed.  If Arwen only knew the state Celebrían was in from being apart from her daughter!  His attention was drawn away by the sound of Glorfindel approaching from wherever he had been these last few minutes, and he watched as the warrior leapt over a large rock near the fire, landing gracefully in a sitting position in front of it. He leaned back on one elbow as he popped something into his mouth and then chewed it slowly, his face reflecting utter bliss and joy, and Elrond could swear he heard him purring.

Knowing that Glorfindel wanted him to ask what he was eating, Elrond resolved not to.  He continued his preparations, ignoring the sounds of Glorfindel relishing whatever it was he had found. Plop. He turned his head slightly at the sound of something hitting the bowl next to him, and he couldn’t help but exclaim his joy at the sight of the plump red strawberry before him.  Without thought, he grabbed the berry and ate it.  He heard his own purr of delight escape him before he could restrain it, but he did not care.  It was so sweet and juicy! He swallowed, and then turned to where Glorfindel sat grinning at him.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“One just has to know where to look,” replied Glorfindel smoothly. “The scent alone is enough to draw the attention of a good hunter. Those with poor noses miss out on this sun-kissed goodness.” He finished speaking, and lifted another berry by its stem, lowering it slowly to his mouth.  He nipped the berry loose and chewed it with relish, then grinned at Elrond.

“Do you have more?”

“I have a few,” replied Glorfindel, glancing down at something off to his side.

Elrond grimaced and nearly bit his tongue to keep from responding unwisely.  “Do you plan on sharing?”

Glorfindel sat upright and looked over to where the three peredhil children were watching in amusement.  “I suppose I might share with Elrohir and Arwen, as they cannot go find their own.”

Elladan laughed out loud at that, and Elrond glared at him before turning back to Glorfindel.  “Fine.  Tell me where they are and I will go pick more.”

Glorfindel seemed to consider this for a moment, but then shook his head.  “No, it may be a number of days yet before we travel.  I intend to enjoy some each day we are here.”

Elrond found his anger growing, for he knew that Glorfindel was teasing him and trying to raise his ire.  Glorfindel knew strawberries were his favorite fruit and yet he behaved comically ingesting them and then declined to share with the rest of them. He drew in a deep breath before speaking. “As you wish.”

Elrond returned to his task and soon had a breakfast prepared that he thought would appeal to Elrohir, who had eaten little beyond a light broth and bits of lembas since he was injured.  He served his children first, helping Arwen to sit up comfortably and arranging dishes so Elladan could eat and help his twin.  Elrond watched as Arwen shifted slightly so that she was putting no strain on the healing gash that ran from ribs to thigh along her side. It was healing well and she had not voiced any complaints, but he could tell she favored that side. Once they were eating, he returned to the fire where Glorfindel still lounged, now with a thoughtful expression on his face.  Elrond fixed himself a plate, then paused and fixed one for Glorfindel as well.  Setting it before his friend, he then sat down to eat.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Glorfindel set his stash of juicy fruit next to his plate.  Elrond pointedly ignored the elf as he ate, but when he thought Glorfindel was not looking, he stabbed a strawberry with a fork and quickly stuffed it in his mouth.  He chewed it with some relish, and was just turning to look smugly at Glorfindel when he saw the elf raise both arms in the air and cheer.

“I win!” laughed Glorfindel in delight.

Across from them, Elladan buried his head in Elrohir’s hair as both laughed, chagrinned looks upon their fair faces. Elrond looked from his sons to Glorfindel, and then to Arwen, who sat grinning from ear to ear.  He shrugged, and then reached over and took the rest of the strawberries, and proceeded to eat them while ignoring Glorfindel and his children.  He did not know what the little bet had been about, but it did not matter when his favorite fruit awaited him.

“Adar, I am so surprised at you!” Elladan finally said, shaking his head.

“I knew he would do it!” replied Arwen.  “They are his favorites, and it was only Glorfindel.”

“Only Glorfindel?  Did you say only?” roared Glorfindel playfully.

Arwen shrieked in delight and pretend fear, hiding beneath Elladan’s arm. “But he knows you!” she giggled, trying to explain herself. “He doesn’t have to worry about you being mad at him!”

“Adar, I said your good manners would prevent you from taking something not offered to you,” chastised Elladan as he stroked Elrohir’s hair. “Stop laughing, Elrohir.”

 In his twin’s arms, Elrohir grimaced in pain, and Elrond knew the still healing ribs had made their presence known. “I am trying,” groaned Elrohir.  “Stop making me laugh!”

Elrond calmly finished his strawberries, his eyes twinkling as his children and Glorfindel argued.  He rose then, and kneeling down by Elrohir, helped him to lie flat. He smiled as he felt the pain leave his son as he ran his hands over the healing ribs and fading bruises, and was pleased to hear clear breath sounds as Elrohir inhaled and exhaled.  He then unwrapped the bandages covering the splint and gently felt the bones in his lower leg.  They, too, were healing well.  He rewrapped the linens and settled Elrohir comfortably.

“Properly provoked, your adar will take what he wants,” finished Glorfindel, and Elladan and Arwen both laughed at whatever the golden one had been whispering to them.

“Glorfindel, tell us what you thought when you first met Adar, and how you first provoked him, as you call it,” said Elladan.

Elrond continued his silence on the matter, and Glorfindel laughed at him, and sat down by Elrohir.  “Your adar was so serious . . ..” he began.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel lay upon his bed, his fingers unconsciously stroking the soft material of the coverlet beneath him.  He closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the sun shining through the open doors of his balcony, sighing in pleasure at the sensations evoked by touch.  He had been in Middle-earth for several weeks, learning about Lindon, its military capabilities and defenses by land and sea, and the relationship between Lindon’s leaders and the men, dwarves, and other elves with whom they associated.  Learning about Elrond and getting to know him had proved more difficult, however.   Glorfindel considered the half-elf thoughtfully, and decided that he was not frustrated.  He was reminded of something Círdan had said to him, of how Elrond was agreeable and friendly to all, making him a popular diplomat and aid to the King, but that few knew him well.  He chose his close friends carefully, and only with them did he share his private life and thoughts.  We do not need to be close friends for me to fulfill my duty, thought Glorfindel.  But he will need to learn to trust and depend upon me, and that means I will know more about him personally than he would normally share.  Such relationships take time, and time is something we have in abundance.  I can be patient.

A slow smile spread across his face as he thought back to the morning. Círdan had arrived early, and though he was not formally expected, everyone seemed to know he would be present.  His purpose became clear quite early when he stood and toasted Gil-Galad, and then gifted him with a carved ship inside a blown glass bottle.  Begetting day greetings and salutations had followed from those close to the King. Glorfindel had noticed that all had some sort of small gift for Gil-Galad, except Elrond.  His curiosity was piqued and he watched Elrond throughout the small celebration.  Elrond was his normal reserved self, watching all present, listening to all that was said.  Glorfindel had concluded that whatever Elrond had done to acknowledge the day had been done in private.  Suddenly he wondered how Elrond’s begetting day was spent – did he spend it with his close friends?  Have a small gathering in his private chambers? Was it public, due to his role as Gil-Galad’s herald and chief advisor? He became curious to know when the day was, and so had asked Elrond.

“When is your begetting day, Elrond?” he had asked conversationally.

Elrond had smiled, something Glorfindel noted, as the half-elf did not do so often. “My human heritage precludes knowing the exact date.”

Glorfindel had begun to ask what date was used instead, but Elrond had turned and left the room, a hint of the smile still on his face. Glorfindel had laughed aloud.  Trust Elrond to use this reason to ensure that his begetting day was not acknowledged, at least publicly!  Surely at least Círdan and Gil-Galad had chosen a date to use during his childhood, though.

Elrond controls most situations he is in, but in an understated way.  Most people do not realize that he has maneuvered them exactly where he wants them to go.  Instead, they believe it was their idea.  Glorfindel had pondered this for part of the afternoon, and now as he lay in the warmth of the setting sun a plan formed in his mind, almost of its own accord.  He would create a situation and not allow Elrond to lead him anywhere.  He was fascinated to see how his charge reacted when he was not in control.

* * *

It took several days to put his plan into action.  He learned from Gil-Galad that they had used Elrond and Elros’s day of birth in place of their conception day, and Glorfindel had readily discovered the date.  This information he would tuck away for future reference. He had also told Gil-Galad that he wished to borrow Elrond on a morning he normally appeared in court.  Gil-Galad had asked what for, and grinned when Glorfindel had said an experiment.

“Is Elrond aware of the experiment?” he had asked.

“No, my lord,” Glorfindel had replied with a smile.  “Elrond is the experiment.”

Gil-Galad laughed at Glorfindel.  “Do not be surprised, my friend, if you find your roles reversed by the end.”

“Perhaps,” he had answered. “That is indeed the reason for the experiment.”

Now he was ready to begin. It was early morning, and he knew Elrond would begin his day with a walk around the courtyard.  He would wander through the rose gardens then cross to the pavilions and walk back to the palace.  He typically spent a half to a full hour, depending on what was on schedule for the day.  Glorfindel sat on the ledge of the fountain in the courtyard, waiting.  He rose when Elrond walked down the palace stairs and walked to meet him.

“Good morning, Elrond,” he greeted the half-elf with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Glorfindel,” replied Elrond.

Elrond stood in place, waiting for Glorfindel to speak, as Glorfindel had neither fallen in step beside him nor continued past him. Glorfindel smiled inwardly and allowed the silence to continue just slightly longer than what was comfortable before continuing. “May I walk with you?”

Glorfindel knew how much Elrond enjoyed this time alone in the morning.  He came early, and walked in the quiet garden with only birdsong for company. He was purposefully invading Elrond’s private time.

“Of course,” answered Elrond, without pause.  He moved slightly to the side and continued on into the garden, expecting Glorfindel to fall into step with him. Glorfindel did so, but then gently began edging Elrond towards the side of the garden, away from his normal course.

“There is a beautiful new colt in the stables,” said Glorfindel. “He has much potential. Come, let us go see him.” As he spoke, Glorfindel touched Elrond lightly on the elbow, nudging him in the right direction. 

Elrond slowed, causing Glorfindel to have to adjust his stride.  In that brief moment when they were not walking together, Elrond managed to adjust their course away from the stables. “There is not time before court this morning, but we could come this afternoon, if you are free then.”

Glorfindel pulled a copy of the day’s schedule from his pocket. “There is little planned for today.  Gil-Galad even mentioned that court would be short and that the young apprentice advisor, Erestor I think his name was, could handle everything.” Glorfindel again nudged Elrond in the direction of the stables.

To Glorfindel’s surprise, Elrond appeared slightly flustered. “I am sure Erestor will do well.  I have overseen his training myself.  However, I have not informed anyone that I would not be present.”

“We can send a messenger from the stables,” offered Glorfindel. “Gil-Galad already said you were not needed.”

Glorfindel watched Elrond and could see the turmoil within him.  Knowing what little he did about Elrond, Glorfindel suspected that Elrond had never missed a day of court unless it was to serve Gil-Galad in another way, at the King’s request.  He forced himself not to smile, and took advantage of the situation, maneuvering Elrond out of the garden and increasing his speed slightly.

Suddenly they were at the stables, and Glorfindel learned something new about Elrond.  He loved horses, and knew much about breeding them.  He stood aside while Elrond examined the young colt, his face alight in joy as he spoke to the animal, extolling the colt’s fine features and potential until even the colt was preening under the half-elf’s praise.  They then moved through the stables together, and Glorfindel found he was far less interested in the horses than he was in the way that Elrond loosened up.  His demeanor change extended beyond the horses.

“I had a stallion on Balar, but there was little room to ride and I had little time, regardless.  I took him to war, and he was a faithful friend.  He was old as the war entered the final stages, and he died before Beleriand broke apart.  Nearly all the horses we had with us did.”

“Do you have a horse here?” asked Glorfindel.  He loved horses and was pleased that they had this in common.

“Yes,” answered Elrond quickly.  He led Glorfindel to another section of the stables and the nickering and whinnying of a black stallion as Elrond approached announced whom the half-elf belonged to.

“This is Reviaur. He flies like the wind.  See his marking here?” Elrond pointed to a shape on the horse’s head.  “A flame. He flies with fire.” He rubbed he stallions nose, whispering to him. “I came unexpectedly, Reviaur, and thus did not come prepared with sugar or apples,” he explained to the horse.

Glorfindel motioned to a passing stable hand, who approached with treats. Another stable hand approached with a white stallion, who threw his head and stamped his foot at the sight of Glorfindel. Elrond turned to look at the horse and smiled warmly at Glorfindel.  “Yours?”

“As I am his,” laughed Glorfindel.  “He chose me, actually, the day I came to look for a mount.” He motioned out the stable door. “Shall we ride?”

Elrond hesitated only briefly before answering, “Yes.” He shed the robes he wore over his tunic and trousers and led Reviaur out of the stable.

Glorfindel was mounted and warming up his own horse when it occurred to him that Elrond had taken control of the situation.  He began to laugh – he had not let Elrond lead him on their walk, had persuaded the half-elf to trust him in regard to changing his plans for the morning, and now Elrond was taking the lead as they rode out together. He heard Elrond shout, and then Reviaur broke out in a gallop across the flat plains beyond the stables.  Glorfindel’s stallion snorted and he allowed the horse free rein.  Soon they were racing neck in neck across the field.

Several hours later they were lying in the sun as the horses grazed and rested.  A stream ran nearby, and they had all already drunk and refreshed themselves in the cool waters.  Glorfindel sat up and opened the pack that he had brought with him, pulling out fresh fruit, cheese and a skin of wine.

“You planned this,” accused Elrond.

“Definitely,” agreed Glorfindel.

“Why?”

“Eat,” demanded Glorfindel, as he set the food between them.

Elrond obediently ate what Glorfindel had set before him, finishing his fruit immediately and then moving on to the cheese.

“I want to know you,” said Glorfindel finally, “and I want you to trust me.”

Elrond looked at him strangely, but pondered the words for a number of minutes before responding. “I suppose I already do.”

“Trust must be earned,” warned Glorfindel.

Elrond stared at him, as if reading his heart, and Glorfindel made his thoughts and motives as transparent as he could.

“I would not count myself wise if I did not.”

“You seem to be a fair judge of character,” admitted Glorfindel.  He had been impressed while watching Elrond interact with petitioners and representatives of other realms.

“Are you going to eat those strawberries?”

Glorfindel grinned wickedly.  “No.”

“May I have them?”

“No.”

Elrond laughed, and then reached over and snatched the berries from Glorfindel’s plate.  He ate them, ignoring Glorfindel’s laughter, and then grinned unrepentantly.  “That is how much I trust you.”

As they prepared to leave, Glorfindel pondered that statement.  For Elrond to act impulsively did indicate trust.  He had also gained something this day that he had not planned – he would now count Elrond among his friends as well.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Arwen, had you heard this story before?” asked Elladan as he ruffled her hair.  “You knew about the strawberries.”

“No, I did not!” denied Arwen.  “I am just right.”

“Adar, did she ask you what you would do?” asked Elrohir teasingly.

Elrond shook his head, a smile on his face. He turned to Glorfindel. “I had forgotten about that.”

“Arwen sees with a child’s simplicity.  She would take the strawberries from me, but she would likely not take them from someone she barely knew, nor would she take them from me in front of someone she did not know.  Trust is like that – it is between two people.” As Glorfindel spoke, he produced another small bowl of strawberries, placing it in Arwen’s lap. “The winner’s prize,” he announced.

Elrond, Elrohir and Elladan all leaned in close to her.  “Will you share with us?” asked Elladan.

Arwen grinned, and everyone knew she wished to say ‘no’, to make them laugh and do what Glorfindel had just done.  But her young heart was very generous, and even in teasing she could not do that.  She set the bowl between all of them.  “Yes,” she answered.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 10: Deceptive Appearances

Elrond lifted Arwen and set her on her feet, keeping a firm hold on her until he was sure she was going to stand without falling.  A grimace of discomfort crossed her face as she straightened, the skin around the long gash down her side pulling loose from the scab that covered it.  He smiled at her in encouragement as she moved and stretched until the discomfort lessened.  He offered her his hand then, and they began to walk slowly around the campsite.

“I am glad to be able to walk again, Ada,” said Arwen solemnly.

“I am glad also, for it means you are recovering. Why are you glad?”

Arwen looked across the campsite to where Elladan was helping Elrohir to sit up and eat. “I can help take care of Elrohir now. I can bring him food and water, or anything he needs.”

“We will be glad for your help,” replied Elrond with a smile. He guided Arwen around the edge of the camp, but noted her eyes did not leave her brothers. She adored them before, he thought, but now she nearly worships them as heroes. They walked slowly back up the slight hill and Arwen beamed as her brothers called their encouragement.  Finishing her short journey, she sat carefully on a tree stump next to them, and Elrond could see that already she was tired.

“Do I get to go next?” questioned Elrohir with a grin.

Glorfindel rose from where he had been sitting, a tree branch shaped into a crutch in hand. He had padded the top of it for comfort, and carved into it a twining vine that ran the length of the wood.

Elrond looked at the crutch and then at his son. The break to his lower leg had been bad, and a fall now, if he landed on the still healing wound, would be serious.  Yet, Elrohir looked hopeful and Elladan would be at his side. He finally nodded. “You may, but there are caveats,” he warned.

“Of course, Adar,” answered Elrohir. “I shall keep someone by my side at all times and not move out of the area of the camp, which you will have carefully checked for obstacles that might cause me to trip.”

Elrond closed his eyes and shook his head.  He looked back at his sons when he heard laughter, and saw Elladan again pretending to cuff his twin on the side of the head.

“He is definitely recovering, Adar, for his sense of humor is returning,” said Elladan dryly. “Shall I smack him again?”

Elrond was about to respond, to comment on how well his son knew him, when he saw Arwen out of the corner of his eye.  She had risen off the tree stump, her eyes flashing in anger.

“Do not hit Elrohir!” she cried.

Glorfindel caught her as she stumbled, for she had stood too quickly to adjust for her injuries.  Elrond could tell she was shaking in fury, her eyes filled with tears as she reached a hand out to Elrohir.

“Arwen, Elladan did not hit me,” said Elrohir quickly, his face drawn in concern.  “He was only teasing me.”

Elrond moved swiftly to Glorfindel, taking his daughter in his arms as she burst into tears. She buried her face into his shoulder, sobs racking her small body, as he walked over to a more private area near the spring and sat down on a large rock.  He rocked her in his arms until her sobs lessened.

“I want Nana,” she finally hiccupped.

Elrond cuddled her against his chest, and then bent his head to kiss her on the forehead. “Your naneth is coming just as quickly as she can.  She also misses you terribly.”

“I wish we were home.”

“So do I, sweetheart, so do I,” replied Elrond gently.

Arwen’s tears subsided as she drifted into sleep.  Elrond continued to rock her in his arms for a while longer, considering the journey they would undertake in a few days.  Arwen’s reaction, caused by her fatigue and discomfort, was good reason to wait until the trip would not tax either her or Elrohir. They had adequate supplies, passed over the river in the basket, and no signs of enemies anywhere in the region.  They would take their time, and perhaps all would find some enjoyment in the leisurely journey home. Rising carefully, Elrond carried Arwen back to the campsite, where Elrohir was waiting patiently for him.

“Let me hold her, Adar,” said Elladan contritely.  “Perhaps when she wakes I can convince her I am not a troll trying to hurt Elrohir.”

Elrond laughed softly. “Arwen was a little tired and uncomfortable, and not in a mind to understand that you were teasing.”  He looked at Elrohir, who was poking his brother in the leg and whispering ‘troll’, and spoke to Elladan. “While she is sleeping, you may smack him again.”

Elladan pretended to cuff his twin as he stood, and then leaned over to take Elrohir by both forearms and slowly pulled him upright. Elrohir fell against him heavily, and Elrond stepped towards them, Arwen still in his arms, but Elladan pulled Elrohir to him and held him upright, supporting much of his twin’s weight as Elrohir’s world spun.

Glorfindel slipped the crutch under Elrohir’s arm, then stood protectively behind him as Elrohir fought to stay upright.  Elrond watched him struggle for a few moments, then laid Arwen down on her blankets and moved to his sons.

He wrapped his arm around Elrohir’s shoulders and bent down so his head was level with Elrohir’s. Elrohir’s forehead was resting on his brother’s shoulder as he tried to slow his spinning world, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Elrohir, focus on me.” Elrond spoke in a softly commanding voice.  “Take a deep breath and hold it. . . release. Breathe in again.” He continued quietly talking Elrohir through the dizziness and pain.  Soon Elrohir was able to open his eyes and straighten, though he still leaned heavily on his twin.  Elrond let him stand for several minutes, then spoke again, “This is enough for your first time standing.  Let Elladan and me help you to the ground.”

Elrohir did not protest, proving to Elrond that this step had been as much as he could bear. They lowered him gently to the ground.  Elrohir closed his eyes and threw his arm over his face. Elrond could see the clenched muscles of his jaw, and tear tracks running from his eyes and down into his ears, his frustration obvious.  Elladan sat down next to him, resting one hand on his twin’s shoulder but remaining silent until Elrohir recovered.

Elrond waited until Elrohir had uncovered his face and Elladan had propped him up, and then gave him a small cup of miruvor.  Elrohir sniffed it cautiously, then lifted an eyebrow at his father.

“It will refresh and restore you, but you must rest. If you wish to stand again this evening, we will help you. Otherwise, tomorrow is soon enough.”

Elrohir drank the contents of the cup, and Elrond was pleased to see his eyes brighten and face clear a short time later.

“I think Arwen and Elrohir both seemed better than they really were,” said Elladan suddenly. “I guess appearances can be deceiving.”

“Adar, Glorfindel, I think I healed much faster when I was a child and you told us stories to pass the time,” said Elrohir, again grinning.

“Your injuries were not nearly so bad when you were a child,” replied Elrond. “But perhaps we can think of a tale you have not heard.”

“Continue in the Second Age,” suggested Elladan.

“The dark times of the Second Age were just beginning, though we did not know it,” replied Elrond, “for creatures of shadow came disguised as creatures of light, and their appearances were also deceptive . . .”  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond was in court when word came of a visitor at the gates.  An emissary had delivered a scroll, which a messenger now handed to Elrond.  Elrond noted the fine parchment, and upon opening it, the beautifully written script.  He quickly read the letter.

“Is the name Annatar familiar to you?” asked Elrond. He looked up at Gil-galad, who shook his head in reply. “There is an emissary of Lord Annatar at the city gate. He bore this letter, wherein Lord Annatar seeks your leave to come to Lindon.  His claim is great: he is neither elf nor man but bears skills that will aid both.  He wishes to come to Lindon to learn of our ways and to teach us even greater skill.  He promises that friendship with him will benefit us greatly.”

Gil-galad took the message and read through it himself.  “Fair words and even fairer promises, yet he does not say of which peoples or lands he is lord, nor what skills he possesses.” He paused.  “Have a message sent to Círdan. Perhaps the name is familiar to him. Invite Glorfindel to join us as well.”

* * *

“Annatar,” said Círdan slowly.  “He calls himself a name meaning the ‘Lord of Gifts.’” He paused in thought for a long moment.  “This is not a name I know. I would not trust such a message.”

Gil-galad turned then to Glorfindel, who also shook his head. “Nay, Gil-galad. That is not a name I know either.”

“If he is neither man nor elf, then what is he?” questioned Gil-galad. “His claim seems to put him on the level of the Maiar or Valar, for he is certainly not of any mortal species of Middle-earth.”

Círdan’s eyes darkened and narrowed as he stared out over the water. “If the Valar send emissaries on their behalf, we will recognize them as such,” he stated firmly.

Elrond sent word to the emissary that the king declined his lord’s offer, for though Annatar wrote fair words, his missive held little of substance.

* * *

A few months later…

Elrond was in the library when the king summoned him.  He met Glorfindel in the courtyard, also responding to a message from Gil-galad, and together they entered his private meeting chamber.  He was sitting at his desk, another scroll written in the same elegant hand before him. No words were spoken as he handed the letter to them.  Glorfindel read it over Elrond’s shoulder.

“The undertone of this letter is almost threatening,” said Elrond finally. “Veiled, perhaps, but beneath his words of honey lies the sting of a bee.”

“He claims other elves have made his association and prospered greatly, and questions why we want neither the benefit of his association nor the ability to help other realms be as fair and free as Lindon,” mused Glorfindel as he read through a second time.

There was a long silence as all pondered their thoughts on the mysterious Annatar.  “I do not know who this Annatar truly is, nor what motivation lies beneath his veiled threats, but Lindon shall not treat with him,” declared Gil-galad.

“Will you consent to send messengers to Eregion and beyond, to all the settlements, in warning?” asked Glorfindel.

“You think that he poses more danger than he appears capable of?” asked Elrond.

“The misgiving in my heart grows.  We know not what he is capable of,” replied Glorfindel, his expression troubled. “He may have strength that we cannot see.”  He turned again to Gil-galad. “Send out messengers, my lord.  Warn them of danger and not to treat with him.”

“I will send out messengers warning against him, for though fair-seeming we do not trust him. I will not, however, forbid them from making his friendship.  The settlements are free, and I have not proof against him,” replied Gil-galad firmly.

Glorfindel bowed his head in acquiescence, but Elrond could see in the stiffness of his shoulders that the discussion was far from over.

Nonetheless, the emissary was again denied, and several days later, messengers rode east bearing messages from the king.

* * *

The following summer . . .

Glorfindel left the city early in the morning, riding his stallion east to the hills and then just beyond into the countryside.   There he alternately rode and walked, spending his day exploring the lush grasslands that begged to be farmed. Near midday he rested, allowing his horse to graze in the tall grass while he lay nearby. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of sweet grass and honeysuckle, and listened for the birds, identifying each by call and song.  The nickering of his horse, followed by the thud of him lying down in the grass, caused him to open his eyes and sit up.  The powerful stallion was rolling on his back in the grass, all four legs in the air as he snorted and nickered his pleasure.

“You overgrown kitten,” laughed Glorfindel.  “I shall tell all those beautiful mares you have been courting about your coltish behavior.” The horse snorted at him again. “You shall have no chance for recourse, my friend.  And I shall take extra care to make sure you do not see me with a pretty elleth, to whom you might tattle my follies.”

Just then, in the distance, Glorfindel heard a noise, of hooves and the sounds of travel.  He motioned his stallion to stay silent and hidden in the grove.  He ran lightly across the ground until he had an unencumbered view of the road that led to Lindon.  In the distance, a party approached.  Guards rode in a loose formation about a tall being on a great horse.  His long dark hair was unbound, flowing freely over his shoulders and blowing gently in the slight breeze. He was fair, even beautiful, and his eyes were bright.  Dressed in a long tunic of midnight blue, decorated in silver and white trims that sparkled in the sunlight, he was a stunning presence.

Glorfindel watched the being approach with growing uneasiness. Neither man nor elf, yet he carried power about him like a mantle.  He had a regal bearing, as one who was not often denied. Suddenly, Glorfindel realized that this must be Annatar. He carefully slipped from sight, waiting until the small procession had passed before returning to the grove.

“We shall take the less traveled paths, much as we came, and your speed will be an extra gift,” whispered Glorfindel into the stallion’s ear.

Glorfindel passed through the gates before the visitors came into view.  Dismounting, he warned the gatekeeper of the impending arrival, and then went to the palace. He saw Elrond about to enter court, where Gil-galad greeted visitors and heard petitions, and motioned for Elrond to wait.

“Mae govannen, Glorfindel,” Elrond greeted him.  “Did you enjoy your ride into the hills?”

“Suilad, Elrond,” replied Glorfindel. “A visitor approaches. If I were to guess his name, I would say Annatar has come to Lindon personally.”

Elrond’s eyes widened and then narrowed in what Glorfindel read as a challenge.  He found himself grinning in spite of himself.  “I need to go refresh myself. If you go personally to the gates, I shall go with you.”

“Are you asking to accompany me, or telling me that you plan to accompany me?” asked Elrond, a glint of amusement in his eye.

“Telling, my lord, of course,” replied Glorfindel as he bowed and then retreated to his chamber.

* * *

By the time Glorfindel returned to the Hall, Elrond and Gil-galad were reading through a letter in the now familiar script on a fine linen scroll. A messenger waited patiently nearby.

“You may return to your post,” said Gil-galad. 

The messenger nodded and left, not questioning the lack of reply nor what his king might do instead.  Gil-galad turned to Elrond.  “Question him, but he is not to enter the city.  Glorfindel is to accompany you.”

Glorfindel laughed and Elrond glared at him, but they left together with equal measures of apprehension and anticipation.  A small crowd had gathered at the city gates, listening to the visitor as he spoke of what Lindon should offer to the rest of Middle-earth, and promising them what good he would bring to Lindon.   The visitor continued to speak even as the crowd parted and then fell away as Elrond and Glorfindel approached.  The normal guards were visible at their posts near the gates, but others approached, blending invisibly into the walls of the city.

Annatar walked several steps forward to greet them, bowing his head slightly at Elrond.  “Greetings, Elrond Half-elven, herald to the high king,” he began.  “I am Lord Annatar.”

Elrond studied the visitor for a moment, then asked, “Of what lands and people are you Lord?”

“I have been Lord of many, but now serve all of Middle-earth. My labors are many, yet my work would be greatly enhanced with aid from Lindon, fairest of realms.”

“From where do you come?”

“I come from afar, from my travels in the east, and before that from the north and the west.  No lands do I call my own, however. I seek knowledge and understanding of all peoples, to know their ways and the measure of their hearts, to learn of their craft and impart what I have gained from others.”

“What business have you in Lindon?”

“Only to bring what knowledge I have gained in my years of travel, and to learn also from you.  No realm have I seen this fair or fine in all of my journeys.  Surely wisdom and craft you may teach me, and perhaps I may add to that you already possess.” As the visitor spoke, he turned slightly to meet the gazes of all those near him, graceful hand gestures including all of them in his praise for the realm.

Glorfindel watched the reactions of those in proximity.  Most of the guards seemed duly impressed by Annatar, and many smiles were to be found on their faces after he praised the fair realm to which they had contributed.  Elrond, however, remained guarded.

“You speak in generalities,” chided Elrond. “You do not name a land that you call home, nor do you speak of specific needs or skills to be acquired. You say you come from the west, yet Lindon is as far west as one may now travel.  Did you live once in Beleriand?”

“My travels did take me through Beleriand, many years before its destruction,” acknowledged Annatar. “Such times are long in the past, however. A successful new start your king has made here. Now is the time to end the desolation and the darkness that pervades much of Middle-earth, and make all of elvendom as blissful as your Lindon.”

“Indeed,” replied Elrond. “What knowledge do you possess of Lindon, that you speak of it so?”

“You seek flattery!” cried Annatar in delight. “Word of the grace and beauty of Lindon travels far from her borders.  Few have not heard this truth, my friend.”

“Nay,” said Elrond evenly. “It is not flattery I seek, but facts. Still you evade my questions, deftly stepping around them as if our conversation were but a dance.”

“You do not find dancing pleasant? I have heard of your serious demeanor, Master Elrond. But it is true, more serious discussions do await us. Perhaps we should now meet with your king?” Annatar’s voice held a slightly mocking tone, yet his smile was still present and he reached to Elrond, as if to wrap an arm about his shoulders and move into step with him.

Glorfindel moved in that instant, stepping in between them and catching Annatar’s hand in his own.  He felt a flicker of power course through him as their skin touched, and a sudden feeling of menacing cold blanketed him.  Annatar snatched his hand away and stepped back, and just as quickly the power and cold faded. Glorfindel would almost have thought he imagined it, except for the momentary gleam of anger that remained in Annatar’s eyes.

Elrond had not flinched, but stood firm. As Glorfindel stepped slightly aside, but not out of reach, he spoke, “My king has provided an answer to all your previous emissaries.  It has not changed. Lindon will not treat with you. You may camp overnight, if the need is present, under that grove of trees a half league beyond the gate.   Our guards will escort you and keep watch, that your entourage may properly rest before you return to wherever it is you call home.”

Elrond turned his back to Annatar and strode purposefully away even as guards materialized from the city walls. He did not see the burning hatred in the glare that followed him, for it lasted only an instant.  Annatar bowed after the retreating form of Elrond.

“Alas, it is a great loss for Middle-earth when the mightiest of her leaders will not deign to labor with others to improve the lot for all who love these lands.  Come,” he said, motioning to his small entourage, “we will find others more willing to serve.”

Glorfindel watched as Annatar turned, proud and regal, yet apparently greatly saddened, and began to walk down the east road away from Lindon.  Several of the guards looked at Glorfindel in confusion, for Annatar’s words had moved them. Did not they all wish to improve Middle-earth?

“Clear you minds of the honeyed words of a deceiver,” said Glorfindel sharply.  “Shadow and deception masquerade as light, but at their core they remain evil.” He motioned to a contingent of guards who had stepped forward at Elrond’s earlier command.  “Follow them at a distance and ensure they leave these lands.”

Glorfindel walked away, his heart uneasy as he pondered who Annatar might be or whose power he harnessed.  Clearly Annatar would seek out the other elven settlements, and attempt to seduce them with the same words he had used in Lindon.  Quickening his pace, he strode into the palace and entered the king’s private office, where Elrond also waited.

“He will travel from here to Eregion, seeking from them what he could not obtain here,” he said bluntly.

“Celebrimbor could be more easily deceived,” added Elrond. “He seeks only to improve his craft and will welcome one with goals to rid the Earth of darkness, for they match his own.”

“Messengers have been sent warning the elven settlements to neither welcome nor treat with Annatar,” Gil-galad reminded them.

“You are the recognized high king of the elves of Middle-earth.  Demand it,” said Glorfindel suddenly. “Do not allow them to be deceived.”

Gil-galad’s gaze hardened as he looked at Glorfindel.  “Only in Lindon would I declare this as rule. Galadriel and Celeborn are in Ost-in-Edhil, and rule over the city.  Galadriel will not be swayed by Annatar, nor will Oropher or Amdir.”

“It is within your power to order them not to treat with him,” argued Glorfindel.

“No,” replied Gil-galad, his hand held up to stop Glorfindel’s argument. “I have supported those who wished to settle realms of their own, and their loyalty I have earned by supporting and encouraging them.  To demand their action in this could mean an irreparable splintering of the elven kindreds.  This is not sufficient reason to take such a risk.”

Glorfindel bowed his head for a moment. “There is a power in him of which I do not know the source. He may be more than we can imagine.”

“If he is,” replied Gil-galad, “it may take all of us to stand against him. We cannot risk the sundering of realms.” Gil-galad held his eyes steadily. “This is not Gondolin, and I am not my uncle.  What Turgon could do in a hidden kingdom among a united kindred is not what I can do in realms spread out over hundreds of leagues and including Noldor and Sindar, Falathrim and Nandor, Silvan and Avari.”

Glorfindel slumped into a chair in front of Gil-galad’s desk. The three were quiet, as all considered the import of Glorfindel’s concerns and Gil-galad’s practical considerations.  Elrond rose and poured three cups of wine. Glorfindel accepted his gladly. He understood the king’s position and could not solidly argue against it.  He knew for fact only that Annatar was more than he seemed.  He felt a desire to seek out Círdan, for he knew that Ulmo still communicated with the ancient elf.  Perhaps he would have insight that would help put Glorfindel’s mind to rest.

The three drank their wine in companionable silence.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Annatar was Sauron,” breathed Elrohir. 

“He was,” answered Elrond, “but we did not know it then, nor for many years to come.  He did not reveal himself until he was discovered.”

“Glorfindel, you were right,” said Elladan, a troubled look on his face. “This is what you and Gil-galad disagreed about.”

Elrond looked at Glorfindel, who smiled at him in return.

“We were all right, and which decision would have proved better is unknown,” replied Glorfindel. “The One Ring would not exist, perhaps, had Gil-galad issued the order and the elven realms had obeyed and not splintered their loyalties.  Had the order been issued, and a realm both welcomed Annatar and splintered their loyalty from other elves, then not only would the One Ring have been forged, but we might not have been able to drive Sauron out of Eriador and none of us would be here. History will judge our actions, in particular Gil-galad’s, for such decisions ultimately rest upon the king. But while history judges the outcome of the choice we made, it still cannot provide a better answer or say with surety what should have been done, for history cannot predict the outcome of another choice.”

“Choices are like the threads of a spider’s web,” added Elrond.  You may follow the silk to a fork in your path. You may choose to meander the way of the right tine and ultimately end up in the spider’s grasp. It was a bad choice.  However, you have no way of knowing if choosing the left tine would have ultimately changed your fate, much less led to a better end. The path ahead twists and turns, and you cannot know what other obstacles you may encounter that will further help or hinder your journey.”

The twins were silent, and Arwen still asleep, though now in Elladan’s arms as he did truly intend to ensure she awoke to his loving touch and not to a remembrance that he was beating her beloved Elrohir. 

“I suddenly feel very young and insufficient,” admitted Elladan.

“You are very young, but far from insufficient,” said Elrond with a laugh. “None of our decisions were made without council, and I hope that you will always seek out good council for any important choice you must make.”

“Your legs are an insufficient pillow,” grumbled Elrohir. “Arwen has the comfortable spot.  Adar, will you roll me a blanket for a pillow?”

Elrond and Glorfindel both laughed, and moved to pamper and spoil Elrohir into a comfortable position.

“You are such an elfling,” whispered Glorfindel as he gently shifted Elrohir.

Elrohir only smiled.  For once, he was glad to be just an elfling.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  The Tale of Years in Appendix B states that in SA 1200 Sauron endeavors to seduce the Eldar. Gil-galad refuses to treat with him. There is one statement in HoME that Annatar went into Lindon, but it is noted that this contradicts the statement in the Silmarillion (below).  The Silmarillion says they refused to ‘admit him to their land’ and UT says that Gil-galad refused Sauron’s emissaries and Sauron himself.  Thus, I had him send emissaries and then show up himself, but be refused entrance into Lindon proper.  One could argue he didn’t go close to the city himself.

The Silmarillion Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age

‘Men he found the easiest to sway of all the peoples of the Earth, but long he sought to persuade the Elves to his service, for he knew that the Firstborn had the greater power; and he went far and wide among them, and his hue was still that of one both fair and wise.  Only to Lindon he did not come, for Gil-galad and Elrond doubted him and his fair-seeming, and though they knew not who in truth he was they would not admit him to that land. But elsewhere the elves received him gladly, and few among them hearkened to the messengers from Lindon bidding them beware; for Sauron took to himself the name of Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, and they had at first much profit from his friendship.  And he said to them: “Alas, for the weakness of the great!  For a might king is Gil-galad, and wise in all lore is Master Elrond, and yet they will not aid me in my labours.  Can it be that they do not desire to see other lands become as blissful as their own? But wherefore should Middle-earth remain forever desolate and dark, whereas the Elves could make it as fair as Eressëa, nay even as Valinor?  And since you have not returned thither, as you might, I perceive that you love this Middle-earth as do I.  Is it not then our task to labour together for its enrichment, and for the raising of all the Elven-kindreds that wander here untaught to the height of that power and knowledge which those have who are beyond the Sea?”’

Unfinished Tales, History of Galadriel and Celeborn

‘….while in Lindon Gil-galad shut out Sauron’s emissaries and even Sauron himself.’

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 11: Overwhelmed

Elrond awoke as something silky tickled his nose. Even as his mind wished to brush away the annoyance, his arms instinctively knew that they cradled something fragile and of great value and held on gently.  His instinct to roll away and return to sleep was further blunted when a soft sigh invaded his consciousness.  His eyes focusing reluctantly, Elrond realized that it was strands of Arwen’s hair that were teasing him and he carefully smoothed them down. She sighed again and snuggled against him.

A quick glance about the campsite revealed Elladan nearly asleep on watch and Glorfindel in as deep a sleep as he remembered seeing the elf, one hand resting lightly on Elrohir.  Elrond sighed.  The night had been as long as he remembered.

The previous evening Elrond had decided not to sedate Arwen, as she had not seemed to be in pain that would prevent her from sleeping. She had drifted off as darkness fell, but night terrors had invaded her path of dreams. Twice she had awakened screaming, clutching at his tunic as she attempted to hold on and not fall into the river.  Elrond had managed to calm her both times, using all of his healing ability to chase away the fears that plagued her and push her back into sleep. Elrohir he had drugged, for the pain in his son’s leg had increased significantly after standing, but Arwen’s screams had awakened him as well. His normally good natured son had been in pain and unable to return to sleep or to help himself become comfortable, and frustration had overcome his normal restraint.

Elrond let his gaze rest on his sleeping son, and felt pity well up within him as he saw the tear tracks that still stained the now peaceful face.  Elrohir had been silent after an initial moan of pain had escaped him upon waking. Elrond had noted his son’s distress, but he had focused on calming Arwen.  Elladan had tried to tend his brother, but Elrohir had been fretful and crabby and Elladan had finally told him to try to sleep again.

‘Quit telling me to what to do!’ Elrohir had cried.  Elladan had looked shocked and been rendered speechless at his twin’s outburst.  He had reached out to Elrohir, but Elrohir had pulled away. ‘Do not touch me!’

Elrohir’s outburst had awakened Arwen, who had just fallen back to sleep.  She had jumped, startled, and hit her injured hand against the ground.  Bursting into tears, she had cried in pain. Elrond had gathered her close, soothing her, and then realized that Arwen’s sobs were not the only ones he was hearing. He had looked over to see Elrohir’s shoulders shaking.  The sound was muffled, as Elrohir attempted to suppress any noise by burying his face in his blanket.  Elladan was sitting back on his heels, hurt and confusion on his face, his hand falling limply back to his side as he watched his twin sob.

Glorfindel had been on watch, walking the perimeter of the camp, when he heard the commotion.  He had returned, quickly surveyed the situation and chosen Elladan to comfort. Elrond smiled at the memory.  What he had thought would be least helpful turned out to be a good choice.  Glorfindel had knelt down next to Elladan, wrapping an arm about his shoulders and squeezing gently.  ‘I do not know what to do,’ Elladan had admitted softly. ‘I am only making him feel worse.’

Glorfindel had answered softly, ‘Sometimes when someone feels this bad, they do not know what will make them feel better.  It must be very frustrating for Elrohir, but he knows you are not to blame. Will you go refill the waterskins? I, at least, would like a cool drink.’

Elladan had smiled gratefully, glad for something to do, and gone to do Glorfindel’s bidding.  Glorfindel had sat near Elrohir, and gently stroked his hair while remaining silent. Elrohir had eventually reached out his still torn and bruised fingers, seeking comfort, and Glorfindel had simply sat and held his hand, stroking the dark head, until the sobs subsided into sleep.

The camp had been calm until nightmares again tormented Arwen, and her screams once again roused the whole camp.  Elrohir had jerked upright in surprise and fear, and promptly fallen over in pain and dizziness. Thus had their night been spent.

Now, sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees, shining off the waters of the flooded river and invading the camp uninvited. Glorfindel stirred, finally sitting up and stretching.  He blinked at the sun, then looked down at his young charge.  He traced a tear track with his fingertip.

“I seldom wish Anor would return to sleep and allow Ithil a repeat performance, but on this day I do,” yawned Glorfindel.

Elladan jerked upright at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice. He looked around, surprised, then flushed in embarrassment. “I fell asleep,” he muttered, mortified.

Elrond cradled his daughter close.  “Perhaps they will sleep for a while yet.” He paused, looking at the rising sun for a moment.  “Perhaps we will all nap while we can.”

Elladan looked at the river too, his eyes brightening.  “Adar, do you think we could somehow have the makings of a mattress sent over in the basket? Elrohir is so uncomfortable on the hard ground.”

“Perhaps,” answered Elrond, “but it will take several days to have anything sent.”

Although Elrond had not meant his words to be discouraging, they had that effect.  Elladan’s shoulders slumped, Glorfindel sighed, and even Elrond felt a momentary despair.  “We will send word across the river,” he said, forcing his voice to sound cheerful. “Better to have the items in a few days than not at all.”

* * *

Elrond sighed softly as he eased Elrohir back to the ground.  He could feel his son’s heart racing and hear the slight gasps masquerading as breaths, but worse was the despair and frustration that emanated from his child.  Elrohir had wanted to rise, but had not been able to balance himself. An overwhelming desire to push Elrohir into sleep battled with a parental desire to see Elrohir persevere through this trial, and Elrond felt the desire to make his child rest winning out.

“Elrohir,” he began, but he was interrupted by an anguished cry from his son.  Elrohir flung his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to control himself. Elrond drew in a deep breath. “Elrohir, do you wish me to help you rest, or do you want to be left alone for a while?”

“Please leave me alone,” Elrohir choked out, his fist clenching.

Elrond kissed his son on the head and whispered, “Call me if you need anything.”

Elrond rose and walked away from where Elrohir lay.  The whole camp was tense and quiet, and Elrond felt the frustration of knowing Elrohir wished to be alone, yet could not be left that way.

“Elladan, would you play with me?” asked Arwen.

“What do you want to play?” replied Elladan. He had been slumped against the large rock near the cooking fire, idly studying a leaf he held in his hands, but looked up and smiled at his sister.

“I do not know.  I was hoping you knew something to play,” said Arwen sadly.

Elladan held out his arms to her, and Arwen gladly walked the few short steps to him.  She sat in his lap, seemingly content even if Elladan had no ideas for play. Seeing his youngest occupied, Elrond sat down and closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax in meditation. He was feeling the stress of the last several days, and the lack of sleep for the last several nights was taking its toll on him.  He had drifted far in meditation when he heard Glorfindel’s voice.

“Elladan, come walk along the ridge with me,” said Glorfindel from the edge of camp.  “The view of the rivers is quite spectacular from up here.”

Elrond opened his eyes, bringing his mind back to the present and reaching for Arwen. Her eyes had drifted half closed and she dozed in Elladan’s arms.  Elladan gently shifted her to Elrond’s arms, and then stood. Elrond settled back down with Arwen cuddled in his lap, and smiled as she yawned and opened her eyes.  She started suddenly, sitting up.

“Elladan!” she called.  “Where are you going?”

“I am going to walk with Glorfindel. I will be back in a few minutes,” he reassured her.

Elrond watched in amazement as Arwen’s face contorted in anger. “You said you would play with me!”

“Arwen, sweetheart, you fell asleep.  Nap with Ada, and when you wake up, I will be back and we will play then,” offered Elladan.

Arwen’s gaze had swept to Glorfindel, and she unleashed her fury on him. “This is all your fault, Glorfindel! You always take my brothers away from me!  Elladan is playing with me!” Her fury ended in sobs of distress, and Elrond pulled her to his chest. As he rocked Arwen in his arms, he looked up to see Elladan sitting down again at the rock, dejection and sadness expressed clearly on his face.  Glorfindel was leaning against a tree, his gaze focused on an interesting spot on the ground.  Elrond sounded a short whistle, rather than using words to gain their attention.  He motioned for them to go. After a long moment of indecision, Elladan rose, and he and Glorfindel walked off together.

Elrond stroked Arwen’s hair as he soothed her, and she clung to him as if brokenhearted.  She was so tired, and dark circles were evident under her eyes.  She had been uncomplaining about her discomfort, but she was feeling the limitations of not having both hands, of not being able to run and play, and not having any of her usual playthings with her. Her outburst might be attributed to that, but he recalled how Arwen had rebuffed Glorfindel the morning the twins and Glorfindel had left Imladris, and realized that she was jealous of the elf.

A smile crossed his face and he had to keep from laughing and rousing her when she was finally calming down.  The thought of his little Arwen being jealous of Glorfindel spending time with her brothers was somehow both amusing and endearing. Nonetheless, her jealousy would need to be addressed.  He felt her relax in his arms as she drifted into sleep again, and allowed his own eyes to close as he decided to rest with her.  They would deal with Arwen’s jealousy when she was less tired, less uncomfortable and more rational.

* * *

Glorfindel and Elladan walked silently for several minutes, as Glorfindel led them to a spot on the high ridge.  Glorfindel could feel Elladan’s despondency, for he wore it like a cloak about him.  Elladan had always taken his responsibility to his siblings very seriously; though a twin, he was eldest in both birth order and in how he perceived the order of his world.  Glorfindel had long thought his outlook came from his personality rather than from which minute he had been born.  Yet today, the siblings he cherished had both had harsh words for him. While intellectually he knew they were stressed, that did not lessen the pain.

“I did not know you were holding Arwen,” Glorfindel finally broke the silence.

Elladan shrugged. “She was sleeping.”

“Arwen and Elrohir are both stressed beyond anything they have ever experienced before,” offered Glorfindel.

“Even when Elrohir was in awful pain, and suffering terribly with his breathing, he did not act like this,” replied Elladan, hurt in his voice.

“Elrohir was fighting for his life then. He needed you desperately, and your adar too. But now he is fighting for his independence.  He is feeling better, but still has to depend on us for everything. He is terribly frustrated by this, and he is still in pain and not sleeping well.  None of these reasons lessen how you feel, Elladan, but you need to keep your perspective.  He is not angry with you. Knowing Elrohir, when he regains his perspective, he will be appalled at how he treated you,” explained Glorfindel.

Elladan was silent as he considered what Glorfindel had said.  Glorfindel remained quiet, giving Elladan time to think, and instead allowed his gaze to roam over the countryside.  The view was beautiful, and the rivers in their raging glory were spectacular to look upon.  The power of the water was immense, reshaping the ground it passed through and carrying away all that stood in its way. It reminded Glorfindel of how small and fragile each life was, and how easily a life could be extinguished.  Suddenly, movement on the west side of the Hoarwell caught his attention, and he walked to the edge of the small clearing.

“Elladan!” he called. A broad grin spread over his face as he motioned to the tiny figures moving towards them.  “We are soon to have guests in our humble camp.”

‘But how?” Elladan was stunned. “Garthon could not have made it to Imladris, and no one from Imladris could have made it that far south . . . . It is Celeborn and Galadriel!” he exclaimed in sudden recognition.  “But how did they know?”

Glorfindel laughed.  “Ask not how your daernaneth knows things.”

“They should be here by nightfall,” said Elladan excitedly. 

Glorfindel grinned again as he followed Elladan, who was already hurrying back to camp to share the good news.

* * *

A cry of pain roused Elrond from his nap.  He sat up immediately, Arwen still asleep in his arms.  Placing her on a blanket, he jumped to his feet and raced to Elrohir’s side.  His son was lying sprawled face down on the ground, his leg twisted beneath him and his fingers dug into the dirt and grass.  Elrond had reached him when he heard Elrohir finally exhale and then begin moaning in agony.

Expert fingers quickly examined the splinted leg and now twisted knee, and Elrond had to suppress the frustration that rose within him as he felt the new damage.  “This is going to hurt, Elrohir,” Elrond warned him, and then gently turned him over on to his back.  The intense pain in the twisted leg rose as Elrond straightened it, and Elrohir cried out again.  The pain diminished somewhat then, and Elrohir’s breaths came in gasping heaves.

“Elrohir, look at me,” said Elrond firmly as he placed a hand on either side of Elrohir’s face.

Elrohir opened his eyes to face his father, and cried out, “I am sorry, Adar! I am sorry . . .” He grasped his father’s hands, his breaths becoming more rapid and ragged as the pain and panic and guilt overwhelmed him.

“Elrohir, focus on me!” repeated Elrond. “Breathe in, now out. Keep your eyes on me.  Breathe, Elrohir.” As Elrohir did as instructed and began to calm, Elrond gathered his healing power and focused it into his son.  Pushing away the panic and fear, Elrond replaced it with peace and calm. He felt Elrohir relax beneath him, and then his eyes glazed over and finally closed.

Elrond sat back on his heels, allowed himself a moment to recover, and had begun to remove the splint from Elrohir’s leg when another heartrending voice broke the silence.

“Help me!  Ada, Elrohir, help!” screamed Arwen as terror again invaded her dreams.

Elrond listened to her scream as fresh blood seeped through the bandages on his son’s leg

* * *

Elladan heard his brother’s cry just as he began to return to camp.  Fear filled his heart as he sensed his twin’s distress, and he leapt forward in a run.  They were almost back to camp when Elrohir cried out again, and then a moment later Arwen began to scream in terror.  Elladan stopped abruptly as he skidded into the camp, torn as to which sibling to attend first.

“Help Arwen,” directed Glorfindel, who did not slow but raced to where Elrond knelt near Elrohir.

Elladan gathered Arwen in his arms, holding her close.  “Arwen, you are all right.  I have you, sweetheart, you are not going to fall,” he soothed her.  She gradually came awake, still hiccupping sobs, and then grabbed on to Elladan as if he were her lifeline.  He rubbed her back and whispered to her, calming her, but all the time his eyes were focused across the camp.

Elrond had removed the bandages and splint from Elrohir’s leg, bright red blood staining the white linen, and Elladan could easily read the grim determination on his father’s face.

“What happened?” Elladan finally asked.

Elrond did not look up from his work. “I do not know, exactly. I heard him cry out and found him crumpled on the ground with his leg twisted beneath him.”

Elladan saw the tear running down his father’s cheek.  He knew better than to speak while his father concentrated on setting the bone back into place, but that did not stop his thoughts. I am sorry I was not here to help you, Adar. I should have stayed at Elrohir’s side, regardless of his wishes. Forgive me, Adar. His thoughts intensely focused on Elrohir, he felt a sudden sharp pain in his leg as his mind registered the grinding of bone on bone. He hissed at the unexpected discomfort, then allowed it to flow through him as he realized he was again feeling Elrohir’s pain.

* * *

Elrond wrapped the last strip of linen around the new splint, this one now bracing the strained knee as well, and then sat down on the hard ground beside his son.  Glorfindel had washed Elrohir’s face and hands, and brushed the twigs and leaves from his long hair. Elrond now stroked the dark head absently. I wish I had given him no choice and simply helped him to rest earlier. A soft groan escaped him as strong fingers began massaging his neck and shoulders, and Elrond leaned into Glorfindel’s comforting presence.

“Even in war we had tables to work on when tending our patients,” said Elrond tiredly.

Glorfindel laughed softly. “We were returning with good news when we heard Elrohir cry out.  Would you like to hear it or be surprised?”

Elrond groaned. “Please, any good news right now would be welcome.  Has a bridge suddenly built itself across the river?”

“No,” answered Glorfindel, his strong hands still working the kinks from Elrond’s back. “A large party approaches from the south. Celeborn and Galadriel.”

Elrond felt a wave of relief sweep over him. If Galadriel had had a vision, she might even be bearing needed supplies that could make Elrohir more comfortable.  Their guards could keep watch, sparing Glorfindel and Elladan that duty.  Elrond had not realized that tears were slipping down his cheeks until he felt a gentle hand brush the wetness away.

“Elrohir will find this lesson painful and humbling,” said Glorfindel.

Elrond leaned forward to kiss the dark head next to him. “I had considered giving him no option earlier today.  I had thought to just make him rest, but reminded myself he is an adult and needs to learn to cope with difficult situations.  So I allowed him the choice, to be left alone or accept my aid.  He wished to be left alone. Part of me sorely regrets allowing him any choice.”

“I think the twins both felt they were trying out their wings, being independent on this trip, even if I was along.  Now suddenly, Elrohir is more helpless than he has ever been. In addition to being dependent, he is in pain and very uncomfortable.  This situation would try the most patient of elves,” mused Glorfindel.

“This situation is trying my patience,” admitted Elrond in a barely audible voice. “These are my children, and it is difficult to see them suffer.”

Glorfindel gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Adar, Glorfindel, there is a signal from across the river,” called Elladan softly.

Glorfindel rose and walked to the riverbank. “There are more elves from Imladris present.  They have supplies to send over,” he called back up to Elrond and Elladan.

A short while later, Glorfindel reappeared with a bundle in hand.  “This first bundle is for Arwen,” he announced.  “The note indicates this is the first of many baskets to be sent over.”

Elladan unwrapped just a corner of the package, a smile crossing his face.  Arwen was dozing on his shoulder, and he shook her gently.  “Arwen, wake up.  Gifts from home have arrived for you.”

Arwen gradually awoke, her eyes still heavy and dark. She rested her face against Elladan’s chest and fingered the package absently.

“Would you like me to open it for you?” asked Elladan.

When she nodded, he opened one particular item first.  Arwen’s face lit up immediately and with a cry of delight she hugged her doll, tears of joy streaming down her face. “I thought she was lost forever! My doll!  My doll!”

Elrond could see that someone had carefully cleaned the mud from the doll, brushed out her hair and dressed her in new clothes. He smiled to see Elladan next hold up additional clothing for the doll, so Arwen could properly put her to bed and dress her up. The next bundle Elladan opened was filled with clothing for Arwen, which she again hugged to her body.  Finally, the last package, wrapped to protect against moisture, included her books, a game, drawing pencils and paper and her favorite cup. Elrond would cherish the look on Arwen’s face forever.  She was delighted and crying at the same time.

Elladan pulled a small scrap of parchment from the bottom of the bundle and read it, his expression softening.  He handed it to Glorfindel, who only smiled and then gave it to Elrond.  As Elrond scanned the note, he at first only noted the fine writing of his advisor. He began to laugh then, and nearly cry himself, as he pictured Erestor in the midst of the crisis of getting Elrond across the river and preventing Celebrían from following. Somehow, in spite of all that, he had created this detailed list of all the things Arwen would want or need, and then sent it to Imladris.

“It even says, ‘clean doll first and have Amariel make it new clothes immediately’,” laughed Elrond.  “He even noted which books were her favorites.”

Glorfindel returned to the river to receive the next basket load, and then came up the path carrying what appeared to be heavy sacks. “Calendil says there are more of these coming, whatever they are,” he said as he set the sacks down.

Elrond felt like a child on his begetting day.  He checked Elrohir to ensure he was still sleeping, and then joined the others in digging through the items.

Elladan had opened one sack.  “Feathers?” he said dubiously.

But Glorfindel laughed and held up a sheet of parchment.  “Instructions for stuffing a feather mattress!” He snorted then.  “Do they think we do not know how?”

“Have you ever made one?” asked Elladan with a smile.

“No,” admitted Glorfindel, “but I think I am about to learn.”

Arwen watched happily as Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrond wrestled the feathers, mattress cover and ticking into a suitable bed. Elladan flopped down on it and sighed.  “Perfect!” he declared. “It feels like home.” He jumped up and picked up the mattress, laying it down next to Elrohir. As he gazed upon his twin, his eyes filled with tears. He pulled back the light blanket covering his brother. Fading bruises still covered his torso and back; linen wrappings still bound healing ribs. Scratches and wounds were healing over, but still evident on his arms and hands.  The splint now encased his leg from toes to thigh.

“Oh, Elrohir, I hate to see you in pain,” he murmured.

Glorfindel covered the mattress with a sheet, and laid Elrohir’s pillow from home on top. The three of them carefully lifted the injured elf and laid him gently on the mattress. Elrond put additional pillows beneath the damaged leg, and then covered him with a soft sheet and light blanket.

Additional supplies and personal items had arrived for each of them, each carefully chosen. Bedding and clothing, food and cooking items, and a few favorite personal effects were included for each of them.

“Erestor is amazing,” said Elladan finally. “How did he know what we would need or want or simply like to have?  He sent my favorite clothing for wearing on patrol, the book I was planning to read next, and my harp and whittling knife.”

“There is little that escapes Erestor’s notice,” said Elrond fondly.

A slight sound from Elrohir caught his attention, and Elrond moved quickly to his side.  Elrohir was restless, and Elrond caught Elrohir’s hand in his own, and felt Elrohir calm instantly.  Eyes focused reluctantly, and Elrond could see the pain in their depths. A few moments passed before memory came to Elrohir, and his eyes reflected his grief.

“Adar, I am sorry. I just wanted a drink of water and I did not want to wake you,” Elrohir admitted dully.

Elrond smiled and stroked his son’s hair.  “It pains me to see you struggle so, Elrohir. I know you want to do for yourself and it must frustrate you terribly that you cannot. Will you promise, Elrohir, that you will let us take care of you?”

Tears spilled from Elrohir’s eyes and he brushed them away angrily. Elrond caught his hand, and held it gently. “Let go of the anger, Elrohir.  Why are you angry with yourself? Do you think you are weak? Do you think we think you are weak?  Because you are not.  You are injured, drugged and in pain.  You may cry if you want and we will not think less of you.”

“I am a warrior, Adar, I should be able to withstand pain and discomfort,” replied Elrohir.

“You have withstood pain and discomfort. Now you need to withstand letting go of your pride and allowing us to care for you.  Sometimes that is the more difficult thing to do.  I want your promise, Elrohir.  I cannot stand to see you suffer like this.”

“I promise,” answered Elrohir contritely. He paused, and then said, “Adar, I am still thirsty.”

Elrond laughed and first gave his son a small vial of steeped herbs to drink.  “For the pain and to help prevent infection,” he explained.  “There are some surprises in camp – you are lying on one of them.  When you awake, there will be another.  Now sleep, and I will be here by your side.”

Elrohir smiled as he snuggled into the downy bed, and soon drifted off into sleep.

* * *

“It should be two braids, and then make them into one braid here,” said Arwen, pointing at the back of her doll’s head.

Glorfindel deftly twisted and wove the strands, combining the two to make one large braid, as directed.  He tied it off with a pink ribbon.  Arwen smiled in satisfaction and hugged the doll to her chest. Glorfindel had even dressed the doll in her nightgown, managing all the tiny buttons without skipping any of them.

“Would you like your hair to match?” asked Glorfindel.

“Yes, please!” cried Arwen in delight.

“First you need your matching nightgown, then,” said Glorfindel thoughtfully.  He dug through her satchel of clothing, pulling out the gown he had seen that was a perfect match to her doll’s.  He pulled the tunic up over her head and helped her change into fresh underthings, then pulled the nightgown on and fastened its row of tiny buttons up the back.

Next he turned his attention to brushing and plaiting her hair, the blue-black strands shining in the fading sunlight.  He created the same design with Arwen’s braids as he had with the doll’s, and then held up a small mirror so she could see the effect.

“We look like twins now, just like Elladan and Elrohir,” she informed him.  She turned and kissed him on the cheek.  “Thank you, Glorfindel.”

“You are welcome, Arwen,” replied Glorfindel, as Arwen leaned back against him and began singing to her doll. 

Glorfindel’s eyes met Elrond’s as they heard an Imladris call and both smiled, knowing that Celeborn and Galadriel were now very close.  Elrond, who had sat at Elrohir’s side all afternoon, answered and then left his injured son to his twin’s care and walked up the hill.

Several minutes later, Elrond returned. Glorfindel could not help but smile as Galadriel and Celeborn followed him into camp. He waited for Arwen to notice them, but then realized her eyes were half closed and the singing was barely a hum.

“Arwen, open your eyes,” he whispered.

Arwen opened her eyes, blinked, and then sat up straight.  Her eyes widened in surprise and recognition, and then she held out her arms and cried, “Daernaneth! Daerada!” as she attempted to rise. Glorfindel stood and walked swiftly forward, depositing Arwen in Galadriel’s arms.

* * *

Arwen’s cry had roused Elrohir from his drugged sleep, but only enough to ask Elladan what was wrong.

“We have visitors,” said Elladan.

“Oh,” yawned Elrohir tiredly.

“Is this how your greet your daeradar?”

Elrohir’s eyes flew open to see Celeborn standing above him.  His grandfather knelt down and kissed him on both cheeks.

“What is this I hear about my grandson being brave and courageous and jumping off a crumbling bridge to save his sister?” asked Celeborn.  He patted the bedding his speechless grandson was lying on. “At least they have made you a bed fit for a prince. You deserve no less.”

“Daeradar!” Elrohir finally sputtered. “How did you find us? Why are you here?”

Celeborn smiled. “Your daernaneth knew you were in danger and needed us.  So we came.”

Elladan helped Elrohir sit up so Celeborn could sit behind him, and  Elrohir leaned back against his grandfather’s comforting presence.  He could now see most of the camp, and was amazed to find it full of elves.  His grandmother was carrying Arwen, rubbing her back and rocking her, even as she moved gracefully about the camp. Elrohir nearly laughed aloud to hear his grandmother giving orders, directing guards and others who had accompanied them to set up tents and reorganize the layout.

Suddenly Galadriel stood before him, and Elrohir felt her piercing thought directed at him. He cowered slightly, but was held lovingly in his grandfather’s arms, and he allowed his grandmother to see into his heart.  She suddenly smiled at him, and it was as if the sun shone through storm clouds. Arwen still in her arms, she sat down gracefully beside him. She ghosted her hand up the length of his damaged leg, and then laid her hand on his chest as she studied him intently.

“I hold you to the same promise you made your father,” she finally said.  An unspoken communication seemed to pass between Galadriel and Celeborn, and Elrohir felt his grandfather’s hold on him tighten slightly.  “You were very brave, Elrohir, and we are proud of you. Now you must do all you can to heal, as we wish for you to be whole and healthy again.”

Night descended on the camp as soft music was made and sweet wine was enjoyed. Arwen fell asleep in her grandmother’s arms, and there she spent the night, with Galadriel holding all unpleasant dreams at bay. Elrohir saw Galadriel order Glorfindel, his father and twin to bed, and they obeyed after wishing him a good night.  Elrohir drifted into dreams while listening to the soft tenor of his grandfather singing by his side.

* * * * *

Daeradar…………grandfather

Daernaneth………grandmother

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 12 Reunions

Elrond’s eyes focused in bewilderment on the canvas above his head as one hand swung in the air off the side of his bed, grasping for the ground and finding nothing.  He shook his head, hoping to shake the cobwebs free. He distinctly remembered going to sleep on the ground beneath the stars.

“Confused?”

Elrond sat up, glancing around the semi-enclosed tent, and despite his confusion could not help but admire the design which could allow in light and air when desired. His eyes finally settled on Glorfindel who sat on a cot next to his own.

“Yes. You?” he finally answered.

“Definitely.  Do you think if we closed our eyes and slept a while longer, we might wake up in Imladris?”

Elrond cast a cautious glance around the tent before answering.  “I doubt nothing with Galadriel,” he admitted. “I did not hear Elrohir or Arwen during the night.”

“Nor did I,” confirmed Glorfindel. “I am sure Celeborn and Galadriel kept them comfortable through the long watch.”

“For that I am grateful, but I think I must confirm it with my own eyes,” answered Elrond as he rose.  He dressed quickly, then stepped around the still sleeping Elladan and left the tent.

The sun shone brightly in the crisp morning air, and the smell of breakfast drifted towards him.  Elves were gathered near the cooking fire, speaking quietly and laughing as they ate. Elrond could scarcely believe the change in the camp that had happened during the night.  Suddenly it appeared as if a small village had grown up around them.

“Ada!”

Elrond turned to see Arwen sitting in her grandmother’s lap, her hair being brushed and braided. Galadriel set her on her feet with an indulgent smile and laughed as Arwen rushed to her father.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greeted her as she flung herself into his arms. “You look as if you slept well.”

“I did, Ada, I did!” she said happily.  “I am glad Daernaneth and Daeradar are here.”

“I am glad too,” he agreed. “How is Elrohir this morning?”

Arwen’s face grew serious.  “Daeradar said he is a little better. I am sorry he broke his leg again, Adar.  I want to tell him so, but Daernaneth said he is finally sleeping well so I should not disturb him.”

“I know he will be glad to talk to you when he wakes.” Elrond hugged his daughter and watched as she returned to Galadriel’s arms. She was walking less stiffly and the good night’s rest had clearly done wonders for her mood. 

Elrond made his way to where Elrohir was sleeping, apart from everyone else.  A tent had also been erected above him, and beneath his mattress was a low platform. Elrond was pleased that the elves who had set up the camp had adjusted their plans to account for the bed which had clearly made Elrohir more comfortable.

“He had periods of restlessness when he was clearly in pain.  It was difficult to chase the pain away for long, and I finally dosed him with the herbs you had set aside for him,” reported Celeborn without preamble. Long fingers stroked the dark hair. “This is the most comfortable he has been.”

Elrond knelt next to his son’s bed, studying the face before him.  He slid his hands beneath the warmth of the blankets, and checked the toes and the little bit of exposed skin that were not encased in the bandages and splints.  The toes were pink and warm, and Elrond sighed in relief.

“I had feared the new damage was more serious.  I will unwrap the leg later and examine it more closely, but what I see looks good.” He turned to meet his father-in-law’s eyes.  “Thank you.”

Celeborn looked at him with eyes that showered warmth and love. “You appeared pushed beyond endurance when we arrived last night. I know you could have continued, had you needed to, but I am glad we could help relieve your burden.”

“I knew the moment they were conceived that they would hold my heart in their hands, and never has that proven more true.  My children have all struggled and suffered through this, and it has pained me to watch them – and to let them make their own decisions.”

“Yes,” Celeborn agreed, his eyes twinkling. “Our children can vex us, frustrate us and worry us with their decisions.”

Elrond studied his father-in-law for a moment, trying to determine if he had just been insulted. After all, Celebrían had made the decision to marry him. He decided to ignore the implication.  “Your child may wish to physically hurt me next time she sees me,” he admitted ruefully.

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed slightly.  “Just where is my daughter?  Elrohir was not coherent enough to tell me.”

“I expect she is about a two day ride behind you,” answered Elrond. “We left Imladris together when we sensed that some harm had befallen the twins. We located them here and found Arwen with them, and I crossed the river while Erestor led the rest of the party down to the bridge at Tharbad.”

Celeborn’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.  “You crossed the river to be with your children, but Celebrían did not?  By what force did you hold her back?”

Elrond felt heat rising in his cheeks. “I would not risk Celebrían over the flood waters.”

Celeborn glanced down to the water’s edge and then back at Elrond.  “You are far less graceful than Celebrían and you made it across.”

“Elrohir’s leg was badly broken and he needed the aid I could provide.  The situation warranted me risking my own life, but I would not allow her to risk her own,” replied Elrond, an edge to his voice.

Celeborn appraised him silently for a moment, and then answered, “You are correct in one thing for certain, Elrond.  Celebrían will be very angry with you when she arrives.”

Elrond forced his face impassive and leaned forward to touch Elrohir’s face.  Content his son would remain sleeping for at least a short while longer, he rose and nodded to Celeborn.  “Thank you for keeping watch over him,” he said, allowing his gratitude to come through in his words.  Then he turned and walked away.

The smell of breakfast no longer seemed appetizing, so he walked in the opposite direction to where the spring bubbled merrily.  Kneeling beside it, he splashed the cold water on to his face and drank from his cupped hands. Then, seeking solitude, he walked up to the ridge where Glorfindel and Elladan had gone the day before.

* * *

Glorfindel watched Elrond walk away in silence.  He had overheard the conversation the half-elf had had with Celeborn, and it was clear to him that Elrond needed time alone.  At times like this, Glorfindel was reminded of why he had never aspired to hold power.  Such positions relegated one to being alone and to having every action judged. Consensus was often difficult and complete agreement was entirely impossible.

“He is on edge,” stated Celeborn as Glorfindel walked past him.

“Aye, he is,” agreed Glorfindel.

Glorfindel refreshed himself at the spring and filled his water skin before returning to where Elrohir lay.  He knelt beside the young elf and stroked the dark hair. Elrohir’s eyes were closed again, and Glorfindel sighed softly as he thought of how well he had been doing.

“What happened to him?” asked Celeborn.

Glorfindel paused for a moment as the vision of Elrohir fighting the river for his life and for that of his sister flashed in his mind.  He was about to speak when Elrohir’s eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning, Elrohir,” he greeted their patient instead.

Dull eyes met his, and Glorfindel felt his heart sink.

“Hello, Glorfindel,” answered Elrohir as he lowered his eyes.

“How do you feel this morning, elfling?” Glorfindel gently tipped the chin up so that Elrohir again met his gaze.

“As if I behaved like an elfling yesterday,” replied Elrohir hoarsely, and the depth of pain in those grey eyes nearly broke Glorfindel’s heart. “I need to apologize to Elladan, and especially to Adar.”

Glorfindel could feel the remorse radiating from the injured elf, and he cupped Elrohir’s cheek for a moment, hoping his touch conveyed some comfort.  Absolution seemed the best remedy, however.  “I will go find them for you.”

As he rose, he saw that Celeborn wordlessly took Elrohir’s hand in his own.  An offer of water was met with a shake of the head, confirming to Glorfindel that Elrohir needed forgiveness before anything else.

He returned to the tent where Elladan still slept and shook the elf gently.  “Elladan, Elrohir wants to speak with you.”

Elladan leapt to his feet, his eyes focusing immediately.  “He is worse?”

“He does not appear to feel well, but what he needs most is to tell you he is sorry,” replied Glorfindel, speaking to Elladan’s back as the elf rushed to his twin’s side.

Glorfindel followed at a distance, watching as Celeborn moved back slightly to allow the twins a moment alone together.  Elladan sat carefully on the edge of his twin’s bed and held both of his brother’s hands as Elrohir said what he needed to say.  Elladan’s answer was short, but the response seemed clear when he gathered his brother in his arms, as gently as one would a newborn lamb, and held him close.

Satisfied, Glorfindel went in search of Elrond.

* * *

Elrond had made himself comfortable in the crook of a tree at the edge of the clearing.  The branches were high enough to afford him an unobstructed view of the rivers, and as Glorfindel had promised the day before, the scene was spectacular.  The water still rushed, unimpeded by any obstacle in its way, forcing its way to the sea.  Elrond could easily picture the remains of the wagon, with his daughter inside, being tossed and flung upon the shore or breaking apart and being swept into the turbulent waters of the bay.  He could imagine the unidentifiable remains of his son, tangled in the river debris, decomposing in an eddy, or never found at all, as often happened. Without thinking, he felt for his bond with Celebrían. He could feel her weariness as she rushed towards them with all haste; he could also feel the seething anger that hovered just below the surface of her thought. Looking again at the river, he wanted to cry out to her that he could not bear to picture her lost in its raging depths. He could not bear to picture her harmed in any way.  Did she not know that she and their children were the focus of his life? That to lose her would crush his soul?

Elrond heard a soft keening cry and realized the sound came from him. Ruthlessly silencing it, he clenched his fists and let his muscles feel his anguish instead.

“Elrond?”

At the sound of Glorfindel’s voice, Elrond let go of his feelings and jumped down lightly from the tree. “Elrohir?” he asked.

“He has asked for you,” answered Glorfindel. A sad smile crossed his face as he turned to walk with Elrond back to camp. “He is in need of your forgiveness.”

Elrond stopped in his tracks as he considered those words, then smiled as well.  His softhearted, eager-to-please child had always hated having others angry or upset with him.  Well, with the exception of Erestor, and it had taken Elladan some time to convince Elrohir that Erestor being unhappy with them was all a façade and that the advisor greatly enjoyed their encounters. Convincing Elrohir to play his role in the game had not been easy, but in time he had grown to accept it. Never as much as Elladan did, though, Elrond reminded himself.  “Twins they may be, but they are so different,” he muttered under his breath.

Glorfindel dropped back as they entered the campsite, and Elrond moved to the small tent where his sons waited for him.  He stopped and watched them for a moment, a smile creeping across his face as he realized that although Elladan still held his twin, both were now laughing. Big grey eyes, full of repentance, looked up to meet his. Elrond sank down on the other side of the bed.

“Adar, please forgive me,” began Elrohir. “I was stubborn and prideful yesterday. I hurt everyone and made you have to work to take care of me again.”

Elrond let Elrohir finish, but for his sake. He slid carefully next to Elrohir and wrapped his arms around his son.  “Forgiven,” he whispered without hesitation or condition, and felt all the tension leave Elrohir.

Elladan had left them briefly, and when he returned he had Arwen in hand. “If there is to be hugging and kissing, Arwen wants her share,” he announced as Arwen joined them on the bed, giving hugs and kisses to Elrohir and her father.

“I am glad we are all here, because we have to make some arrangement about Glorfindel,” said Elrond seriously.

“Whatever do you mean, Adar?” asked Elladan curiously. At a nod from Elrond, Elladan looked at Arwen and seemed to understand.  “You think Elrohir and I have been spending too much time with Glorfindel.”

“What do you think, Arwen?” asked Elrond. Arwen looked at her father uncomprehendingly.  “Do you think your brothers spend too much time with Glorfindel?”

“Sometimes they do,” answered Arwen quietly.

“Does that make you jealous?” asked Elrond gently.  Arwen nodded, her eyes now lowered. “What kind of solution would you suggest?”

Arwen shifted uncomfortably, and then suddenly her eyes opened wide and she looked at Elladan. “I was not nice to you and Glorfindel yesterday,” she said as memory flooded her.

“Arwen, Elrohir and I want to be warriors and defend and protect Imladris, and that means we have to be away some of the time on patrol,” explained Elladan.

“Glorfindel is one of the best warriors I have,” continued Elrond. “He has protected me in war and there is no one I would trust more to teach your brothers and protect them as they learn.”

“Glorfindel teaches and protects them?” asked Arwen, tears now filling her eyes.

“Yes, but he is also their friend. Just like he is your friend,” added Elrond. He smoothed her hair back and lifted a braid.  “Did you like how he made you and your doll look alike yesterday?” Arwen nodded.  “Glorfindel is a part of our family and he loves you just like he loves your brothers. It hurts him when you ignore him or push him away.”

“I once heard that jealousy is a like a little monster inside,” said Elladan.

“Whenever you feel that way about Glorfindel, maybe you can see if it is the little monster inside who is making you feel that way.  If it is, you can tell the monster to go away and leave you alone.  If it won’t go, you can come and tell one of us, and we will help you to be rid of it,” suggested Elrond.

“I don’t like having a little monster inside of me,” said Arwen softly.

“No, none of us does.  That is why if you tell him to go away every time he rears his ugly little head, he will eventually go and not return. Do you think you can do that, if we help you?” said Elladan.

“Yes,” answered Arwen resolutely.

“Recognizing the monster is important, because once you know he is present you can act immediately to make sure he doesn’t cause you to speak angry words. But there is one other thing you can do to silence the monster,” offered Elrond.

“What is that?” asked Arwen, ready to do whatever it took to make the monster go away.

“Go to Glorfindel and tell him you are sorry. The monster doesn’t like all of us knowing he is there, and he will be scared of a warrior like Glorfindel, especially since Glorfindel loves you,” explained Elrond.

Arwen climbed off the bed, careful not to jostle Elrohir.  “I will go right now.”  She looked around, finally sighting Glorfindel standing with a group of warriors who had come with her grandparents.  She walked toward them bravely, but slowed as she neared them, hesitant to interrupt.

Elrond watched as a smile crossed Glorfindel’s face as he saw his little princess and broke away from the warriors to join her.  He bent down and listened for a moment, then offered his hand to the child and the two of them walked off together to sit at the big rock by the spring.

“Well, Adar, you have dealt with Elrohir’s pride and Arwen’s jealousy.  What do you have for me?” asked Elladan, gently grabbing his twin’s hand as Elrohir made an attempt to cuff him.

Elrond smiled at his sons’ antics. “We are all being tested in different ways on this trip, Elladan, and your test is more like mine, perhaps, than Elrohir’s and Arwen’s. They have been tested by pain and dependence. You have been tested as one from whom much has been expected, without reward or favor for what you have done.   Your test is not over, I think.”

Elrohir grinned saucily, a slight spark back in his eyes. “Does this mean mine is?”

“No, my son,” answered Elrond, unable to stop a tear from forming in his eye, “although I hope the worst you have to experience is over.” He disentangled himself from his son and moved to the end of the bed.  “I do want to see your leg, though.  May I examine it now?”

Elrohir grimaced at the idea of anyone touching his sore limb, but nodded his agreement.  Elrond folded the blanket up and out of his way, and then began carefully unwrapping the linen binding the splint in place.  He felt Elrohir flinch, and when he looked up he saw that his son had his twin by the hand, squeezing hard.  To his surprise, Elladan also had a look of surprised pain on his face. Drawing forth all his healing power, he allowed it to pour forth into his son.  Elrohir gradually relaxed under his father’s touch, his eyes half closing and unfocusing. Elrond unwrapped the bandages and felt his own weariness rise as he studied the swollen limb. Toes had not been an adequate representation.

“Adar,” began Elladan as he looked at the limb.  He bit his words off.

Elrond looked up as he heard others approaching. Celeborn knelt gracefully at Elrohir’s head, and placed both hands upon it, while Galadriel positioned herself next to Elrond.  Their power strengthened Elrond’s and comforted Elrohir, and together they tended the sorely wounded elf.

* * *

Elrohir awoke in the late afternoon. He felt relaxed but just moving slightly reminded him of his injuries.  He felt a presence at his side and turned his head to see his grandfather again at his side.  Smiling, he realized that at different times his father or Elladan had been there, as well as Glorfindel, and once, his grandmother.  Helpless he might be, but he was well tended.

“Our cook has made you some broth,” said Celeborn as he wiped a cool cloth over Elrohir’s face and neck.  “I will ask to have some brought to you, and then I wish to hear the tale of what has happened.”

“I would be food for fish living far out at sea were it not for aid from those on shore and some good fortune,” admitted Elrohir with a slight smile.  “Honestly, Daeradar, it was horrible, with debris and rocks and currents tossing me every which way, and crushing me with their force.  I knew I had to reach Arwen, and I had to hope she was in the wagon.  When I finally reached the wagon, I fought to steer it towards the shore where I could see Elladan, Glorfindel and Garthon.  The current did more to aid me than my own effort.  They caught the wagon, pulled me from the water and of the next days I remember little, until Adar came.”

Celeborn studied him thoughtfully for a few moments, then resumed tending him.  An elf appeared bearing a cup of broth and some soft bread, and Celeborn helped him rise to a reclining position so he could feed himself.

“Elrohir’s awake!” cried Arwen from across the camp. 

He couldn’t help but smile to see her, dressed again in her own clothing, clean, and her favorite doll in hand. She joined him, their grandmother bringing her dinner and setting it before her. 

“The elfling has awakened from his nap!” proclaimed Glorfindel has he sat down near Arwen. Elladan joined them on Arwen’s other side.

“Where is Adar?” asked Elrohir. He was startled by the strange looks he received.

“He was resting,” said Glorfindel quietly.  “He will join us soon, I am sure.”

Elrohir studied the faces around him.  Only Arwen appeared innocent of any concern about Elrond.  Setting down the still half full cup of broth, he found his appetite had fled. His memory of the time prior to his father’s arrival in the camp was sketchy, but he sensed that something had happened during that time and that he was somehow the cause of some disharmony.

Elladan moved to sit next to him on the edge of the bed.  “Are you not hungry, Elrohir?” he asked, concern on his face.

“I have had enough,” answered Elrohir, forcing a small smile for his twin.

Everyone was nearly finished eating when Elrond joined them.  He declined to have any of the dinner offered him by Glorfindel, and Elrohir knew by the pursed lips that Glorfindel was unhappy about that.  As Elrohir studied his father, he became aware of the weariness in his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them. Guilt flowed through him, even as he was reminded that his father had forgiven him earlier that day. Still, Elrohir recalled little after his father examined his leg, and he knew that his father had expended much energy caring for him.

“Good evening, Adar,” Elladan greeted him warmly

Elrond returned the greeting with a smile that did not reach his eyes.  He moved to sit near Elrohir as well. “You have eaten little today.”

“I am not hungry, Adar,” replied Elrohir truthfully. He lowered his voice, although he knew the others could hear him. “I am sorry again, Adar. I did not mean to cause you more grief this morning.”

Elrond looked at him in surprise.  “You have not caused me grief, Elrohir.  What makes you think that?”

“You look exhausted, Adar,” replied Elrohir softly.

“I am tired, but that is not your fault, Elrohir. Do not worry about me,” he instructed, his voice suddenly reassuring and warm.

As nightfall descended, soft music filled the camp, but it brought Elrohir little peace.  He was grateful when his father dosed him with herbs to lessen his pain and help him sleep, then left Elladan at his side. A warm drowsiness was filling him when he reached for Elladan’s hand. “Why do you brood, brother?” he asked sleepily.

“No reason, Elrohir.  Naneth should be here tomorrow,” he said encouragingly

Elrohir drifted into sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Elladan sat at Elrohir’s side as night descended.  His father had wandered off into the darkness under the watchful eye of the guards, and Glorfindel sat by the fire.  Arwen was sleeping in Galadriel’s arms, but he could hear his grandparents speaking softly.

“The matter is between Elrond and Celebrían,” said Galadriel firmly.  “Taking a side is not going to help either of them.”

“So you refuse to support your daughter in this?” asked Celeborn, incredulity in his voice.

“I intend to let the two of them work this out,” answered Galadriel.

Elladan could not make out what Celeborn said next, but he heard his grandmother’s hiss clearly. “You forget that as husband and father you have made such decisions before because you felt it best.  Now you criticize Elrond because you see another viewpoint?”

“I did not criticize him,” answered Celeborn, “though he took it as such. I do, however, see justification for Celebrían’s anger.”

“I see it also!” answered Galadriel.  “But this is not about us and our daughter, but about our daughter and her husband. Just as I saw your viewpoint centuries ago, I see Elrond’s now.  You would do well to remember that.”

Celeborn snorted. “You did what you wanted then, as always.”

To Elladan’s surprise, Galadriel’s tone softened. “To go was my decision, but your arguments did win me over, regardless of the fact that I did not like them then or now.”

“You are impossible, wife,” Celeborn’s softened tone followed a kiss to his wife’s hand.

“A good match for an impossible husband,” agreed Galadriel.

Silence followed as the two relaxed against each other, holding their granddaughter close, and Elladan found himself embarrassed and intrigued by what he had overhead.  He should not have listened, yet could hardly help overhearing, but more urgently, he wanted to know of what they spoke.

He heard a slight moan from his twin as Elrohir attempted to shift his weight and could not, and Elladan tried to imagine what it would be like to lie in one position day after day.  He shifted the pillows slightly under Elrohir’s leg, and helped him roll gently to his least injured side.  Elrohir did not wake, but he seemed more content, and Elladan carefully lay down next to him so they were just barely touching.  As Elrohir leaned into him, he knew his touch and presence were welcome, and he allowed himself to follow the path of waking dreams, resting yet not sleeping, in case Elrohir needed him.

* * *

The guards on watch first noted the approach of the party from Imladris at mid-morning. Elladan reported the news to Arwen, who nearly squealed with delight, and to his father, whose pale face seemed resigned, despite the smile he put on for his son’s sake.  Elladan had pondered the words spoken by his grandparents the previous night, and determined that his father not permitting his mother to follow him across the river had led to a rift between them.  It was a rift Glorfindel, Celeborn and Galadriel seemed well aware of, and for some reason Elladan thought Elrohir was conscious of it as well.  His brother had not eaten again that morning, despite coaxing by Galadriel, and neither had their father.  Elrond claimed he just wasn’t hungry, whereas Elrohir had looked nauseated.

The camp cooks had just finished making dinner when the party arrived.  Elladan saw his mother run down the hill, dressed in trousers and tunic.

“Arwen!” she cried as Arwen ran to her.  “Oh, Arwen, I missed you!”

Arwen was hugging Celebrían joyfully, her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck and her face buried in familiar silver hair.  Celebrían greeted her parents, but her eyes were seeking her sons.  Elladan felt his heart sink as his mother walked past his father without a word, and came instead to where he sat with Elrohir.

“Hello, Naneth,” he greeted her, rising to put his arms around her and Arwen and hold them both close.  She kissed his cheeks and forehead, her eyes and hands both checking him over for any signs of harm. “I am well, Naneth, really,” he laughed.

“Oh, Elladan, you scared me nearly to my grave,” she admitted, tears in her eyes. Then she turned to Elrohir, and Elladan caught his mother’s arm and took Arwen from her as she staggered at the sight of him.

“Elrohir,” she said softly, dropping down to sit near him.  Tears streamed down her face as she smoothed his hair and wiped the tears from his eyes.  “Oh, Elrohir, what happened to you?” She kissed the hand that was still missing several fingernails, sheered off when  splinters had jammed beneath them in his attempt to grab the wagon, and then pulled back the blanket covering him.

Elladan thought of the shock that his father and grandparents had hidden fairly well when they had first seen him, but his mother made little attempt to hide her reaction. 

“I am healing well, Naneth,” said Elrohir encouragingly, but Elladan knew that his mother could see the darkened circles beneath his twin’s eyes and the dull pain within them. 

“I am sorry I was not here,” choked Celebrían as she carefully touched his bruises and wounds.

“I missed you, Naneth,” admitted Elrohir.

Celebrían bristled at that, and raised her eyes to search the camp, finally settling on Elrond. Elladan was shocked at the fury in her eyes. Never before had he seen his parents do more than politely disagree about something trivial. Where Celebrían’s eyes blazed in fury, Elrond’s were steadfastly resolute.

“I must speak to your father, then I will return,” she said reassuringly to Elrohir as she rose.

Elladan watched, almost as if he watched a play on the stage, as his mother walked to his father. She stopped in front of him, but when Elrond raised his hand to touch her, she knocked it away.  Suddenly everyone in the camp seemed to make themselves scarce, and Elladan could feel the confusion in both Arwen and Elrohir.

“For days I have traveled, desperate to be with my children.  They needed me, Elrond! How dare you tell the guards and Erestor not to let me follow!  How dare you decide for me what is best where it concerns my role as their mother?”

Although Celebrían’s words were low, all three of her children heard them clearly and recoiled at the tension and hurt in her voice.

“Celebrían, please let us have this conversation later, away from here and when you are calmer,” said Elrond in a low voice.

“Do not patronize me, Elrond,” hissed Celebrían angrily. “I am not one of your advisors or warriors to be ordered about at your whim. I will speak to you when I wish.”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and a flash of anger glinted in them. “I will not argue with you over the decision I made, for I would make it again in a heartbeat should a similar situation ever arise. I crossed that river to save our son’s life, for my life was worth risking for his.  You could not help him as I could, and one of us needed to remain whole and well for our other children.  You may be angry with me over that choice, but frankly I do not care. One of us needed to keep the broader perspective, and you were not able to do so.”

An inarticulate cry escaped Celebrían, and she stepped toward Elrond in fury, one hand raised.  What she intended to do Elladan never learned, for Elrond caught her hand firmly in his own and forced it down to her side.  Celebrían’s eyes opened wide at his touch, and then he released her, turning abruptly on his heel and walking away.

Celebrían stood frozen in place for a moment, then turned to them.  Her face crumbled in despair at the sight of her children, for she had apparently forgotten they were witnesses to the fight.

Elladan knew his own face likely reflected his shock, and Arwen was expressing hers.  Sobbing silently, she clung to him.  On the bed next to them, Elrohir’s eyes were closed and his breathing ragged as he also cried silently. Elladan cuddled Arwen close and gently stroked his brother’s hair, then looked up at his father’s retreating back. Unable to meet his mother’s gaze, he bowed his head.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 13: Reconciliation

Celebrían sank to her knees, her head bowed, as grief and guilt threatened to overwhelm her.  The shocked looks on her children’s faces were the second blow; the first had been the punch of emotion that had nearly knocked her over when Elrond had grabbed her hand. 

Never before had she experienced his anger; never before had he been angry with her. In that moment when their skin touched, she felt as if a fire had swept through and consumed her. She felt his exhaustion, and she saw Arwen’s fear, Elrohir’s pain and Elladan’s frustration through her husband’s eyes. Worse, she felt the effect her anger had had on him – his despair when he had reached out to her over the last few days and met only resistance when he desperately needed her support.

She drew in a deep breath and then lifted her head, consciously letting go of her anger.  The camp was silent except for the sobbing of her children.  Her parents had made no move to go to them, nor had Glorfindel, whom she could see standing with Erestor off to the side. Suddenly she was glad – she had wanted to be the one to comfort them and thus far had only hurt them worse. How much she had hurt them became obvious when she began to walk toward them.

Elladan stood, his arms protectively around Arwen and his body between hers and Elrohir’s.  She would have found his stance endearing had it not been her that he was guarding them against.  Her eldest was loyal and steadfast and fiercely protective of his siblings, for which she had always been thankful. Now, though, his eyes reflected his confusion and turmoil.

She held out her hands in supplication. “Elladan,” she began softly, all traces of anger gone, “I am sorry. In my anger, I have hurt all of you.” He relaxed slightly at her words and did not pull away when she began to stroke Arwen’s back. She carefully took Arwen from his arms and stepped aside to speak to her daughter, who clung to her silently.

“Arwen, I am sorry that I fought with your adar. I am sorry you saw me behaving so badly. I need to speak with Elrohir, and then I need to find your Adar and tell him I love him and ask him to forgive me.  Will you sit with your daernaneth while I do those things?”

Arwen looked up at her finally, her eyes wide and still full of tears, but she nodded her agreement.  Celebrían carried her to her mother, who took the child without comment and cuddled her in her arms.

Elladan still stood where she had left him, and she could see that he wished to speak. Bracing herself emotionally, she took his hand and said, “Say what you are thinking, Elladan.”

Elladan dropped his gaze and took in a deep breath.  “I love you, Naneth, but I would have cut the rope if you had taken one step to follow Adar.” Celebrían remained silent, but massaged the back of his hand, encouraging him to continue. “I had just seen Elrohir nearly die, and Arwen hurt, and then Adar fell when the wind blew him, and . . .” Elladan’s voice broke. Celebrían tightened her hold on him, her hand reaching up to stroke his hair.

“I was selfish,” she said as she pulled him close.  “I wanted to be with you so badly, I did not stop to think how it would hurt you if I put myself in danger. I feared for Elrohir and I wanted to comfort him, and I did not think beyond that. I am sorry, Elladan.”

Elladan’s ragged breaths as he struggled for control caused Celebrían to feel more remorse than she thought possible.  “I am thankful for you, Elladan,” she said as he calmed himself.  “You have been a source of strength for your brother and sister and for your Adar as well. I am glad you were here.”

She drew back from him and kissed him on both cheeks. Tears ran freely down his face, but his eyes showed relief. “I am worried about Elrohir, Naneth,” he admitted.  “He will not eat and he looks even worse today than yesterday.”

Celebrían squeezed Elladan’s hand one last time, and then turned to look down upon her other son.  She had seen the pain in his eyes and the dark shadows beneath them.  Now those eyes were shut and he lay silent and tense. She knelt beside him and gently lifted his hand, and a sudden fear filled her as she felt his ebbing fëa.

“Elrohir?” she asked, and she could hear the fear in her own voice. He did not acknowledge her.  Panic welled up within her and she looked in the direction Elrond had gone. She felt for her bond with her husband and was met by a cold stone wall. Please come back, Elrond!  Elrohir needs help. Please, Elrond . . .. She stroked Elrohir’s arm, murmuring words of love to him, but he had withdrawn into himself and her touch seemed to have no effect upon him.  Tears coursed down her cheeks as fear assailed her.

She heard movement around her, and looked up to see Elrond standing over her.  She reached for his hand, tugging him down to her side, and laid his hand upon Elrohir’s.  Celebrían could see Elrond’s exhaustion, yet he poured himself into Elrohir. Covering his hands with her own, she directed all of her love to them both.

“He thinks he is the cause of our fight,” said Elrond finally, grief in his voice. He bent down close to his son. “Elrohir, you are not to blame for the rift between your mother and me.  We alone share that blame; none of it is yours. Please, my son, you bear enough of a burden without this.  Release it to us.”

Celebrían heard the emphasis on the word ‘us,’ and the impact sunk to the core of her being. She was not a single being; her fëa did not exist alone, but was bound to Elrond’s.  They were one, and by pulling apart they had hurt themselves and their children, who were bound to them together. Elrohir’s grief in believing he was the cause of their sundering was causing him to fade. The realization dawned on her that to reach him, they would need to first reconcile with each other.

Celebrían lifted one hand to Elrond’s face, cupping his cheek gently and turning his face toward hers. “I love you, Elrond, more than life itself.  Please forgive me.”

To her surprise, the dam of control that usually held her husband’s emotions at bay broke. Tears streamed down his face. “I am sorry too, Celebrían. I only wanted you safe.  I could not bear to lose you.”

As Celebrían heard Elrond’s voice break and the depth of his anguish expressed, she felt the full force of his spirit, something she treasured for he so seldom allowed himself to be fully open, even with her. This time, it was she who wrapped her own spirit around his, engulfing and protecting it, until their fëar were again one.

Elrond placed her hands on Elrohir’s bruised chest and covered them with his own. Celebrían was reminded of her days of pregnancy with the twins, when they would do this and feel such a strong communion with the fëa of each child.   But now, instead of joy and contentment, she could feel Elrohir drifting and sense how alone he felt and how guilt consumed him.  A fog of confusion surrounded him, and through Elrond’s thoughts she knew that this was from the pain and the medications he had been given. His thinking was not clear, nor his emotions, and Celebrían knew somehow they had to draw him to them, for he was too lost to find them.

The sudden presence of a fourth surprised her, but it was Elladan’s fëa that drew Elrohir back to them. Celebrían could see the beauty and strength of their fëar together, and she watched as Elladan took away some of Elrohir’s pain and confusion, bearing it himself and relieving his twin of some of his burden.  In that lightened state, Elrohir could now sense the fëar of his parents and draw near to them.  Elrond’s disbelief and wonder at this relationship between his sons flowed through to her, and Celebrían reached physically for Elladan’s hand. 

After Elrohir’s feä again grew strong, Elrond pulled away and Celebrían could feel that he was utterly spent. She opened her eyes to meet his, and saw a depth of weariness that frightened her, and a depth of love that consumed her.

Elrohir seemed to rest comfortably, and Elrond motioned for Elladan to lie down next to him. “How long have you been able to do that?” he asked Elladan.

“Only recently, and it was not of my doing, Adar,” admitted Elladan. “I have felt his pain several times, and when I have borne it, it has diminished what he has had to bear alone.”

Elrond embraced Elladan, and then Celebrían and he watched as Elladan drew his brother into his arms and comforted him.  “He will be well now that you two are,” said Elladan confidently.

Celebrían rose to her feet, and reached down to pull Elrond up.  He staggered, and she slipped an arm around his waist, steadying him.  She looked around the camp, unsurprised to see elves emerging from wherever they had hidden themselves when the family battle had started, and saw Glorfindel holding a tent flap open.  She smiled her thanks at him, and led her husband there.  Pushing him gently on to a bed made up on the ground, she undressed him and then lay down next to him, pulling him down to pillow his head against her breasts. Wrapping both arms about him, she held him as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Glorfindel let the tent flap close behind Elrond and Celebrían and then allowed a long breath to escape him. Glad that the family dispute appeared at least mostly resolved, he decided he was hungry, even if the smell of the stew was not tempting anyone else.  He walked to the cooking fire and laughed as the Silvan cook materialized from the trees.

“Thank you,” he said warmly as the elf quickly prepared a bowl for him. The cook smiled in relief.

“I feared this whole pot would be wasted,” replied the elf mournfully.  “Such disagreements are bad for the appetite.”

“Indeed,” replied Glorfindel as he looked at the twins. Elrohir had eaten only a little broth over several days, and as far as Glorfindel knew, Elrond had eaten nothing. He smiled down at the cook.  “I think that come morning there will be a line of hungry elves at your fire.”

“May it be so,” wished the cook, clearly troubled by those who were not eating.  It was not natural and reflected poorly upon his considerable skill.

“I will join you,” said Erestor. The cook smiled as if the sun had just broken through the storm clouds and prepared him a bowl.

Glorfindel looked Erestor up and down appraisingly as the elf sat down beside him.

“What?” asked Erestor, scowling.

“Just confirming for myself that you survived the journey unscathed,” replied Glorfindel.

“Unscathed?” replied Erestor incredulously. He lowered his voice. “I may be scarred forever. Do you have any idea what kind of temper she has been in?”

“Yes, I think I do,” answered Glorfindel sadly. “Elrond has neither eaten nor slept in days, except the night Galadriel put him to sleep. If not for that, I think he would be near collapse. As Elrond suffered, so did Elrohir.”

Erestor’s eyes darted to where the twins were sleeping, and his expression softened.  Glorfindel smiled. “The bed did much to make him comfortable. You are very thoughtful, Erestor.  Each of us was delighted by what you thought to send, but even more so we were thankful you thought of Elrohir’s comfort.”

“If it provided even a little ease, then I am glad,” said Erestor softly. “He looks terrible.”

“I think he would agree that that describes how he feels,” answered Glorfindel sadly.  “Pain and confusion from the medications have clouded his mind, but I think he will be much improved tomorrow.”

“And our little princess?”

“Traumatized and plagued by nightmares, but the presence of her grandmother has eased that tremendously.  It did not help for her to see her parents fight,” added Glorfindel.

They both studied the child, again asleep in her grandmother’s arms. Her face was tearstained, but content in sleep.

“And you, my friend?” asked Erestor, his voice gentle.

Glorfindel smiled. “Glad you are all here.  I would rather fight goblins and cave trolls than watch our children suffer.”

* * *

Elrond awoke still held securely in Celebrían’s arms.  A wave of relief and gratitude swept over him at her presence, and he turned slightly so that he could press a kiss to her cheek.  Her eyes focused on him as she awoke, and a slow smile spread across her face.  Kissing him in return, her fingers combed through his dark hair and then trailed down over his chest and abdomen.

“I missed you,” she said simply.

He pulled her on top of him and smoothed her loose hair back, tucking it behind her delicate ears.  “I love you, Celebrían.”

She claimed his lips again, kissing him hungrily, and Elrond helped divest her of what clothing she had worn to bed. He felt for his bond with their children and found them all sleeping, then carefully pushed them to the side of his thought.  Now was about him and Celebrían, about joining mentally and physically to repair what had been damaged. To his joy, Celebrían took the lead. Conscious of only canvas walls and the small camp, Celebrían made love to him tenderly and quietly, guiding their rhythm to slow release.

“I would like to bathe and then be with our children when they wake,” said Celebrían after they had both recovered their breath.

Elrond felt tears form unbidden, and Celebrían kissed them away.

“Elrohir tried to stand several days ago, without asking for aid, and he fell. His leg broke again, worse even than the first time. I made him promise he would let us care for him, but this dependence has been a terrible blow to his pride. Arwen has had nightmares and waking dreams, terror of falling and being swept away.  Neither has slept well and they have both lashed out at Elladan.  I have warred within, Celebrían, needing you here desperately, and knowing if you had been swept away before my eyes I would have died with you, and surely our children with us.  I am selfish, wanting you here, but only on my terms. . ..”

Elrond was silenced by Celebrían’s fingers at his lips. “I have loved you for many years, Elrond, and never have you been selfish.  I would have risked my life to reach our children, but you are correct that I did not consider what harm to me would have done to them.  I do not blame myself for being angry with you, but I do deeply regret that in my anger I pushed you away when you needed me, forcing you to bear these burdens alone.  I will bear them now with you. I also hold you to a promise you made me many years ago.”

Elrond studied her intently, unable to recall a promise.  “When the twins were injured, when they were Arwen’s age, you poured yourself into them. I tried to replenish you, but you would not let me.  You said in my mother bond I already expended much.  But you promised me if ever you needed to take from me, you would do so.  You need to take from me, Elrond, and you need to let me share a greater portion of this burden now.  I have never seen you so weary - so spent - and it frightens me.”

“I need you, Celebrían,” admitted Elrond, “and Elrohir needs us both. You gave to him with me last night, and I am sure we will need to do so again today.”

Celebrían rose and then held out her hand to him.  Elrond took it gladly and allowed her to wrap robes someone had thoughtfully placed in the tent around them both, then lead them from the tent.  It was just before sunrise and the camp was quiet, but not all were sleeping.  Several guards smiled at them from their posts, and Glorfindel flashed them a grin as he passed by them, returning from the spring.  Soaps and lotions waited for them on top of the rock near the pool, along with several towels, and Erestor winked as he walked away from setting the items out for them.

Elrond rolled his eyes as a light blush rose in his cheeks.  “Were we not quiet?”

Light laughter floated to them and Celebrían could not seem to help herself either, joining in. Unconcerned, she answered, “Apparently not.” She kissed him as she dropped her robe. “They heard us fight, and some heard us make up.  If their mothers did not teach them to cover their ears, there is naught I can do.”  Kissing him again, she pushed his robe off his shoulders and pulled him into the pool of cold water.

They returned to their tent amidst more amused grins and open smiles, but Elrond decided it had less to do with their campmates teasing them over how they made up and more to do with the lighter feeling between them, and in the camp.  The camp cook was smiling happily as elves lined up for breakfast, and he beamed when Elrond appeared before him.

“You are eating, my lord,” he said happily.  “It is the spice, I think, that draws you.” He winked at Elrond then, and Elrond nearly choked with laughter at the kindly cook’s humor.

He carried dishes for himself and Celebrían to where she sat with her parents.  She had not spoken to them the night before, and Elrond could not help but wonder if they would receive a parental scolding now for their public fight.  Not a word was said, however, as Galadriel merely shifted aside so that Celebrían could gather Arwen into her arms. Knowing that Celebrían also wished to be with the twins when they awoke, Elrond was not surprised when his wife gently awoke their daughter.

“Nana!” yawned Arwen happily.  “I thought I was dreaming, but you really are here.”

She had seemingly forgotten her parent’s fight from the night before, and Celebrían shrugged at Elrond.  He smiled his agreement to her unspoken decision; if Arwen wished to speak to them about it, she would.

Arwen basked in the attentions from her mother, as Celebrían helped her dress and fix her hair.  Elrond then removed the splint from her hand, allowing her to move her fingers and show her mother where her hand had been smashed. Elrond examined the small fingers, then, and announced, “I believe they are healed.  You do not need to wear the splint any more.”

Arwen nearly glowed with delight. Erestor and Glorfindel came over to inspect the now healthy hand, and Glorfindel made a great tale telling Celebrían and Erestor of how brave she had been when they had saved her.  The marks on her skin had nearly faded away completely, but Glorfindel still teased her, “Then just when I was sure we had all the plaster out of her, there would be another piece, teasing us.  So we would pluck it out and toss it away.  At times I thought the fragments were hopping back on to her when we were not looking. I had visions of Arwen on her wedding day, still plucking plaster from her skin!”

Arwen had wrapped her arms around Glorfindel and hugged him, all memories of the pain apparently gone to where useless, unpleasant memories were banished.  Elrond watched quietly as his daughter was fussed over and praised for her bravery, and he began to believe that the trauma would fade and not scar her young mind permanently.  The resilience of children amazed him.

“I agree. The twins talk of their falling into the waterfall as a great adventure; their terror and fears were also quickly forgotten.  Another set of twins I know survived even worse, and grew to become wonderful adults.  The resiliency of children is a trait that spans the ages, especially if those children are well loved,” replied Celeborn.

Elrond smiled at his father-in-law, unaware that he had spoken his last words out loud. 

“I am glad you and Celebrían worked things out,” continued Celeborn. “The best part of a fight is, of course, making up afterward. It seems you have discovered that.”

Elrond felt a slow blush begin to creep up his neck again and silently cursed his father-in-law.  Celeborn loved him like a son, yet felt no remorse at making him squirm when he wished.

“Elrond, the twins are waking,” interrupted Celebrían, saving him from having to respond. 

Elladan had indeed awakened, and a smile spread across his face at seeing his parents walking hand in hand.  Elrond could not help but see him as an elfling again as he melted into Celebrían arms when she knelt down and embraced him.

“How did you sleep?” she asked as she combed his hair with her fingers, working out tangles and massaging his head, which still made him purr like a kitten.

“Wonderfully well, Naneth,” he answered, the low purr rumbling deep within him as she worked her magic on his head.  He leaned against her, contented.

Elrond sat down on the other side of Elrohir and studied his son carefully.  Elrohir’s eyes were closed, the eye sockets still sunken and his cheeks hollow, but when Elrond touched him he felt a strength within his son that had been missing the day before. “He slept well,” said Elladan thoughtfully. “He only woke twice that I know of, and Erestor was sitting beside us and helped make him comfortable both times.”

“Was he in pain?” asked Celebrían.

“Yes,” answered Elladan truthfully.  “He is stiff and sore from lying in one position, for he cannot easily move his leg.”

Elladan rose to care for his own needs and find food for his growling stomach, and Elrond heard the cries of delight from the cook when Elladan asked for a double portion.

“Place your hands over Elrohir’s heart and on his forehead,” Elrond instructed Celebrían. “Close your eyes, and just as you did last night, think about Elrohir and reach for him.” Celebrían did as instructed, and Elrond placed his hands over hers.  He focused his healing energy on his son, and as he connected with his son’s soul, he felt the presence of his wife.  Not only did she add her own strength, she poured forth love as if she had an endless supply. Elrond felt it surround and envelop the fëa of their son, and then it flowed back through to him. To Elrond’s delight, he felt a spark in Elrohir that had been missing for days.

Elrohir opened his eyes as his parents withdrew, and a smile crossed his face that nearly melted Elrond’s heart.  It was his special smile, one that started in the eyes, reached the mouth and radiated outward, and it was shared only with those he truly loved.  Elrond helped Elrohir to rise so that Celebrían could wrap him in her arms.  A look of utter contentment crossed Elrohir’s face, and he too purred like a kitten as she caressed him.

Elrond watched them for some moments, barely able to hear the endearments and words of love that Celebrían whispered to her son.  The effect was obvious, though, and when Celebrían laid him back on the cushions that Elrond had placed for him, his eyes were clearer and brighter than they had been since the day he left Imladris. Celebrían bathed and fed him, and her hands soothed him when Elrond removed the bandages to check the swelling in his leg.

“I will bring you some cold water,” said Elrond when he had finished.  Although many would have done this task for him, Elrond rose and walked to the spring.  He refreshed the water in the waterskin, unhappy that almost none of the previous day’s water had been consumed, and then sat on the rock for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Elrohir seems quite well this morning,” said Erestor from behind him.

Elrond turned slightly.  “He is.  Thank you for watching over him last night.”

“If he is doing so well, why do you appear so troubled?” came Glorfindel’s voice from his other side.

Elrond sighed.  “I should have had Celebrían tied inside the basket and winched across the river.  The effect she has had on Elrohir has been amazing; on all three children, really.”

“I understand two bags of feathers are being plucked from the reeds to make bird nests south of Tharbad,” began Erestor.

“And I remember quite well the look on a certain young elf’s face and how much he improved when he woke up and realized his father held him in his arms,” added Glorfindel.

“I can only imagine, however, the look on the faces of my grandchildren if they were bereft a mother today because she had been foolish enough to cross that river.”

All three elves turned and stood at the sound of Galadriel’s voice.  “It is not like you to doubt your decisions, Elrond,” she continued.  “It is a poor quality in a leader and a commander of forces.”

Elrond drew himself up straight as she walked around him. “Decisions that are right in battle or leading a people do not seem quite so clear in one’s own family,” he admitted.

“Spouses do not always take well to being commanded,” agreed Galadriel. “Your words last evening were that you would make the same choice again.  Did you mean what you said?”

Elrond met her gaze solidly.  “Yes, my lady.  I did.  I may look upon the faces of my children now, and see their delight in having their mother with them, but faced with the same decision I would make the same choice.”

“Good,” answered Galadriel; then she suddenly smiled. “Your son is thirsty.”

Elrond grinned as he walked away, the unexpected support of his mother-in-law raising his spirits.  He had no need to be right or for Celebrían to be wrong, but Galadriel’s immediate comparison of the decisions he had made as commander and herald to the king to his responsibility as husband and father was a common approach for her.  She valued duty and responsibility, and never failed to remind him of his.

As Elrond returned with the waterskin, he saw Elrohir lying on a pillow in his mother’s lap.  He was eating from her hand, despite having said he was satiated just a short while earlier.  The smile remained on his face, and if anything, it widened when he saw his father approaching.  Elladan was sitting with Arwen, Erestor and Glorfindel had moved near, and Celeborn sat on a log next to his daughter.  Welcomed into the inner circle, Elrond sat on the bed next to Celebrían, and in the way only mothers seemed able to accomplish, she pulled him to her so that she held him and Elrohir comfortably.

“So, Elrohir, how may we entertain you today?” asked Celebrían as she ruffled his hair.

Elrohir looked from his father to Glorfindel with a smile.  “Stories, Nana,” he answered.  “Adar told us of Lindon and Glorfindel told us about being re-embodied and returning to Middle-earth, and then meeting Adar.  Oh, and the story of the Lord of Gifts coming to Lindon!” Elrohir’s voice rose in excitement. “I want to hear more stories of that time.”

“I want Nana to be in the stories,” added Arwen.

“The next part of the story should be told by your daeradar and daernaneth,” suggested Elrond.  “After Annatar was turned away from Lindon, he traveled east to Eregion.”

Celeborn frowned and appeared about to decline, but a nudge from his daughter’s foot reminded him of his expectant audience. “If I must,” he sighed dramatically, teasing them, but his voice quickly grew serious. “Telling of the folly of Eregion may be a good lesson, for perhaps this age will learn from the mistakes made in the last. But, as much as I wish to start with the arrival of the most important person to be born in Ost-in-Edhil, there are some tales that should be told first.”

“I know who it was!” cried Arwen. Celeborn held out his arms to her, and she ran to him. “Nana was the most important person born there!”

Celeborn smiled at his daughter. “Yes, Celebrían was born – a most important event.” He paused, an eyebrow raising at his grandchildren when Arwen giggled. “Well, you would not be here otherwise.”

Celeborn’s eyes grew distant as he thought back over that time, and he instinctively held Arwen tighter. “The city had grown prosperous over the years . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Celeborn walked down the stone-paved street, quiet activity all around him as elves shopped in the markets and stores that lined the entrance to the main plaza of the city. Ost-in-Edhil had grown from a tiny settlement to a prosperous and beautiful city, and Celeborn felt a certain sense of pride that he had been part of its development and growth. Doriath had long since fallen, and Sirion and Balar were also no more. Lindon was the pride of Gil-Galad and Círdan, but this city was an accomplishment for which he took some ownership.

The city had been founded by a contingent of primarily Noldor elves, many followers of Celebrimbor and his jewel-smiths, but its population had swelled as Nandor and green elves had followed, seeking their relatives who lived in Eriador and further east, beyond the Misty Mountains and the River Anduin. Amdir and Oropher had traveled east beyond the mountains, but many of the Sindar and Nandor had settled in the woods and plains of Eregion. Elflings of many ages played in the streets and fields near their parents’ homes, and their laughter brought a smile to the faces of many an elf who had survived the fall of Beleriand.  A new age, a new city, and now, new life.

Beyond the plaza, Celeborn could see a crowd gathering on the steps of the compound of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.  Celebrimbor had built it as almost a small fortress, and inside he led his smiths in the forging and crafting of a variety of items that improved the city’s function and beauty. For this, Celeborn did not begrudge him his secretive ways, for it benefited many.  Celebrimbor was single-minded in his purpose, taking little interest in the day-to-day affairs of the people, and Celeborn did not begrudge his lack of interest either, for it kept him away from Galadriel. Long had the Noldor elf been infatuated with her, and Celeborn resented Celebrimbor’s disregard for her married status.

The compound was set against the edge of the city, one road leading away from it north and eastward into Khazad-dum. To its back there was a high wall and beyond the wall the River Sirannon ran, joining at the other end of Ost-in-Edhil with the Glanduin.  To the north and west, the city buffered the compound.  It was an end point for all roads – they all led to it, but not past it, except for the road to the mines of the dwarves. Another road ran through the heart of the city, and it was this road that was used by the elves of Eregion and the dwarves of Moria to travel and conduct business and trade.  Celebrimbor’s road was his alone, shared with Narvi and other of the dwarves who supplied him with Mithril.

The geography made the compound an unlikely gathering place for any but the jewel-smiths who formed the brotherhood of the Mirdain. Curious, Celeborn edged into the back of the crowd, pointedly ignoring the murmurs from those who recognized him.

A tall, dark being stood at the top of the stairs, his head bowed slightly as he greeted Celebrimbor.  He was neither elf nor man, but what he was Celeborn could not be sure.  He was escorted by only a few of his own people, but with him was a young elf recently apprenticed to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.  The young elf’s face was flushed with excitement, and when Celebrimbor excused him, it was the visitor who bade the youngster to stay.

“Far and wide have been my travels, and meeting a young one such as this, eager to learn his trade and eager to embrace new ways, has been refreshing to the spirit.  Lord Celebrimbor, I honor the work you have accomplished here, and that you have encouraged the young to follow your paths and seek this new way of the future,” said the visitor, one hand on the young elf’s shoulder.

As the visitor turned slightly, Celebrimbor could see the shining dark hair falling softly about a pale and beautiful face.  Gems adorned his brow and the edging of his cloak, and as he moved the silk shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting the rays of the sun as might tiny prisms.  He was beautiful and fair, as were his words.

He presented Celebrimbor with a small jeweled box, and Celeborn could see that the Celebrimbor was intrigued by what was within.  He reached inside and drew out a long necklace with a single stone and a Mithril clasp.  The gem sparkled and shone, and the gentle sway from its chain was spell-binding.

Celeborn shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts.

“What an exquisite gem,” murmured Celebrimbor, his words heard only by those near the stairs. “Is this of your making, your craft?”

The visitor bowed his head modestly. “It is perhaps one of my finest works, an accomplishment of many years toil.” He looked at Celebrimbor hopefully. “I have heard that none in Middle-earth surpass your skill; nay, that perhaps none in Arda do. Your opinion of how I might improve its enchantment, its ability to calm and instill peace in all who draw near it would mean much to me.”

Celebrimbor beamed. “Your words are too kind, but I appreciate them nonetheless.  I think we might learn from each other.  Will you come inside?”

The visitor again graciously bowed his head. “I would be honored.”

Celebrimbor had turned to lead the visitor inside, the young apprentice following closely on his heels, when Celeborn heard Celebrimbor ask, “Forgive my lack of decorum!  You have traveled from the west, my lord, but I did not hear the name of your people nor even your true name.”

“I am Annatar,” said the being kindly.

Celeborn had turned to walk away, but at the name of the visitor he spun on his heel. He pushed several bystanders aside as he climbed the stairs, but by the time he had maneuvered his way to the top, the outer doors were closed and the gate into the compound was shut.  He pounded his hand on the wrought metal.

“Lord Celeborn?  Is aught wrong?” asked the doorkeeper.

“No,” answered Celeborn slowly. “Perhaps not.”

He hurried back to the courtyard of the city’s office and main hall, and burst into the archives unannounced.  An elf who was sorting the parchments and scrolls leapt to his feet, but Celeborn strode past him unmindfully.  His mind was set on a particular document received from Gil-Galad, and he quickly sorted through correspondence from the king.  Finding the scroll he was seeking, he unrolled it and read through it hurriedly. Annatar was the one they had been warned about, yet Gil-Galad’s missive did not give factual reason or explanation for their warning.  The message said Annatar was not to be trusted and had been shut out from Lindon. Elrond and Glorfindel had had an unpleasant encounter with him, and had been unable to determine of what lands or people he was lord, who had sent him or why, and the consensus had been that though fair in appearance and word, a menace lay hidden beneath his fair exterior.

Annatar had entered the city gates in the company of a young jewel-smith, and been taken directly to the compound of the Mírdain. He had bypassed the normal procedures followed by guests and visitors and now was ensconced in the one place where he would be difficult to seek out and question.

Filled with foreboding, Celeborn returned to his office.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Daeradar, how horrible for you to find Sauron in your city!” said Elladan sympathetically.

Celeborn sighed.  “We did not know him as such for hundreds of years.  Yes, we had been warned by Gil-Galad, but Annatar had found his welcome and means of protection, such as the brotherhood offered, and was beyond our reach.  Like Gil-Galad, we had no reason to distrust him but instinct, and yet it would have been difficult to remove him without proof.  Had we been able to stop him at the city’s gates, perhaps we could have prevented his entrance, but once Celebrimbor had met him, I am not sure anything could have been done to shut him out.”

“Annatar was careful to remain out of sight,” said Galadriel harshly. “Celebrimbor also became more secretive, hiding his work from all but his own jewel-smiths.” Her expression softened somewhat.  “Yet the city remained peaceful for long after that, and it was easy to dismiss any threat he may have posed.”

“Is that when Naneth was conceived, then?” asked Elladan, his eyes twinkling.

“Impertinent whelp,” commented Celeborn, but he smiled at his grandson’s question. “Clearly your manners were inherited from your father’s line.”

“Please, Daerada, tell us about Nana,” begged Arwen.

“Tonight,” promised Galadriel, her eyes on Elrohir, who was nearly asleep in his mother’s arms. 

Celebrían disentangled herself from her son and eased him to the pillows as everyone followed Galadriel from the small enclosure.  Within moments, the healing elf was asleep, but for the first time in many days, he had a contented look and a slight smile on his lips.

* * * * *

A/N: What is known about the Second Age is found in just a few pages of the Tale of Years in Appendix B of The Lord of the Rings.  Several versions of the story of Celeborn and Galadriel exist in ‘Unfinished Tales,’ and provide us with more insight into the ideas Tolkien had about these characters and this time.  He had not settled on one, and thus it is difficult to say anything is canon beyond the few events listed in the timeline.  I am using some of the motivations and details concerning Annatar and Celebrimbor in particular in the section of UT called ‘Concerning Celeborn and Galadriel,’ but regarding Celeborn and Galadriel I am picking and choosing what can I can use to make this into a believable story. For a wonderful story using the first version of Celeborn and Galadriel’s history, read Bejai’s ‘Deific Flame.’  It is tremendously well done, as are all her stories.  For other fine stories of Celeborn and Galadriel, see Marnie’s stories. All can be found at ff.net, SoA, and Marnie’s own site –the URL is in her profile.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 14: Bonds Forged

Celebrían could see her father’s silver hair amidst the young green leaves of the tree that obscured her vision.  As she neared him, the gold and silver of her mother’s hair became visible, blending with her father’s to form a shining curtain about them.  Memories of childhood passed before her as she thought of the times she had come seeking them and found them as they now sat: her father leaning against a tree with her mother at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

She watched them for a moment, finding strength at the sight of them together. She was weary and found herself appreciating what it had cost her husband to care for their children over the last days.

“Come, daughter, do not hide in the trees,” came her mother’s voice.

Celebrían walked forward slowly, climbing the slight incline to the ridge where her parents waited. The beauty of the river valley spread out before her, and she could see both rivers in their raging glory as the waters still forced their way to the sea. While breathtaking, the view was also humbling. Turning, she faced her parents.

“Come and sit, Celebrían,” Celeborn beckoned to her.  He shifted slightly, as did Galadriel, and just as when she was a child, they made room for her between them. “Do you wish to speak or listen?”

Celebrían grinned at the game she and her father used to play.  “Listen,” she answered as she wormed her way between them.  The contact with them both filled her with a bristling energy, and she knew it was purposeful.

“Would you like to hear of how graceful I find you and how likely you were to have succeeded in crossing that river, had you tried?” asked Celeborn archly.

Celebrían shook her head.  “No, Adar.”

“Would you like to hear how glad I am that you did not, for even a slight chance of failure was too much risk?” asked Galadriel, entering the game.

Celebrían smiled slightly.  She had wondered on which side her parents would fall.  “No, Naneth.”

“Would you like to know if your naneth would have made the attempt, had it been you injured on the other side?” asked Celeborn, and Celebrían shook slightly with laughter for she knew this question was not truly meant for her. Before she could respond, Galadriel spoke.

“Of course I would have,” she answered without hesitation.  “Would you like to know what your adar’s reaction would have been should I have done that?”

Celebrían bit the inside of her lip to hold the laughter in.

“I would have let her come,” answered Celeborn smugly.  He paused, “Assuming you could neither see her nor watch if she plunged to her death.” Celebrían nearly snorted as laughter attempted to escape through her nose. She could feel her parents glaring at each other, even if only in teasing.

“Would you like to hear that just as your position changed once you stood in the shoes of your husband and children, so you will alter your opinion about many things in life?” continued Galadriel, a lilt in her voice as she smiled at her husband.

Celebrían was sure this was true, but not what she wished to hear now, on this day.  “No, Naneth.”

“Would you like to hear, Celebrían, how proud we are of you for the way you made peace in your family?” asked Celeborn, his voice softening as he stroked Celebrían’s hair.

Celebrían felt herself relax at this praise from them, but she thought for a moment before answering.  Yes, she did want to hear this, but it was not what she really wished for. “No, Adar.”

“Would you like to hear how much we love you?” asked Galadriel softly, and Celeborn finished, “While we replenish your strength, for you are weary, child?”

“Yes, Naneth and Adar, that is what I wish for,” she murmured. Celebrían smiled and closed her eyes as she felt the full force of her parents’ fëar surround her in a way she had not felt since the Second Age.

Some moments later, feeling much lighter in spirit, Celebrían said, “You did not ask if I wished to be scolded for fighting publicly with my husband.” She looked up to see her parents looking at each other with unreadable expressions. She laughed. “Ah, no, you could not do that, for it was from you two I inherited my temper.”

Celebrían yelped as her mother tugged on her ear and her father tugged on her hair. She would have to remember to be out of harm’s way before teasing them again.

“When will you cease to behave like a child?” scolded Celeborn, his eyes sparkling and laughter in his voice.

Celebrían rose gracefully to her feet and smoothed her gown.  She grinned at her parents.  “I will always be your child,” she replied.  She bent down to kiss them.  “Thank you.”

She returned to camp on light feet, her heart also much lightened.  She smiled at the guards she passed, greeted Glorfindel and Elladan, who were tending the little mare that had escaped when the wagon fell, and then quietly entered the tent where Elrond and Elrohir lay sleeping. She knelt down beside the bed and studied them both.

Elrohir looked peaceful, the dark shadows below his eyes already lessening. Elrond lay on his side next to their son, one of Elrohir’s hands resting on his arm. Celebrían laid her hand over Elrohir’s and, more attuned to both of them than she had been in some time, she could feel the comfort and strength that Elrohir drew from his father through this minor touch.  She directed her love and strength to them, and replenished them both with what her own parents had just given her.

* * *

Erestor leaned against the log behind him, his eyes ever watchful of the countryside but always returning to his young charge.  He had seen the amused glances the guards on duty had sent his way. Glaring at one, he had been tempted to ask if the elf had explored and learned these lands as he had, but he had decided discretion was the wiser course.  In truth, there was probably little to guard against and what possible dangers existed likely could be dealt with by these warriors.

“Erestor, will you thread this needle for me?” asked Arwen.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he answered, smiling.  Her little hand was much improved, but she was having some difficulty with fine control.  Her father had assured her the problem would quickly pass, and unlike her stubborn brother, she readily asked for and accepted help.

Even as he thought the thought, Erestor knew it was unfair to Elrohir. Difficulty threading a needle hardly compared to what that young elf had experienced. However, it was easier to grouse at the sleeping elf, even if it was only in his thoughts, than allow himself to recall the fears they had harbored that he would not live.

“I am going to make a ribbon flower just like Glorfindel made for me,” she continued. 

“Glorfindel made you flowers?” asked Erestor, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, would you like to see them?  They are beautiful!”

Erestor nodded, and Arwen rose and went to her things.  She returned holding an adult elf’s tunic, immediately recognizable as Glorfindel’s by the embroidered golden flowers along the hem. It has been cut, nipped and tucked to make it into a dress for Arwen.  She sat down on the log and laid the garment out across her lap.

“See? These are ribbon flowers,” she showed him proudly.  “Glorfindel made them for me.  He learned how in Valinor. Estë’s handmaidens taught him. Elrohir says this is my garden. I am the pink ribbon flower.”

“Indeed,” replied Erestor, a smile forming on his face.  “Which flower is Glorfindel?”

Arwen laughed.  “The golden one, of course!  Ada is red, Nana is lavender, Elrohir and Elladan are blue, and you are dark purple. Daernaneth and Daeradar have to pick out their colors and then I will add them.”

Erestor almost forgot his reason for asking about Glorfindel when Arwen pointed to his flower.  He was reminded of why he and Glorfindel called her their little princess when she smiled at him like that. You wrapped me around your little finger the day you were born. Little acts of kindness combined with that smile will kill me one day, he thought. 

“Thank you for putting me in your garden, Arwen,” he answered as he admired the work.  As she settled back to her embroidery, he could not help but remember the despair on the faces of her parents when they could not find her; or his own fear, not only for what he would lose, but fear for Elrond and Celebrían too.  

“I did not know that Glorfindel could embroider,” said Erestor thoughtfully.

“He can braid ribbons into hair too, even on a doll,” confided Arwen. “I think he is quite talented.”

Erestor choked back a comment entirely inappropriate for a young elfling to hear, then felt a large hand clap him helpfully on the back.  He turned and looked into the sparkling blue eyes of the object of their discussion. “Glorfindel! Arwen was just expounding upon your many skills and talents,” he said innocently.

“Hmm….” Glorfindel considered him for a moment, then looked to Arwen and back. A slow smile spread across his face. “Arwen, would you like me to teach Erestor how to make ribbon flowers so he can add one to your garden?”

“Oh, yes!” cried Arwen in delight.  She jumped up with the tunic in hand, and quickly found a spare needle and some ribbon.  “A white flower, Glorfindel.  But it must be good, for it is to be my daernaneth’s flower.”

Erestor growled under his breath as Glorfindel sat down next to him, their shoulders touching, and held out the items for him to take.  “For Arwen,” smiled Glorfindel.

He snatched it from Glorfindel’s hand, then smiled pleasantly at Arwen when she looked up at him. “You are the most annoying, irritating, confounding elf I know,” he muttered under his breath as soon as Arwen returned her attention to her work.

“Thank you!” answered Glorfindel brightly.  “Now, hold the ribbon with your left hand and the needle in your right.”

* * *

Elladan sank down on the bed beside his twin, his movements graceful enough that Elrohir did not even move. His twin did, however, sense his presence. Elrohir unconsciously turned slightly toward him, fingers reaching for his hand.  Elladan reached out and took Elrohir’s hand, then turned it palm up and traced the lines across it.  Only several days earlier it had been split and healing, but now the skin was pink and whole. A slight discoloration caught his eye, and Elladan frowned as he caught a tiny plaster fragment with his fingernail and pulled it free. A sudden vision of Elrohir climbing on to the wagon and falling inward passed through his memory, and he supposed his twin had landed on his hands in the glass and plaster strewn wagon bed.  Tracing the fingers upward, he carefully avoided touching the tips of the first two fingers, but he was pleased to see that new nails were growing. That injury had brought tears to his eyes, for merely seeing the jagged slivers of wood lifting up and ripping off the nails had made him think of methods of torture that caused the soul to flee. The pain in his fingers had been a torment to his twin and made the offering of the simplest of comforts, the holding of his hand, nearly unbearable.  Carefully caressing the thumb and last two fingers, he felt the palm curl away from him and nearly laughed aloud.  He had forgotten that his brother had ticklish palms!

His eyes were still closed, though. Elladan had become nearly accustomed to the sight and decided he would cheer the day his brother merely had to focus to see the world around him.  Delicately tracing the crease from the base of Elrohir’s palm to his middle finger, he grinned as Elrohir smiled and pulled his hand away.

“You torment me, brother,” said Elrohir sleepily. 

“It is a true joy in my life,” agreed Elladan, “and one I have missed terribly.”  He watched as Elrohir slowly blinked his eyes open and finally settled his gaze on his twin.  “Cook is making something special for you. He has been planning and plotting all afternoon and says this creation will be something even the most terribly injured, emaciated elf could not refuse.”

“I am not emaciated,” argued Elrohir with a yawn.

“No, not yet,” answered Elladan, his eyes taking in his brother’s too thin form. He was glad Cook had made it his goal to see Elrohir eating well again. He slipped an arm about his brother’s back and helped him sit, then piled the cushions and pillows behind him. “Elrohir, do you remember Adar and Naneth healing your spirit last night?”

Elrohir blinked at him. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember the events of the last several days. “El, everything is fuzzy,” he finally answered. “I remember falling and re-injuring my leg. I remember Naneth coming. I remember waking this morning and feeling as if finally, everything was going to be well.”

Elladan smiled at his twin. He wanted to know if Elrohir had felt what he did, if Elrohir could tell when their spirits connected. He wondered if Elrohir could feel his feelings, although mostly what Elladan had felt was Elrohir’s pain and confusion.  But he had felt Elrohir’s joy, too.

“Did something happen?” asked Elrohir. A worried look crossed his face when Elladan did not answer right away, and Elladan reached out and took his twin’s hand in reassurance.

“Nothing bad happened,” he answered. “It was just an . . . unusual experience for me.”

“How so?” asked Elrohir curiously.

Elladan reached out and took Elrohir’s other hand, holding them both loosely in his own.  Unable to find words to describe what had happened, he instead closed his eyes and directed all of his thought and love to his brother. Slowly, he felt a spark of connection and then heard his brother’s indrawn breath to know he felt it as well.  Then Elrohir pulled his hands free, ending the moment, and Elladan opened his eyes to face his twin.

“What did you just do?” asked Elrohir, nearly breathless.  His eyes were wide with surprise and perhaps a little fear as well.

“Adar says our fëar have some special connection because we are twins,” answered Elladan slowly. “When Adar first came to help you I could feel your pain when he set your leg.  When he set it the second time I could feel it again.  Then last night, when Adar and Naneth were trying to reach you, for you had withdrawn your spirit from us, I joined them.  With their strength, I was able to bear some of your burden again.”

Elrohir reached out and took Elladan’s hands in his own. “I wish to try.”

“No, Elrohir,” said Elrond as he entered. He moved to sit on the other side of the bed from Elladan and covered their hands with his own.  “You need every bit of strength you have to heal.”

Elladan felt healing strength and energy flowing from their father to Elrohir and realized he felt it through Elrohir.  He looked intently at his father. “Adar, I can feel you strengthening Elrohir.”

“You have grown very attuned to your twin,” agreed Elrond. “I think when Elrohir is stronger he will be able to sense you in the same way.”

“Could you sense Elros like this? Can all twins do this?” asked Elladan curiously.

“There are not many twins recorded in all of history.  The bond between Elros and me was not as strong as I think your bond with Elrohir is becoming.  But, then, we were parted much younger,” answered Elrond thoughtfully.

Laughter from across the campsite caught their attention, and all three turned to see the source of the laughter.

“Erestor, you did a very nice flower!” praised Arwen. “I think you can do one for Daeradar too.  A silver one, please.”

Erestor took the ribbon and needle she held out to him, but as soon as she turned away from him, he turned his ire on the laughing golden warrior. Elbowing him none too gently aside, Erestor resumed his seat and Elladan saw him jab the needle at Glorfindel’s hand.  Glorfindel yelped much louder than necessary in response, causing Arwen to return her attention to them.

“Glorfindel, are you hurt?” she asked in concern.  When he held out his injured digit, she kissed it. “Be more careful, Erestor.  I do not want Glorfindel injured.”

Glorfindel smiled smugly at Erestor, clearly enjoying the slight scolding their little princess had delivered. As Erestor’s eyes darkened, Glorfindel quickly decided retreat was in order and dove to lie next to where Arwen sat. “Show me your work, princess,” he said, bestowing a beaming smile upon her.

Elladan shook with laughter and a broad smile covered Elrohir’s face.  Even their father appeared amused. “Glorfindel and Erestor are harassing each other again.  Finally, nearly everything is again right in our world,” he said.

He knew his words were heard when both Glorfindel and Erestor turned to look at them, and smiles covered both of their faces.  Silly games they might play, but they also played to make their audience smile.

* * *

Elrohir finished the last bite of his dinner and scowled at the empty dish. Cook had been right – how any elf could refuse this meal was beyond comprehension.  He looked around the circle of elves seated near him, most having already had seconds, and turned to his father, who sat at his side.

“Adar, is there any left?”

Elrond took the empty bowl in hand and stood to look in the direction of the cooking fire. “They have already cleaned up, Elrohir, but perhaps . . .”

“No!” cried cook from behind them.  “There is more for dear Elrohir!  He needs only to ask and I will cook all night to tempt him!”  He snatched the bowl from Elrond.  “Cleaned up!  A cook is never cleaned up, we are merely in organized preparation for the next meal.”  He smiled at Elrohir and lightly touched the top of his head. “Still much too thin, but already see how rosy his cheeks have become!” Still speaking delightfully to the air, the cook danced away to refill the bowl.

“Wherever did you find him, Daernaneth?” whispered Elladan.

Galadriel frowned as she seemed to ponder the question.  “I believe he found us,” answered Celeborn instead.

“Daeradar, will you continue your story?” asked Elrohir.  He smiled at his naneth. “I too want to hear about Naneth, but do not skip the making of the rings of power.”

Celeborn looked at the expectant faces that surrounded him and did not even try to decline the invitation. He took Galadriel’s hand in his own and kissed it. “Your daernaneth will need to tell portions of it.  Celebrimbor on occasion confided in her, and her understanding of the power of the rings is greater than mine.”

“Greater knowledge did not always mean wiser decisions,” murmured Galadriel. “The wisdom of your grandfather did not require intimate detail of metallurgy or dactyliomancy to know that evil dwelt beneath fair words and motives.”

Celeborn smiled at his wife’s word, but his eyes held the pain of wisdom hard earned. “Much of this we learned later, after Annatar was revealed to be the Necromancer. Annatar and Celebrimbor spent their days in the secrecy of the Gwaith-i-Mírdan . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“The secret of a ring lies in its making,” explained Annatar softly, as he slowly traced the golden ring that lay before him on the round table.  “The power imbued is apportioned by its maker.  Fëanor, your grandfather, used great skill in his creation of the Silmarils, but the true power and beauty came from the light of the two trees, creations of Yavanna and not of himself.  One truly skilled will impart his own power and will into that which he creates.”

“Will that not diminish the creator?” asked Celebrimbor, his eyes aglitter with the firelight that reflected off the gold band before him.

“Nay, it will enhance them both,” promised Annatar.  “The created and the creator together are greater than their sum.” He paused and looked deep into the eyes of Celebrimbor, then reached his hand out to gently caress his cheek. “Think of that which you seek, of all that is beautiful and good that you wish to preserve, and imagine yourself pouring your own essence into that which you create. The good you can accomplish will turn these desolate lands into a realm of great beauty and peace such as found in the land of the Valar, Celebrimbor. Your desires, enhanced and empowered by your will and skill, will change life for those whom you love. The bliss of Valinor can exist here.”

Celebrimbor looked into the fair face before him, and the realization came to him suddenly that Annatar was more than he seemed. “Who sent you? Why do you come to teach us such a gift?” He looked into Annatar’s eyes and saw only love. “The Valar sent you!”

“I have learned from them,” admitted Annatar. “But I do not come only to give! You have great knowledge of metallurgy.  Together we can create works unsurpassed in the history of the world!”

Celebrimbor could not help but smile at the excitement in Annatar’s voice.

“However,” continued Annatar in a low voice as he leaned toward Celebrimbor, “we must keep our work and knowledge secret.  We must share our goals only with those who can aid us, with those who share our ideals. We are bearers of power, Celebrimbor, and we must bear our power wisely. Others with lesser motives, who do not seek the good of all Middle-earth, could hinder or destroy our plans.”

Celebrimbor considered Annatar’s words carefully. “Yes,” he said finally. “There are some here who question whether our goals are worthy.”

Annatar smiled at his warmly. “We will show them instead.”

* * *

“Now is the time, when all the dross is removed!” cried Annatar.  He bent over the forge, where the mithril was molten, at its hottest, and the impurities were stripped away. He began chanting as he leaned over the steam, his face flushing red and glistening with sweat as he poured himself into the metal.

Celebrimbor moved one step back, the heat of the fire too much for him to withstand for more than short periods of time.  Annatar, though, seemed unaffected by this heat that would melt the skin from the body of a mortal. Celebrimbor’s gaze, though, was drawn back to the forge where the Mithril was glowing silver.  As Annatar chanted, he poured the molten metal in to the ring molds, seven this time, and Annatar said there was power in the number of rings.  Always an odd number, and the number was representative of each race.  For seven fathers of the dwarves were first made by Aulë, and here seven rings were made to represent each line. 

“Into each representation I gather and pour the desire and strengths of the heart and mind,” Annatar had said.

Celebrimbor’s ring molds had been made with the dwarves in mind.  They valued stability and the feel of something solid beneath their fingers. Solid and compact was their body shape, and solid and compact Celebrimbor made the rings.  He thought of Narvi, one of the few dwarves aware of the great smithwork in which Celebrimbor was engaged.  Narvi scoffed at his desires, but nonetheless brought him Mithril of the purest strain from Khazad-Dûm. 

The chanting ended and Annatar raised his head, his face cooled as the rings were cooling.

“Soon, Celebrimbor, we will know if the ring houses the power we have given it.  We must choose the bearers well, dwarves with power and will like our own, for these rings must be borne by beings of strength and power. Only a bearer of power will know if the ring has power to be wielded,” he explained again.  His eyes lit into a dance.  “Then the Nine.”

“Then they will become as one with the ring? As in how the fëar are bound in marriage, so their fëa will be bound to the ring?” asked Celebrimbor.

Annatar seemed to tense, but relaxed before turning to meet Celebrimbor’s eyes.  “It is similar, perhaps, to what the elves know as the bonding of the fëar.” He turned away abruptly. “Let us etch the metal to close the ring’s power.”

Celebrimbor set to work over his rings, carefully giving each ring a unique design and style, while Annatar carved the most delicate of symbols inside the band, in runes so small that even elvish eyes could barely read it.

* * *

The eve of the summer solstice had arrived and all of Eregion gathered for the annual celebration.  Wine flowed freely and the feast lasted from the midday until late in the evening.  It was nearing dusk when Celebrimbor appeared.

“So he has decided to put in an appearance at last,” said Celeborn, the tinge of sarcasm in his voice noticeable.  He ignored the sigh of disapproval from his wife.  “Ah, and behind him trails his shadow, though I believe their roles are reversed.”

“Hold your tongue,” warned Galadriel.  Her face grew impassive, however, as Celebrimbor drew near. Knowing it would be discourteous of him not to greet the Lord and Lady of the city, host and hostess of the celebration, Celebrimbor approached them first. To Galadriel’s eyes he seemed weary, but his eyes sparkled as they met hers and he bowed to kiss her hand in greeting.

“Galadriel, you become more beautiful as the days pass,” he spoke with sincerity. “No matter how the lands grow in grace and beauty, still you surpass them.”

Galadriel laughed lightly. “Your words are fair, dear cousin, but you so seldom leave your work I wonder how you have memory to compare?”

Celebrimbor blushed lightly. “My lady, the gaps in time serve only to heighten the comparison.”

Celeborn cleared his throat next to them, and Celebrimbor managed to drag his eyes away from the Lady to pay some semblance of respect to the Lord.

“How progresses your work?” asked Celeborn directly.

Celebrimbor literally trembled in excitement, not even Celeborn’s less than friendly question dampening his obvious enthusiasm. Before he could speak, however, Annatar appeared at his elbow.

“We have made great strides,” he answered for the elf, smiling down upon him. “Celebrimbor’s skills are unsurpassed.  Never before have I seen such beauty and purity in wrought metal or gems.”

From a pocket in his robes, Celebrimbor withdrew a green gem set in an exquisitely crafted Mithril brooch in the shape of an eagle.  He draped it over his hand, displaying it for Celeborn and Galadriel, and Galadriel could not help but touch the smooth surface, so luminescent that it seemed to glow beneath her fingertips.

“A gift for you, my lady,” said Celebrimbor modestly. “The Elessar, made in memory of the original.”

Galadriel smiled as a vision of the Elfstone of Eärendil came to mind.  It had been beautiful, carried by Idril away from burning Gondolin and left with Eärendil in Sirion.  Its fate had long been debated: that it had sailed with him to the uttermost west, never to return, or was lost when Sirion was sacked and eventually sank in the ruin of Beleriand.  This gem shone less brightly, but the sun captured within had been younger in those days.

At her touch she could feel the power and beauty of the stone, of the protection it would lend to its wearer. Feeling Celeborn stiffen at her side, she looked up, her gaze resting first on Celebrimbor and then on Annatar.  While Celebrimbor appeared hopeful she would accept his gift, which she did desire, Annatar bowed his head.

“What role have you had in its making, Annatar?” asked Celeborn in a dark, low voice.

Galadriel jerked away from Celeborn’s hand, which had come to rest possessively on her arm.

“None, Lord Celeborn,” answered Celebrimbor coldly.  “The Elessar is a gift from me to the Lady Galadriel; no hands other than my own have touched it.”

Celeborn looked steadily upon Annatar, and for a moment Galadriel thought she saw contempt and disdain in Annatar’s eyes as he returned the gaze of the Sindar elf.  The hostile look diminished as Annatar turned his eyes back upon Celebrimbor, passing over her with ambivalence.

“Then you may keep it, my wife,’ replied Celeborn without looking at her.

“How kind of you to grant me your permission,” she replied archly.  The smile she cast upon Celebrimbor was warm, however, and quite genuine.  “Thank you, dear cousin.  The resemblance is remarkable, and your consideration for my longing and fond memory of the jewel honors me. I will treasure it.”

Celebrimbor placed the gem on her palm, closing her fingers about it, and again kissed her hand.  With a final farewell, he left to join others of his order of jewel-smiths, seated with their families in an area slightly set apart from the rest of those attending.  Many dwarves lingered beyond them, comfortable at this elven celebration and, in particular, with the Noldor smiths.

Annatar looked through Celeborn, then settled his gaze on Galadriel.  She felt a slow burn of anger begin to grow within her, a sense that he was using Celebrimbor for his own gain.  “How long do you plan to grace Eregion with your presence, Annatar?” she asked sharply.

“Ost-in-Edhil is a fair city, and you have made me feel most welcome,” replied Annatar smoothly. “Celebrimbor teaches me daily, and I only hope that the skills I impart to him in return are worthy.  A day will come though, when I will return to my own home, for at least a little while.”

“The location and name of your home seem to be tokens of information you do not share.  Where is your home, Annatar?  Who are your people?” she pressed him.

“In the east, Lady Galadriel, and it is not nearly so fair as what you have created here.  A good evening to you both,” said Annatar, and bowing, he melted into the crowd, not following Celebrimbor, but retreating in the direction of the jewel-smiths’ compound.

“Do not follow,” advised Galadriel as she felt Celeborn shift beside her, the anger in her voice barely veiled.  “He will expect you to, and you will not make it beyond the gates of the compound.”

Celeborn glared at her briefly, his anger returned in full measure.  Without words, their thoughts were communicated in equal parts: do not command me. Celeborn smiled first at the irony of the thought, and then poured two more cups of wine, passing one to Galadriel as they watched Arnor set.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Daernaneth,” spoke Elrohir slowly, the first to break the silence that followed the tale. “Did Sauron make the rings of power specifically for each race?”

Galadriel smiled sadly.  “I believe he did, Elrohir, and Celebrimbor believed he did as well.  Celebrimbor spent many hours in thought, thinking of the strengths of each race and where their eyes would see beauty.  Sauron spent his thoughts determining the weakness of each race and how best to enslave them.”

Arwen had crawled into her mother’s lap, and from that safety she spoke. “I would not have liked to meet Sauron and I would not want one of his rings,” she said with wide eyes. She tilted her head back to look at her mother as a sudden thought occurred to her.  “Naneth, did he scare you when you were little?”

“No, Arwen, I never met him in fair form. He had left Eregion before I was born,” explained Celebrían.

Content with that information, Arwen murmured, “I hope you will be in the story soon.”

Celeborn laughed, breaking the solemn air that had fallen over the camp.  “Yes, your naneth will be in the story soon.  Your naneth was quite mischievous at times, Arwen, and I am sure you will wish to hear all about it.”

The atmosphere grew lighter as Celebrían denied her father’s accusations and Elrohir leaned contentedly against his brother, full of good food and feeling as if evil were far removed from them.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:

In preparation to write about the forging of the rings of power, I reread some of Tolkien’s letters (in particular, #131 written to Milton and also found as the preface to some editions of the Silmarillion) and parts of David Day’s book ‘Tolkien’s Ring.’  Dactyliomancy means divination of rings and is a large part of many mythologies, including that of the Vikings.  Day’s book is fascinating, and how Tolkien used bits and pieces of these mythologies equally so.  I hope to take what I have learned and try to weave some sort of story about the rings in this and future chapters.

Regarding just a few things in this chapter:

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie

The numbers seemed significant in that there were three original tribes of elves (Teleri, Noldor and Vanyar); Aule made Seven fathers of the Dwarves, and although Tolkien never specified the number of original fathers or houses of men (we just know there were three high houses who became the Men of Númenor), Tolkien used much of Viking Mythology.  Odin, the Ring God, a true Lord of the rings, traveled to the nine mortal worlds of men.  And Sauron was seeking to set himself up as the One – the Lord of all Middle-earth.  There is something inherently evil in the thought that he might have tried to create rings that would cause the fall or overthrow of all the peoples, right down to their genetic roots. 

The story of the Elessar is taken from Unfinished Tales, along with the scene in Lothlorien where Galadriel gives the elfstone to Aragorn.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 15: The Pursuit of Wisdom

Elrond watched as Glorfindel and Erestor mounted their horses and headed north towards the remains of the Last Bridge.  Guards had seen movement days earlier on the East-West Road, soldiers from Amon Sûl, and this morning had reported a large contingent of Men approaching from the West.  They had some materials and supplies with them suggesting they intended to begin the rebuilding of the bridge.  Erestor had expressed strong feelings as to what the best design would be, and so Elrond had sent him to discuss this with the Men.  The captain at Amon Sûl was well known at Imladris and a reasonable man, and Elrond knew they would come to an agreeable conclusion about what steps should be taken.

They would, however, not be receiving much aid from Imladris. The Bruinen could be crossed, but only at a risk, and Erestor had already sent word to Thavron that no attempts should be made to send materials over the raging waters until the elf was sure it could be done safely.

Turning his attention to the other matter of the day, Elrond returned to where Elrohir lay on his bed.  The sides of the tent had been rolled up so as to give him protection only from the sun above him, and as Elrond approached he saw Elrohir’s eyes light up.

“Adar!” he said with a grin.  “I would like to stand today.”

Elrond frowned without thinking and saw Elrohir’s face fall. He quickly masked his own expression and sat down next to his son.  Reaching out with one hand, he smoothed his son’s hair back from his face and caressed his cheek.   His color was good, his temperature normal, and his eyes bright and clear.  He had eaten well for several days, partly, Elrond thought, because he enjoyed watching the cook’s reactions whenever he cleaned his plate.

Elladan appeared silently next to him and assisted without direction.  He helped slide Elrohir’s loose night tunic off of him so that Elrond could examine the almost completely faded bruises and listen to his son’s breathing.   Finally, Elrond loosed the linen bindings from the splint, leaving only the rigid brace intact, and carefully examined the now twice broken leg.  Carefully turning the knee, he was glad when the movement evoked no distress from his son.  Minor pressure over the break also did not elicit a reaction, but slightly more intense pressure did.  Elrond smiled to himself as Elrohir tried to mask his pain, then sent his own healing energy into his son.

He sat back on his heels and studied Elrohir intently.  He was unable to completely disregard his memory of the pain and agony Elrohir had been in just a few days earlier when he had fallen while attempting to stand.  However, he knew that he needed Elrohir on his feet and moving to keep him on the path of healing.

“I have to cast your leg first,” he finally answered.

Elrohir looked crestfallen, and Elrond could see the effort he was expending trying not to argue.  Elrond already knew the arguments his son would be thinking – first that only mortals needed casts, for elves healed quickly enough to seldom require them, unless they were children who disobeyed orders.  Elrohir had disobeyed instructions both as a small elfling and only a few days earlier as a young adult, both times resulting in greater damage, so he would not wish to argue a point he had already been found guilty of.  The greater issue was time.  He could see in Elrohir’s eyes the dismay at having to wait for the request for casting supplies to be sent over the river to Imladris and then for the supplies to be delivered to them.

“Fortunately,” he continued with a smile, “the supplies were sent for many days ago.” When Elrohir sighed in relief, he decided to further assuage the young elf’s ego. “It is seldom I cast an elf, but these are unusual circumstances.  You are not being cared for in the safety of Imladris, but in the rough terrain of the wild.  That rough terrain has already made you fall once, and I will not take the slightest chance of that happening again.”

Leaving only the skeleton splint attached to Elrohir’s leg, he wrapped his son in a light blanket and then lifted him.  “This is your last opportunity for any semblance of a bath.  The cast will not come off until we reach Imladris.”

Elrohir beamed with joy as Elrond carried him to the pool.  Elladan had gone ahead with Celeborn, for they had guessed Elrond’s plans.  Both were already stripped and in the pool, and Celeborn took Elrohir in his arms as Elrond let the blanket fall away and lowered him into the water.

Elrond watched for only a few moments as Elrohir reveled in the pleasure of the cool water, then went to prepare his supplies.

* * *

Elrohir relaxed in his grandfather’s arms as Celeborn slowly submerged him to his neck. 

“I had forgotten how good a bath could feel,” he sighed, contented. He instinctively swung his arm out, as if to move away and float on his own.

“Let me hold you,” warned Celeborn.  “Your leg is only minimally protected.”

“So no kicking me,” added Elladan.  For good measure, he tickled his brother, making him squirm. “Not even when I do that.”

Elrohir laughed and patiently let Elladan tend him, memories of the pain and fear washing away with the cold water. He closed his eyes as he felt his brother’s hands combing through his hair and lathering in soaproot, and then his grandfather dipped him down slightly, submerging all but his face and allowing the cleanser to rinse away.  Relaxing further, his mind wandered the path of waking dreams. The river appeared in his mind and he saw elves attempting to forge it. On one side was a tent village and on the other side there was nothing but a wide expanse of land leading to the mountains. A stout figure appeared then, bellowing direction to move further downstream, and Elrohir realized it was a dwarf. Some of the elves reacted in fear and distrust, while others moved nearer to the riverbank in hopes of communicating.

“Dunk him,” advised Elladan. “That will wake him.”

Elrohir would have jumped, but strong arms held him fast.  His eyes flew open to meet twinkling blue eyes and an amused smile.  “Did I fall asleep?” he asked. “I was dreaming. . . and there was a dwarf. . ..”

“You were dreaming about a dwarf?” asked Celeborn teasingly.  “You know their females look much like the males.  Did her beard appeal to you?”

“Surely that cannot be true!” said Elrohir, surprised.  “Erestor has told us that since we were children and I have never believed him.”

“Elrohir was the difficult one in studies,” added Elladan smugly. “Always questioning Istuion and Erestor, Glorfindel and Adar.”

“I was not difficult,” argued Elrohir with a scowl. “I was inquisitive.”

“Always using too many big words, which made the grown-ups laugh.”

Elrohir moved his arm swiftly in an arc about him, splashing his twin with a wave. “You talk too much.”

Elladan splashed in return, but the effect was only to land a few drops on his twin’s face. Elrohir looked at him curiously, wondering why his ever-competitive twin was not retaliating in greater force. Instead, Elladan only smiled and then leapt on to the bank, drying and dressing himself. When he was done, he laid the blanket out next to the pool, and Elrohir was carefully placed on it by his grandfather. Taking the towel Elladan handed him, he dried himself.  Even this simple task filled him with joy, for he was finally able to do something for himself. 

He watched for a few moments as his brother and grandfather combed out their long hair, and then he lay back on the blanket in the sunshine, allowing the golden rays to finish drying him. He felt a shadow block his sunbeam and opened one eye to glare at the offender.

“Naked as a newborn elfling,” teased Elladan, “wrapped in swaddling and waiting to be tended by his indulgent caretakers.”

“I did not notice that any clothing was brought for me,” retorted Elrohir with a grin as he stretched, tapping his brother’s leg in encouragement to move out of his sunbeam.

“Sit up so I can brush your hair,” commanded Elladan, one foot nudging at Elrohir’s shoulders. 

“I can do that!” said Elrohir, grabbing at the comb in his twin’s hand.

Elladan snorted.  “You cannot do this even when you have two good hands. Your braids are always crooked.”

“They are not!” answered Elrohir, grabbing one more time for the comb, but nearly falling over in the process, as he could not use his legs for balance.  He settled down obediently as Celeborn cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, focusing his best grandfatherly ‘behave yourself’ look at his grandson. Elladan sat down behind him triumphantly, gathering the dark strands in his hands.  “Are they really always crooked?” Elrohir asked, concerned.

Celeborn began laughing, his eyes again dancing, and Elladan joined him – both ignoring Elrohir’s question.  Actually, they were ignoring him, thought Elrohir, confused. He looked up as his father approached, but even his father addressed his brother and grandfather and ignored him!

“Well?” asked Elrond expectantly.

“He is ready,” answered Celeborn, smiling.  Elrohir turned to see Elladan nod at his father as well, and growled.

“Quit talking about and around me,” he said, exasperated. “I am here, you know.”

Elladan’s arms encircled him, pulling him back against his chest.  “Yes, and you are your lovable, agreeable, easily teased and gullible self again, thank the Valar. Which means we can finally head towards home!”

Elrohir rolled his eyes and was ready to respond with an appropriately witty insult when he felt a spark within.  Recognizing his brother’s fëa, he felt the love and relief behind the teasing and was nearly overwhelmed by the presence. When he tried to reach out to his twin through the bond, he felt Elladan withdraw.  “Save your energy,” Elladan whispered in his ear.

Celeborn lifted him carefully, carrying him back to camp.  He was laid on his bed, which someone had made up with fresh sheets, and all the casting supplies were prepared on a canvas nearby.

“Ready?” asked Elrond.

“More than ready, Adar,” replied Elrohir firmly. He grinned.  “Do I get some clothes first?”

“Your naneth is altering your trousers so you can get them on and off easily over the cast,” replied Elrond as he removed the skeleton splint. 

Elrohir felt the splint come all the way off and was surprised at the wave of pain he felt.   His grandfather was holding his foot aloft as his father began wrapping the casting material about his leg, but with each slight movement he felt the pressure on the bones and an ache grew, broken only by the sharp pains from the smallest of jostles. He closed his eyes, determined to neither complain nor show his discomfort, and instead focused his mind on things of beauty.

His meditation was broken several minutes later by the pressure of a small vial at his lips, and when he opened his eyes and then mouth to speak, he felt the bitter contents on his tongue.  His twin’s concerned eyes met his, and then Elladan was removing some of the pillows propping him upright and pushing him gently down on to the mattress.  He drifted into sleep as the discomfort diminished.

* * *

Elrond sat down on the side of Elrohir’s bed as Celeborn waved him away from cleaning up, and stroked the nearly dry strands of hair absently as he considered his child.  He had listened to his sons’ banter at the pool, knowing that Elladan was testing his twin, and he had been glad to hear the Elrohir he knew so well in that conversation. Elrohir thrived on being teased affectionately, and in that sense was much like Elros had been.  Often Elros had baited Elrond into teasing him, in hopes of lightening Elrond’s heart.  Yet he could see Elros in Elladan, too, in his fiercely loving and protective manner.

Elrond glanced down as he heard a slight noise, and found big grey eyes watching him thoughtfully. “Hello, Arwen,” he greeted her softly.

“Hello, Ada,” she answered in a low voice.  She was kneeling at the side of the bed, her arms folded on the mattress near Elrohir’s head.  She reached out carefully and stroked his cheek, smiling when he reflexively turned towards her.

Elrond’s thoughts turned to his youngest child. As beautiful as the evening star, she was a dark reflection of the morning glory of her mother and grandmother.  Quiet and kind, loyal and loving, though, he thought with a smile, given to jealousy over those she loved most.   In all honesty, he had to admit that trait might make her most like him.

“I have been thinking, Ada,” she said finally. “In a bedtime story Naneth read to me, the little bear’s life was saved by the wolf, and the little bear was faithful to the wolf for the rest of its life.  Elrohir saved my life and so I am going to be faithful to him for my whole life.”

“Being faithful is an honorable charge,” replied Elrond encouragingly.  He thought his little daughter likely to be faithful to all of her extended family, but he would not discourage or diminish the kindness she was extending to Elrohir.

Arwen sighed.  “Elrohir is not going to like not being able to ride his horse.” She looked up at her father’s surprised look.  “I heard Naneth and Daernaneth talking about it. Cook is making a special place for him in one of the wagons, and I will ride with him and keep him company.”

“Indeed I have!” came the cook’s cry, albeit in a lower tone than normal, as he approached them.  Laying the now clean tools used in the casting process back on their canvas, he smiled at Arwen conspiratorially, “I took them from your lord daeradar, for he is not the best dishwasher.  A cook is the best one to see to such things!  Especially for our Elrohir,” fussed the cook as he stared down at Elrohir.  “So thin yet!  But the bruises do fade, at least.  And more pain today for the dear elf.  I think I shall make a tantalizing concoction for him for when he awakes!”

Arwen bestowed a dazzling smile on the cook, then rose and beckoned him down to her level so she could kiss his cheek. “Thank you, dear cook, for being so kind to my brother.”

The cook nearly melted before the child, speechless for once, and then he was off, bowing as he backed away.

Arwen settled herself down at Elrohir’s side again, content to wait until he awakened.

* * *

Elrohir awoke late in the afternoon, his eyes focusing on the familiar tree canopy beyond the roof of his tent. The scenery irritated him, as did the dullness he felt within, a feeling he had grown to recognize as an aftereffect of the medicine he had been dosed with. He shifted slightly, feeling the heavy cast on his leg.  He tried to lift his leg and found it difficult, and a memory of lying on his back swinging his casted foot in the air when he was a small elfling came to mind.  Why could he not even lift his leg now?  He yanked on the sheet, and as it flew off him he realized he was still naked. To his dismay, he felt anger build within him. 

“The design is architecturally sound as well as aesthetically pleasing,” said Erestor.

Elrohir turned to the sound of the voices that had invaded his consciousness and saw that everyone appeared to be gathered around Erestor and a sketch he was holding in his hand.  Glorfindel stood to his side, nodding and adding detail to what Erestor was describing.  Elrohir did not think he had ever heard such enthusiasm in the counselor’s voice before.

“The foundation will be of stone and mortar, designed to last for an age or more. Wooden beams are forming the initial framework, but even if that rots or gives way, the stone will not.  Truly, Eldacar’s men have risen to a new level in engineering.”

“I would like to see this!” exclaimed Elladan. “How long is the building expected to take?  Will we be able to see some results, or perhaps even help, when we return to Imladris?”

“The construction will last well into the fall,” replied Erestor enthusiastically. “I will take you to the site when we return, for there is much we can learn from those who designed this.”

The voices drifted from Elrohir’s thought as bitterness filled him. Even as he recognized his feelings as exaggerated and self-pitying, hot tears filled his eyes and he struggled to control his emotions.  He sensed a presence next to him and ignored it.

Moments later a comforting hand stroked along his hair and cheek, and he recognized the touch of his mother. Without opening his eyes, he reached both hands out to her and she wrapped her arms about him.

“Your adar said what they have been giving you makes you feel terrible when you first awake. He regretted having to give it to you again, but you know your adar cannot stand to see you in pain,” she murmured comfortingly.  She rocked him gently. “I am still in awe of what wonderful adults my sons have become, but I miss the days my arms reached all the way around you.  But, an adult you are. I can imagine how tired of this camp you must be and how ready you must be to move on.  You will not see the Havens this trip, but you will see Tharbad and the remains of Ost-in-Edhil before we head north to home.  And Elladan and Erestor will expect you to go see the bridge with them!  Erestor says you will appreciate the structure, for you have a good eye for architecture.”

Elrohir felt his bitterness fade, and with it the anger he felt at his own weakness. How did his mother know exactly how he felt? She had always known just what to say to make him feel better

“Oh, and I have your clothes!” exclaimed Celebrían.  “I have altered them so that you may wear them over the cast.  See, I added ties at the bottom that you may lace to keep the loose bottom from flapping in the wind.  At some point I am sure you will be able to ride and it would not do to spook your horse.”

Elrohir felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes again and inwardly cursed whatever it was that made him feel like he was a puppet on a string, his emotions being pulled this way and that, without any control. His mother was silent as he regained control of himself and he found he loved her all the more for it.

“Elrohir, drink this,” came his grandfather’s voice.

Elrohir disengaged himself from his mother and turned to look at his grandfather, but he must have looked doubtful about whatever was in the cup Celeborn held, for his grandfather smiled and moved the cup closer to him. “It is only miruvor.”

Elrohir drank the restorative gladly, the familiar feeling of lightness and joy filling him within moments.  He sighed in relief as he assessed himself and decided he felt normal.

“Better?” asked Celeborn sympathetically.

“I woke up so irritated with everything and then I grew angry at myself for feeling that way, but I was having a difficult time changing my perspective until Naneth came,” admitted Elrohir.  “I hate that feeling, Daeradar. I hate feeling like I cannot control myself.”

“Several times in my life I have experienced the kind of helplessness you are experiencing now, and though each was disagreeable at the time, each incident taught me something new,” said Celeborn as he lifted Elrohir’s casted leg slightly so his grandson could slip his trousers over it.

“I am afraid I must not be nearly so wise or teachable, because I do not think I am learning much,” said Elrohir with a sigh.

“We seldom realize what we have learned in the midst of the trial, but later, when you have had time to reflect on all that has happened, you will see clearly.  Sometimes it is those who are close to us who see our growth, for they are more objective,” replied Celeborn.

“I know things I regret already.  Snapping at Elladan.  Disobeying Adar. Letting my emotions control me.”

“Ah, my list is much longer. There are words said I cannot retrieve, actions made in anger where I should have exercised caution, and a multitude of times I did not listen to someone who was right,” listed Celeborn, his eyes suddenly distant.  “There are also times I should have listened to my heart and instead waited, only to find the consequences chilling.”

Elrohir studied his grandfather thoughtfully. He knew his grandfather had been born before the ages of the sun, in twilight, and lived in Doriath long before the evils of Morgoth darkened Middle-earth when the fallen Vala returned to Beleriand after destroying the Two Trees.

“Daeradar, you are called Celeborn the Wise.  How did you become wise? How can I become wise?” he asked seriously.

Celeborn laughed.  “Wisdom is knowing the right means to the right end. It is usually hard earned and the one who earned it always yearns for more.  I have lived long, Elrohir, through many ages. Yet, I still err and I still learn. I have grown in wisdom, as will you.”

Elrohir laced the ties of his tunic, momentarily distracted by how wonderful it felt to be wearing regular clothing again.  Days of wearing nothing or only a loose tunic had increased his feeling of helplessness, though he was hardly in a position to criticize how those who had cared for him had dressed him.  “But how does one know what is the right end?”  He paused, thinking.  “How could I have known that jumping off the bridge was not the right end?”

Celeborn’s gaze softened as he studied the earnest young face of his grandson. “The right end was obvious to you, Elrohir.  You wanted to save your sister.  At the time you saw her, the only means you saw was to jump after her.  Was it the right means? At the time, you had no other options.  History may judge us by outcome, and when the outcome is good they call us wise.  When the outcome is bad, they call us stupid.  Do not ponder if your decision was wise, Elrohir.  It was brave and courageous.”

Elrohir sighed, and Celeborn laughed softly.  “Think of wisdom on a broader perspective, rather than as a moment in time.  Throughout the ages, elves have been faced with deception. We did not recognize it immediately in most cases, but in time we did.   Melkor deceived us at Cuiviénen, the Valar misled us on the Great Journey, the Noldor exiles withheld information from us when they returned at the First Age of the Sun, the dwarves betrayed us, the sons of Fëanor killed us for a jewel, and Sauron dwelt among us in fair form.  All were deceptions. When I list them like this, we do not seem very wise, do we? We were deceived over and over.”

“No,” replied Elrohir softly, his mind admittedly more on the list than on a conclusion about wisdom.

“But, Elrohir, we never forgot the right end – which was to live in peace in Middle-earth, without causing harm to others - and for the most part we used right means. We did grow to question the motivations and actions of others.  The list I gave you might have been much longer had we not grown wiser over time.”

“So that is the part that is difficult to measure, for you may never know what might have happened,” murmured Elrohir thoughtfully.

“What if Arwen had fallen out of the wagon and you had not jumped in after her?”

“She probably would have died,” whispered Elrohir.

“Thinking through that aspect of a situation is also a part of wisdom, Elrohir.” Celeborn grew quiet for a few moments, then said, “In Ost-in-Edhil, I was at times more prudent than wise.”

Elrohir’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I do not understand.”

“We were prudent in that we did the right thing, but sometimes we lost sight of the right end. Perhaps it may be easier to tell you more of Celebrimbor, Annatar and the rings, and then we will see if you can tell where the decisions we made were more prudent than wise,” suggested Celeborn.

Elrohir smiled. “You know I love to learn through stories, Daeradar.”

“Wait!” cried Arwen.  Elrohir turned, not having realized that she was behind him. “Elladan said he wanted to hear your story tonight, too. Should I go get him?  They are just talking about a new bridge, one I never plan to cross.”  She paused, a concerned look on her face.  “Unless this story is just for Elrohir and not for all of us.  I will keep everyone away if that is so.”

“I am looking forward to the bridge, because I want to visit Círdan at the Havens. If you never plan to cross the new bridge, that means if you ever want to go to Lindon, you will have to swim the river,” replied Elrohir.

Arwen’s eyes grew big as she turned to look down at the floodwaters. “I do not want to swim in that.”

“And you will want to visit Lindon at some point,” added Elrohir.  “The new bridge will be bigger and safer and not scary at all. I promise I will cross it with you the first time.”  Arwen still appeared doubtful, so he changed the subject.  “Daeradar’s story is for everyone.  Besides, I may need everyone’s help in understanding his lesson.”

Celeborn laughed as Arwen ran off to inform the others that story time was upon them. “Those were examples of wisdom, Elrohir.  With the bridge, the right end was Arwen needing to see the bridge as a good thing.  The right means was getting her to see it for herself, instead of you just telling her.   With the story, it is best to learn from wise and experienced people, of which there are many in this camp.  Each has their own perspective on that time, for each saw it from a different angle.  Learning those angles and perspectives will increase your knowledge, and knowledge is an important part of wisdom.”

Elrohir wisely remained silent as he waited for the others to gather near, but as he studied his grandfather he was reminded of how each time he spoke to him, his grandfather always asked him questions.  Celeborn had always made him feel that his thoughts and opinions were important, but suddenly he realized that in asking him questions, Celeborn was teaching him to think.

Elladan plopped down beside him, then pushed him to one side so he could fit comfortably on the bed.   “Let me see your cast!”  He knocked on it softly, the noise a dull, hollow sound.  He raised his hand and knocked gently on Elrohir’s head.  “Very similar,” he teased.

Elrohir elbowed his brother in the ribs, but scooted over to make room for him.  He held his arms out to Arwen.

“I might hurt you,” she said apologetically.  She smiled sweetly at him, then took a bounding jump and landed in Elladan’s lap.  He partially caught her, groaning as a small foot connected with his lower abdomen, considered rolling her on to the ground, but instead wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head beneath his chin.

“We are ready, Daeradar,” she announced.

Celeborn looked around at his growing audience, but did not start until Galadriel was seated at his side.

“It was around the year 1500 of the Second Age when the Men of Númenor began to influence the happenings in Eregion . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

The rider passed swiftly through the gates of the city, dismounting and seeking the captain on duty immediately.  He was breathless and windblown, and excitement covered his face.  Celeborn could see him gesturing animatedly to the captain who came to meet him, and as he strode forward he caught the captain’s eye.

“Lord Celeborn!” the captain called, motioning him over.  “Arthien returns unlooked for from the south, where he has been scouting along the river.  Come and hear his news.”

Arthien turned to face him and immediately seemed to calm in the presence of his lord.  He bowed and then grasped arms in the warrior greeting with Celeborn, for Celeborn was well known among the guard of the city.

“My lord, I was riding south along the river when I saw a great white ship in the bay.  I thought it unusual for the Falathrim to sail into the bay, and then I realized the ship was much larger than any of Círdan’s and of a different design.   As it approached the delta, smaller ships launched from it, navigating and finding a way around the reefs and through the shoals and sandbars.  The larger vessel followed, and to my surprise, it began sailing up the river!

“Men who live along the shores came out to watch, and the sailors waved and called to them in friendship.  They brought them gifts of food and of tools. And such unique implements they have! In several places, the sailors used a giant shovel to forge a channel through the silt.” Arthien paused for breath, his eyes shining as he described all he had seen.

“Did you speak with them?” asked Celeborn, a glimmer of excitement building within him.

“Nay, my lord.  I wished to return quickly with the news.  I rode as fast as my horse would bear me, that I might precede them, should they attempt to sail as far as the city.”

Arthien paused, his gaze turning westward.  “I have escorted elves to and from Lindon, and born messages to the King.  Once, when I was at the Havens, a ship from Númenor came into port.  This is surely one of their ships, but it is more beautiful and more advanced than that ship, and Círdan said then that it was one of their best. These Men are strong and tall, brave and fearless.  I could see it in their eyes and in their bearing, even though I saw them only from a distance.”

“You have done well, Arthien. Go eat and rest, and when we go forth to meet them, you shall go with us,” promised Celeborn.

“You may give me your full report after you have refreshed yourself,” added the captain.

After making arrangements for the captain to report to him later that evening when he had the full report from Arthien, Celeborn turned to walk back to the city plaza.  To his surprise, standing not far ahead of him was Annatar.   Not knowing how much he might have overheard, Celeborn merely nodded and walked past him.

“Lord Celeborn, have you news from the West?” asked Annatar, his tone polite, though Celeborn was sure he heard the usual undertone of contempt reserved for him.

Celeborn slowed briefly, raising one eyebrow at the query.  “News from the South, actually.” He continued walking, unsurprised when Annatar fell into step next to him.

“Men from Númenor have arrived and are sailing up the river?” repeated Annatar, shaking his head slightly. “They grow more powerful and adventurous with each generation. They do seem unstoppable, do they not? Númenor is no longer enough and they seek dominion over Middle-earth as well.”

“What leads you to believe that they seek dominion?” asked Celeborn. “These lands are the birthplace of their ancestors.  Why should they not wish to see them again?”

“You are naive, Celeborn,” laughed Annatar lightly. “Men such as these seek power first and foremost.  They will not be content to merely visit and share their goodwill.”

“You speak as if you had much knowledge of the Men of Númenor and their ways,” said Celeborn, refusing to be baited.

“I understand people and what motivates them,” answered Annatar.  Celeborn noted an edge to his voice, but when Annatar glanced at him his face had softened and he spoke more genially.  “I wish only the best for all of the peoples of Middle-earth; therefore knowing what motivates each group is critical to my understanding of them.  Understanding leads to cooperation and a better land for all of us to live in together.  Newcomers are certainly welcome, but we can hardly let them upset the tranquility we have achieved.”

Celeborn laughed sardonically. “What tranquility have we achieved, Annatar?  What contribution have you made? The dwarves have friendship with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and whether it is for good or bad, it is not of your doing.  The wild men keep to the hills and out of our sight, but it is not out of either fear of or respect for you, but from a desire to live their lives in peace as they wish.”

“You are a puppet, Celeborn, and will remain so.  The real power of Ost-in-Edhil lies with the Noldor, with those who create with their will and their hands,” replied Annatar in a hiss, lashing out at Celeborn so directly that Celeborn was nearly caught off guard.  For decades Annatar had baited him in an understated way, but never had he attacked him so openly.

He studied this being who apparently had claimed to have been sent by the Valar and a sudden realization came upon him.  “You fear them! You fear that these Men come bearing power and knowledge that exceeds you own.”

Annatar sneered. “I fear nothing!” Just as quickly as it had come, the sneer and hostile demeanor faded. “You misunderstand me.  I welcome these Men, for that which they may teach us and for what we may teach them.  If we indeed wish to achieve our own Valinor here in Middle-earth, it is imperative that we all work together.  I wish to welcome them also when you go forth to meet them.”

Celeborn restrained his desire to reach out and grab Annatar by the neck and shake the lies from his throat. Instead he answered, “Your work with the Mírdain consumes so much of your time that I would be loath to take you from it.  But I do thank you for your offer.”

Celeborn walked up the stairs to the City Hall and did not look back as the door closed on Annatar.

* * *

A special meeting of the Council was called for that evening.  Galadriel had arranged for the group to meet in their home, expecting only the small membership that normally attended such gatherings.  Celeborn was visiting with his captains and a few town leaders when he felt Galadriel grow cold through their bond, and he turned to the door where she was greeting late arrivals.

“Celebrimbor, how nice of you to choose to attend this meeting. We so seldom benefit from your presence,” she said icily.

Celeborn was mildly surprised at the tone Galadriel took with her cousin, for he did seldom attend Council meetings unless the discussion was of concern to his Mírdain, but the real reason for her disdain became quickly apparent when Annatar stepped into the room.

He bowed before Galadriel and then reached for her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it before letting go.  She allowed her hand to fall limp at her side, making it clear his attentions did not move her. “Annatar, I was not aware the Council was entertaining visitors this evening,” she said coldly, standing in his path.

“Cousin, Annatar wishes only to learn more about the visitors approaching from the South.  He is widely traveled and perhaps may offer insight and wisdom into any relationship established with them,” said Celebrimbor, smiling.

Celeborn stepped forward to stand near Galadriel, and when she took his hand, he could feel anger coursing through her veins. Her dislike of Annatar was intense, yet he could sense she struggled to remain civil to him for Celebrimbor’s sake.  We can make him leave, he thought, but in truth there is nothing he will learn here tonight that he can use to cause harm.

I detest his presence and one cannot always know how knowledge can be used for evil, returned Galadriel. Celeborn stepped forward and was just beginning to ask Annatar to go when he felt Galadriel’s pull on his mind. It is not worth the battle.  “Council meetings are private, Annatar, and anything discussed here is not to be spoken of outside these walls without permission,” he said instead.

“Of course, Lord Celeborn,” demurred Annatar politely.  “And thank you, Lady Galadriel, for your kindness in allowing me to attend.”

Celeborn felt the insult both on his own and through his wife, and Galadriel’s nails dug into his palm as she seethed in anger. They both stepped aside as Celebrimbor led Annatar to a seat in the room, then walked in together to lead the meeting.

* * *

Annatar flung his riding gloves aside as he stormed into the forge.  Leaning against the workbench on both hands, he drew in a deep breath and then stood upright.  It was only then that he seemed to sense Celebrimbor’s presence and turned to face him.

“I have new insight into the Nine,” he said with a smile. “These Men are different than those I have met in my travels. They crave knowledge and understanding, and these desires we shall pour into the rings.”

“How will greater desire aid them?” asked Celebrimbor curiously.  He watched Annatar attempt to mask his expressions, but his inner turmoil could not be completely hidden. He had met the Men of Númenor and something about them had caused him distress.

“Their desires seem to drive them and once they set their will to an end, they appear to achieve it.” He turned to face Celebrimbor.  “Their ships are magnificent, Celebrimbor, and they carry themselves as noble kings.  Such skill in craft. . ..  We must pour the best of ourselves into these rings. Any gift we give to them must be worthy of the ambitions that drive such Men.”

Celebrimbor studied Annatar intently as he resumed his work.  As time had passed, he had discovered a difference between his own ambitions and those of Annatar.  Annatar poured part of himself into each ring, and with each ring he attempted to fuel the desires and ambitions of the one who would bear it.  Celebrimbor remembered the fragile beauty of Beleriand and how it had faded and then been destroyed.  He recalled the glory of Valinor, young though he had been when they left the Blessed Realm.  He wanted that peace here; he wanted to stop the evil that was spreading across Middle-earth.   He had turned his back on his father and uncles, for he did not wish to participate in death and destruction, nor did he wish to be ruled by an oath or desires.  He did not want his creations to fuel possessive rage as the Silmarils had, or to increase the desire and ambition of any elf.  He wanted to preserve what beauty there was left and if possible, increase the glory of Arda, now marred.  In his visions, he could imagine the beauty and peace in Middle-earth should the elves learn to wield that which he would create.  Admittedly, he longed to wield such a creation himself, but he found his own motives trustworthy.

Long he had been planning the Elven rings, but he would not create them with Annatar. They would be of his design alone, touched only by his hands, and although the ones who bore them would increase in power, the rings would be capable only of good and the benefits reaped would be for all.

* * *

“They are finished!” exclaimed Annatar, as he ran his finger around the surface of the bands lovingly. “Our finest work yet, Celebrimbor, although I believe the rings we create for the elves will far surpass these.”

Celebrimbor smiled as he watched Annatar rejoice in the rings, for many years of hard work had gone into their forging.  Annatar had poured much of himself into these rings, though, and the burden upon him was telling.  Though still fair in face and bearing, his eyes bespoke a weariness that delved to the core of his being.

“They will be a fine gift to those you find worthy, but I think it is best we wait to create more.  You are weary,” he said compassionately.

“I have been waiting to speak to you about that very thing,” said Annatar suddenly. “I am weary.  I wish to return to my home for at least a visit, to recover my strength of will and purpose.  I shall return to you in time, refreshed and eager to extend our work together.”

“We shall, of course, welcome your return. You have indeed furthered our craft, even taken us to heights we could never have achieved on our own.  I, and all of Middle-earth, are in your debt,” replied Celebrimbor as he reached a hand out to his friend.

As their hands touched, Celebrimbor felt a strange sensation course through him, and realized he had caught Annatar unaware. The feeling faded quickly, so quickly that he almost doubted what he had felt.  But it had been there, a tension or undercurrent of discord that he had not sensed before. He saw a brief flash of something indescribable in Annatar’s eyes.

“Are you well, Annatar?” he inquired.

“Only weary, as you say,” answered Annatar, his expression again serene.  “I shall leave in the morning.

Celebrimbor saw Annatar off as the sun rose just above the tips of the Misty Mountains. Annatar had not wished for any kind of formal notice of his leaving; rather he said he preferred to leave in solitude, much as he had come, for his spirit desired tranquility and rest.  Honoring that wish, Celebrimbor alone of the Mírdain watched him leave.

“Where does he go?”

Celebrimbor turned at the sound of Galadriel’s voice, and faced her and Celeborn as they approached him.     

“Home, he said, for a visit,” he answered.

“May I assume he again did not divulge where ‘home’ is?” asked Galadriel crisply.

“I did not think to ask,” he replied quietly. “He left taking nothing with him but some tools we developed together, for he wished to further their usefulness, if possible.”

“He will not be allowed into the city again,” stated Celeborn. “I will not allow it.”

Celebrimbor looked with disdain upon his cousin’s husband, but turned to Galadriel.

“In this we are agreed, Celebrimbor,” she said firmly, not allowing him to speak. “His motives are unclear to me, and I have sensed a growing discord within him, especially since the Men came. He cannot be welcomed among us again until we know more about him and his plans.”

Celebrimbor nodded his acquiescence.  Still, he had learned much at the elbow of Annatar, and while he was grateful for this, he found he was glad the Lord of Gifts had left, for he was now free to pursue his own creative desires.  “As you wish,” he said as he bowed; then he turned and walked back to his compound.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrohir sat silently, his brow furrowed in deep thought, as he considered his grandfather’s story and the lesson he had been instructed to find.

“Daeradar, I fail to see where you were unwise,” he finally said. “You were careful of what he learned, and you made it clear he was not welcomed back. You were careful to avoid unnecessary battles with him.”

Celeborn looked at him appraisingly, and Elrohir squirmed under the intense scrutiny, feeling as if he were an elfling unprepared for recitation.  He turned to his grandmother, but she appeared resigned, and perhaps even sad.

In the ensuing silence, Arwen rose from Elladan’s lap and moved to sit at her grandmother’s side, wrapping her arms about one of Galadriel’s.  Galadriel did smile upon the earnest young face looking up at her, and then turned to her grandsons.

“Sixteen rings of power existed when Annatar left Eregion.  Change was coming and evil was rising.  We shall not tell you where prudence took the place of wisdom; you will need to come to see it on your own, in time.”

Elrohir exchanged looks with Elladan, then at the elves surrounding them.  His mother sat in front of their father, leaning against him and Elrohir noticed she was fingering a small scar on Elrond’s arm.  Erestor and Glorfindel were watching them as they had in the days of their childhood, when they exuded patience, waiting for their young charges to finally reach understanding.   All of them had lived through this dark time; all had played some role in the fight against Sauron.

“Annatar was allowed into the city and stayed despite your underlying suspicion of him. The rings of power were made; though he claimed they were for good, they turned out to be for evil.  You avoided many problems by not confronting him – contention in the city, division among elves – but in doing so, you allowed him to grow in power and knowledge,” said Elladan finally.

“The right end was not achieved, although you took what appeared to be right means or actions at the time,” added Elrohir slowly.

Celeborn nodded, but before he could speak, the cook stepped forward.  “See, already Elrohir and Elladan are growing in wisdom, just from association with all of you wise elves!  Such thinking stimulates a good appetite, no?” A few heads nodded in laughing agreement. “Yes?  Then you must eat!  I have a special meal for Elrohir to make up for the nasty concoction given to him earlier.” The cook clapped his hands as plates of food were served.  “Ah, this is much better. Evil is not banished, but we will enjoy all the days we can.  Eat!”

Elrohir took the offered plate from the cook and soon forgot all about rings of power and wisdom as he enjoyed what truly was a tantalizing concoction.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  Not like I need to make this chapter any longer…..  I recommend Ann Perry’s book ‘Tolkien in the Land of Heroes,’ and David Day’s book ‘Tolkien’s Ring.’  Both have been a source of inspiration in understanding the themes of Tolkien and how he altered Northern mythology to make one uniquely his own.  The true Lord of the Rings may well have been Odin, the Ring God of Norse mythology.  It is said that Gandalf, Saruman, Sauron and Radagast were made as distinct figures to embody the many qualities of Odin.  Tolkien added a differentiation of good and evil, right and wrong, and the idea that the pursuit of power corrupts, to a mythology that was largely fatalistic and unconcerned with morality.  

It occurred to me as I writing that Tolkien speaks often of wisdom.  The dictionary defines wisdom and prudence this way:

Wisdom has been defined to be ``the use of the best means for attaining the best ends.'' ``We conceive,'' says Whewell, `` prudence as the virtue by which we select right means for given ends, while wisdom implies the selection of right ends as well as of right means.'' Hence, wisdom implies the union of high mental and moral excellence. Prudence (that is, providence, or forecast) is of a more negative character; it rather consists in avoiding danger than in taking decisive measures for the accomplishment of an object

This was rather inspiring, as I grew to understand the difference, for I can see where Tolkien was very concerned with the ‘right end.’  The rights of the individual were surpassed for the greater good of the society or even the world.  Aragorn, the hope of Men, told Frodo at the Prancing Pony in Bree that  “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and if by life or death I can save you, I will.” This is the one who could be king, pledging himself to die for this hobbit if need be, because Frodo’s mission was greater than himself.  We see this as a recurring theme throughout Tolkien’s works, and I have to admit it is the one that most draws me.  If I were to define ‘hero,’ that is what it would be: one who selflessly puts the good of others ahead of themselves.

As I was thinking about the rings of power, it also occurred to me that those ‘in charge’ in Eregion may have made prudent decisions – things that seemed right at the time, but were proven otherwise.  They may have been ignorant and were certainly deceived. Recognizing ignorance and seeking to correct it is wise in itself.

If Celeborn appears to be hard on himself, bear with me.  I hope in the end to show why he is called Celeborn the Wise, and how as a leader he takes responsibility for what happened under his rule, regardless of how much fault he bore.

Thank you to all who are reading, and especially reviewing.  Your encouragement is much appreciated, as are your suggestions.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 16: The Elven Rings of Power

Early morning hours of day 13

Erestor stood on the high ridge, watching as dark clouds rolled in from the southwest, obscuring the stars as they passed beneath them. Flashes of blue-white light would stretch out across the sky, and Erestor was reminded of watching a coiled snake spring out its full length, its tongue flicking out to touch its prey.  In those brief moments of light, the clouds would become more visible, showing the speed with which they heaved and rolled their way toward where he stood.  Golden hair blowing in a sudden gust of wind brushed his face as Glorfindel turned to him.

“Heavy rain, wind, lightning and possibly hail,” he said grimly.

“The tents are well situated beneath clumps of trees,” said Erestor thoughtfully.  “Let us hope that the damage is minimal. Where is Arwen?”

“Sleeping with her parents this night,” answered Glorfindel. “Elrond sensed the approach of the storm.”

“Let us join the twins, then, in case Elrohir should need to be moved” replied Erestor.

“Do not tell him we come for that purpose,” said Glorfindel dryly. “He seems to think we are coddling him.”

Erestor snorted.  “We are.”

“Right, but do not tell him that,” laughed Glorfindel.

By the time they had returned to the camp, rain had begun to fall and the winds had increased from occasional gusts to sustained blowing.  Erestor and Glorfindel circled the tent where Elrond, Celebrían and Arwen were sleeping, ensuring it was securely staked and closed.  Across the camp, guards who traveled with Celeborn and Galadriel were doing the same to the enclosure of their lord and lady.

Erestor and Glorfindel entered the tent the twins shared, a guard on duty sealing it securely behind them as the door flap threatened to fly up and over the tent.  Elladan was sitting up on his cot and seemed unsurprised to see them.  He motioned to his twin. “He has not awakened.”

“I think the whole camp will be awake soon,” Glorfindel informed him.

No sooner had he spoken when the sky was lit by a bolt of lightning, followed immediately by a roar of thunder. The sound of raindrops pelting the canvas of the tent came next, sometimes a steady thrumming and sometimes accentuated by a gust of wind blowing it with force.

Erestor watched Elrohir come to wakefulness and moved to sit next to him.  He smiled reassuringly at the injured elf, casually relaxing next to him in a show of unconcern that was quickly lost when something landed on the top of the tent.  Jumping to his feet, Erestor reached his fingers up to the surface of the canvas and felt the slender limb of a tree branch. The weight of the wood on the roof of the tent was not significant. Erestor looked down to see Elrohir looking at him apprehensively.

“I think now would be a good time to make sure I can stand,” began Elrohir, but he was interrupted by a resounding crack that nearly deafened them.

“Erestor, tree!” came the loud cry from outside the tent.  The sound of the tree breaking filled him with fear as he realized there was not time to move Elrohir.

“Elladan, go!” shouted Erestor as he folded himself over Elrohir’s head.

Not unsurprisingly, Elladan did not obey.  He and Glorfindel moved at the same time, covering the rest of Elrohir’s body by kneeling over him, three strong backs protecting his prone form.   A moment later the tree crashed through the canvas of the tent on top of them.

* * *

Celeborn sat quietly in his tent, his knife stilling from the work it was carving when the storm came upon them with force.  He heard the sound of the tree being struck by lightning and the warning shouted to Erestor.  He was on his feet instantly, pushing his way out of the tightly bound canvas.

“Lord Celeborn, stay inside!” shouted a guard. 

Celeborn paused when a flash of light caught his attention and turned to Galadriel, and as he saw what she held he froze in surprise and then anger built within him.  He ran the few steps toward her and grabbed her wrist with his hand.

“No!” He shook her wrist forcefully, watching as the ring fell into her lap. She jerked her arm away from him, but he increased the force until he knew that if she resisted further he would snap her wrist. “Do not put that thing on your finger,” he said tersely.

Galadriel’s face remained impassive, registering neither pain at his bruising hold nor anger at being restrained. Celeborn felt a tearing desire from within as another crack of lightning and roar of thunder filled the air: his grandson might need him and yet he would not leave her to wield Nenya. For two centuries she had studied the ring, learning its ways through touch, but not yet had she tried to bear its power.  To attempt to do so now, inexperienced as she was with it, filled Celeborn’s heart with dread.

“You might mean to do well and yet cause more harm,” he hissed at her placid face. She gradually relaxed her arm, ceasing any attempts to fight him, and he released his hold.  She picked up the elegant band with its stone of white and slipped it back inside the leather purse in which she carried it.  She hid it back in the folds of her gown and then raised her eyes to again meet his.  Satisfied, he turned his back on her and forced his way past the guard who attempted to block him.

Wind blew his hair across his face, and harshly blown rain and small hail pelted his skin.  He instinctively put his hand up to protect his eyes and ran to the collapsed tent.  Every free elf was braced under an oak tree that had been struck by lightning and fallen.  Celeborn ached to hear the tree’s final song and yet begged the young oak holding it partially aloft from the tent to hold it a while longer. 

For the tent was not crushed.  The young oak whose arms had caught the main trunk of the older tree held it several feet from the ground. Elves were bracing their own bodies along the trunk as the young oak began to crack and splinter.  Celeborn pushed the sight from his mind as he began clawing through the mud and debris next to Elrond. Yanking his dagger from his sheath, he ripped through the canvas, cutting a hole for them to enter through. They crawled inside together, and Celeborn heard Elrond’s sharp intake of breath at what they found.

Elladan, Erestor and Glorfindel were pinned above Elrohir but beneath the tree. Celeborn could see the way they braced their backs, all effort into removing some of the pressure from Elrohir.  Having quickly assessed the situation, Celeborn crawled back out of the tent.

“A hatchet, now!” he cried.

It was the cook who brought it to him, for he always kept one near for chopping firewood.  Celeborn ducked back under the canvas and crawled to the bed.

“The tree is caught on a young oak that promises to hold as long as it may,” he called over the sound of the rain and wind. “Elrond, be ready to pull Elrohir out.” Celeborn looked at the three pained and anxious faces above him, the strain on their bodies obvious, and then began hacking at the now soft earth below the bed. Clods of mud and earth began to come loose and he felt the first leg of the bed sag, and turned his attention to the next one.   Hacking and digging, he lowered the earth slightly, the oak tree holding its burden as promised, and the strain on the four began to lessen. 

Elrond had obtained some sort of digging tool as well and was sprawled out on the ground, digging at the head of the bed.  Celeborn could see the fear on his face when he turned his attention to the final leg, and he quickly realized why.  With the slightly higher ground at the head of the bed, Erestor was nearly suffocating Elrohir.  The counselor’s face was contorted in pain as he bore a greater burden of the tree while also arching his back in desperation to keep from crushing the one he was trying to protect.

Suddenly the final leg gave way, actually snapping free with a clod of earth.  The bed fell a few inches, and Elrond pulled his hand free just in time.  Celeborn crawled back to the foot of the bed, and with his bare hands, wrenched the foot from the left side and then the right, lowering it further.

“Move, Elladan!”

Celeborn could see the distress in Elladan’s eyes, for though the bed dropping had relieved the burden on his back, he feared moving.  Wrapping both arms about his grandson’s middle, Celeborn pulled him free.  When there was no effect on the tree or the others, Glorfindel slid free, and then Elrond and Celeborn each grabbed hold of Elrohir.  At their call, Erestor pushed himself back to the ground, scraping his back against the tree trunk, while at the same moment Elrond and Celeborn pulled Elrohir off the bed and out of harm’s way.

The six sat on the ground in astonished silence when nothing happened.  The tree did not shift and the storm continued around them.  Celeborn listened for the valiant young oak and heard its plea for relief.

“Come, we must allow the young oak his ease,” he said as he pushed Elladan towards the opening.  Elladan crawled out, followed quickly by Glorfindel, who pulled Erestor with him.  Elrond and Celeborn pulled Elrohir out last.  “Clear!” he shouted to the elves who had placed their own bodies between the tree and the ground, in case the young oak faltered.

“You may let go,” whispered Celeborn when all were removed from harm’s way.  A moment later, the young oak released its grip on the older tree.  The old oak settled with a thud the last few feet to the ground, crushing the tent.

Rain continued in a torrential downpour around them, but the wind lessened and the lightning passed by them.  Celeborn turned, watching for a moment as Elrond lifted Elrohir in his arms and carried him to his tent, and guards began assisting the other three and those who had sustained injury among them.  Turning to face his own tent, he saw Galadriel standing in the rain, her gown soaked and clinging to her body.

She faced into the storm, a haunted look upon her face. Turning, she met his eyes. Unable to read her, he held her gaze only a few seconds longer, and then they both moved to the tent of their daughter and her family.

* * *

Celebrían rocked Arwen in her arms as the child sobbed and clung to her. Storms had on occasion frightened her at home, but that had been more of a delicious fright, something that was scary but savored from the safety of her parents’ bed inside their home. Never had she been trapped outside during such weather, however, and never had she seen such destruction.

“Elrohir, open your eyes,” said Elrond, his voice gentle but firm.  He held both of his son’s hands in his own as Elrohir trembled, still struggling to regain his breath.  Erestor hovered nearby, shrugging off attempts being made to tend him, as he waited for Elrohir to respond.

Elrohir finally calmed his breathing and opened his eyes.  Erestor bowed his head in relief. “I meant to protect you and instead I nearly killed you,” he whispered.

“I am unhurt,” replied Elrohir, his voice hoarse.

Elrond quickly examined his son, deciding he was not injured in any way that required treatment.  The panicked look that had been on son’s face as he fought for air would not soon be forgotten, however.  He pulled a light blanket over Elrohir, but his son batted it down as soon as it came to rest on his chest. 

“Let me sit with him while you check the others,” commanded Celeborn.  He turned a more gentle voice to Elrohir. “You will feel better if you sit up a little and we remove the wet clothing,” he said soothingly to his grandson.  With Galadriel’s help, he propped Elrohir up and helped him remove his soaked sleep garment, both actions helping Elrohir to feel as if he could breathe easier. 

“I do not require tending,” said Erestor through tight lips when Elrond began loosening his tunic.

Elrond ignored him, noting that Erestor did not fight him when he carefully slipped the tunic off his shoulders. He examined the scrapes and bruises, but felt no damage beyond the skin.   “You will be sore for a day or two.  Let your muscles rest and it will be less so,” he said as he cleaned and applied healing salve to the scrapes.

Erestor ignored him, as expected, and Elrond reminded himself that he doubted he had ever had a worse patient than Erestor. He moved next to Glorfindel who waved him off, and he accepted that response from Glorfindel.  Glorfindel was a captain of warriors  - he knew when his body required aid and when it did not, and while not a patient with patience, he at least accepted aid when it was needed. Elladan he merely put his arms around, and he could feel through that contact his son was physically uninjured as well.  He held him close for a moment, allowing his son to draw what comfort he needed.

Elrond turned to see to the guards, but Galadriel had them well in hand, tending the minor injuries caused by hail and flying debris.  The rain had abated, and the guards left the crowded tent as soon as they were able.

“Ada, can we go home now?”

Elrond looked at the tear-stained face of his daughter and managed a smile.  “Yes, Arwen, I think it is time to go home.”

* * *

Anor’s first rays lit the camp several hours later, showing the full destruction of the night’s storm.  The heavy rainfall had further swollen the overflowing banks of the Hoarwell, ripping small trees from their tender roots and carrying them away with the floodwaters.  In their camp, three trees had broken limbs that had to be removed, for they were now unstable and liable to be torn off in the next great wind.  The oak that had been struck by lightning still lay flat across the tent where Elrohir had lain for many days.

Elrond shuddered as he looked on the site, well aware that danger had nearly taken his sons again.  Had Elrohir been mobile, they would have escaped unscathed.  Forcing the vision of Elrohir’s panicked face from his mind, Elrond walked to the spring to refill his waterskins.  Erestor was already there, and Elrond smiled as he watched his advisor attempting to treat his wounds by placing the healing salve on a soft pad attached to a stick and then rubbing it gently over the affected areas.

“You are ingenious at finding ways to get done whatever it is you need to do,” said Elrond, smiling when Erestor scowled at him.  He wrenched the stick from Erestor’s hand.  He knelt down to wash his hands then, and when he turned to walk the few steps back to Erestor, he was surprised to see the bruises and scratches along the front of the elf’s torso. He had missed those during the night.

“These were made by fingernails,” he finally said as it dawned on him where they had come from. “You are fortunate my son is missing several or this would be far worse.”

“The weight of the tree slowly pushed me on top of him, and then somehow the trunk raised back up several inches.  That several inches is why Elrohir is alive,” replied Erestor quietly.  He touched the scratches lightly. “He clawed and pushed to try to breathe, and I feared I would be the one to kill him.  When the tree rose slightly, he had scant room to draw air, but it was enough to live.”

Elrond rubbed the healing salve into the scrapes again, noting that many were already healing over.  He held the simple tunic that Erestor had set nearby so the elf could slip his arms into it.

“I would have followed him to Mandos’s Halls and demanded my life be taken for his,” continued Erestor calmly.

“I would have gone with you just to see that!” said Glorfindel as he sat down on the rock near them.  “Erestor faced off against Namo. I think he would have found you amusing.”

“He might have despaired to see you again and kicked all three of you back to Middle-earth, simply to be rid of your presence,” laughed Elrond.   But even as he was glad to make Erestor smile, he had more to say.  He took the counselor’s hand in his own. “You put yourself between that tree and Elrohir with every intention of protecting him.  I thank you, Erestor.  I could ask for no better friend for myself or my children.”

“I shall go sit with him,” answered Erestor.

Elrond sank down on to the rock next to Glorfindel as he watched his advisor walk away.  “Arwen is right.  It is time to go home,” he said finally.  “At least within the safety of Imladris I think we may survive the spring.”

Glorfindel laughed, the sound like tiny bells chiming, and Elrond felt familiar strong fingers massage his tense neck and shoulders. “There are many things that you cannot control, mellon-nín, and the weather is one of them.”

Elrond tensed slightly at those words and his mind flew to the exquisite silver and gold band that held a sapphire of the most brilliant blue.  Perhaps he could not control the weather, but could he not influence it?  For centuries it had lain in its nest of velvet, unused and mostly forgotten. The One was lost; it could have no dominion over the Three now.  Why not learn to wield it?  Why not use it as Celebrimbor had intended?

“Elrond?” came Glorfindel’s voice.

Elrond turned to face Glorfindel, and he knew immediately that the warrior had sensed his thoughts. He had learned long ago to hide nothing from this elf who had been sent to protect him. Yet, on this issue, they had not always agreed.

“Do you have it with you?” asked Glorfindel, his eyes not leaving Elrond’s.

“Yes,” answered Elrond without hesitation, despite knowing Glorfindel would be less than pleased. “We left Imladris in fear, without knowing what had transpired.  I did not consider it; I just brought it.”

“You should have told me,” chastised Glorfindel. “The day Gil-Galad entrusted it to you, you promised me that I would always know where you and it were.”

“I had forgotten it until just now,” admitted Elrond. “I have not tried to wield it, and I would not attempt to do so here unless great need were upon me.” Even as he spoke, he could feel the conflict that radiated from his friend.  Like Celeborn, Glorfindel had been of the opinion that the elven rings of power should have been destroyed.  But Galadriel would not dispose of a tool that would aid the elves, for she knew that Sauron was not destroyed.  It was an old argument that could be traced back to the fall of Eregion, and was one that Elrond did not wish to hear or participate in again this day.  With the One lost, the Three could be of benefit and Elrond felt the weight of responsibility to protect the elves of Imladris and any others that came seeking shelter within her walls. He saw no need to destroy it now; indeed he foresaw that it would be folly to do so.

Glorfindel sighed, and Elrond grasped his hand. “I know if Sauron regains his strength and the One is returned to his keeping, Vilya could enslave me.”

“I will not let that happen,” promised Glorfindel.

* * *

Elrohir awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and the soft song of the trees.  The sides of the tent were partially opened and the scenery had changed slightly.  Realizing his bed was not nearly so comfortable as it had been, he propped himself up on his elbows and found Erestor and his mother patiently watching him. Memories of the storm during the night flooded his memory.

“Is everyone well?  Was anyone injured?” he asked.  His ribs and chest ached as he spoke, a reminder of how much effort he had expended merely inhaling and exhaling with all the pressure on his body.

“The only casualty was the oak tree,” answered Celebrían.

Erestor moved closer, sitting on a low stool near the cot. “I am sorry, Elrohir,” he said. “My intention was to protect you, not cause you harm.”

Elrohir laughed, relieved the ache did not seem worse when he did so.  “I do not think you could cause me harm. The storm was fierce, and I regret the loss of the tree.” He studied Erestor for a moment. “Are you injured?”

“Scrapes from the tree are all. Thankfully that young oak caught the other tree as it fell.” Erestor pointed to the young oak that was being trimmed of its broken branches as he spoke.  The elves then patched the injuries with a paste to protect the wounds from being infiltrated by insects or disease.

“I should go thank the tree,” mused Elrohir.  His eyes danced.  “Which means I have to stand.”

Erestor and Celebrían laughed, as did Elrond and Glorfindel as they entered the tent.

“The ground is wet and slippery,” warned Elrond. “You may stand here, but you are not to move without one of us at your side.”

“Yes, Adar,” promised Elrohir.  He waited while his mother slid something up over the bottom of his leg, protecting his foot but also the cast from moisture.

He sat up without aid and carefully moved his legs off the cot. His father pulled him to his feet and Glorfindel slipped the crutch he had made days earlier under his arm. Elrohir stood upright and smiled, as he felt no untoward effects from what had become an unusual position for him to be in. His father on one side of him and Glorfindel on the other, he discovered how to move without falling and they made their way to the spring for him to refresh himself and dress.

* * *

Celeborn sat watching his wife through hooded eyes.  Neither had slept, nor had they spoken.  Galadriel had been deep in contemplation for several hours, the small bag containing Nenya held in her lap and covered with both hands.

They had had this argument so many times he knew that he could recite both sides from memory.  There was no point in repeating it; neither of them would change their minds.  She would learn to wield Nenya, harnessing and directing its power for what she perceived to be the good of elvendom in Middle-earth. Both of them knew the risks of doing so, should the One be found and wielded by someone of great power.

“Promise me you will not wear it here, where we are unprepared.  Promise me that I will always know where you and it are, so I may slay you myself, if need be,” he finally said, the words harsh to his own ears.

Galadriel did not answer immediately, but she did focus her eyes upon him.  He glared at her, ensuring she knew he did not agree with her choice. Finally, she nodded. “It will be as you say.”

* * *

The day was spent in removing the debris and salvaging what could be saved from the tent.  Elrohir had grinned merrily when he learned his feather bed was slightly more compact, but still very usable, once cleaned.   Little had been damaged beyond repair, and elves had cleaned and fixed the tears in the canvas tent.

The young oak had been honored in song by the elves, and the four who had been in the tent had laid their hands upon its trunk and given their thanks.  On one slender branch, Arwen had tied blue, purple and gold ribbons.

“Tomorrow we will go,” announced Elrond as they gathered after dinner.  He had watched Elrohir learn to move about the camp with his crutch and cast, and though he did tire easily, he had not been in pain or distress.

“Thank you, Adar!” cried Arwen as she flung herself into his arms. 

“I think you have had enough adventures to last you a long while,” whispered Elrond as he hugged her.

Arwen turned to face her father, looking him in the eye, and said seriously, “Adar, you have my promise that I will never stow away somewhere I do not belong again.”

“Good!” replied Elrond.  “I had intended to ask such a promise of you.”

Arwen bit her lower lip, then asked bravely, “Am I going to be punished?”

“You have suffered consequences far worse than any I would ever have imagined, and I will not add punishment to that. When we return home, we will have a feast to thank all of those who helped search for you,” answered Elrond.

At this Arwen smiled and turned in his arms to sit in his lap, pulling one of his arms around her. He knew she loved the times when all of Imladris gathered in the Hall of Fire or on lawn beyond the front porch, to eat, sing and be merry; and he was glad to give her something to look forward to.

“Daeradar and Daernaneth, will you continue your story? I think you should start now, as the elfling will need to go to bed early,” said Elladan, tweaking his dozing twin’s braid as he spoke. “He did the least amount of work around the camp today, so Elbereth only knows why he is so tired.”

Elrohir jumped slightly, then flushed when he realized everyone was looking at him and many were laughing.  He turned his eyes to Elladan, confused. “I would have helped, but no one would let me,” he yawned.  “And this cast is heavy.”

Elladan caught the pillow that Glorfindel threw him and laid it in his lap, then pulled his sleepy brother to him.

“He is far too tired to smack me for teasing him.  Does anyone else care to do so?” he asked.

“I will do it later,” murmured Elrohir as he made himself comfortable.

Celeborn smiled indulgently at his grandchildren, his eyes resting finally on his daughter.  In appearance, her children most strongly resembled their father, but he saw much of her in them too.

“As Arwen has wished to hear about the arrival of a certain elf, the most important person born in Ost-in-Edhil is soon to make her appearance . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

c1550 of the Second Age, after Annatar’s departure

Celebrimbor held the gem in his hands, staring at it for many long minutes. His mind was busy, despite the inactivity of his hands, as he considered the work laid out before him.  He had sent word to the dwarves and from there to Men of the south and east, seeking the most perfect gems for the Three.  Many had been delivered over the years, but Annatar had held of little importance the stones used in the crafting of the Seven and the Nine.  They were beautiful, and exceedingly well crafted, but Annatar had valued most the craft that instilled the power into each ring.  Their beauty was of less importance, and their relation to the natural world largely unexplored.

This would not be true of the Three.

The gems of each would be unsurpassed, and from each gem he would craft in the element it represented.  The will and desire of the elves was not that of mortals or dwarves. These rings would preserve and heal, and help the bearer to understand. These qualities they would have in common, but each would be unique as well.

The ruby in his hand was as red as blood, its intensity that of the hottest flame. It was also the most unusual ruby he had ever laid eyes upon, for at the center of the gem was a star, its rays of light displayed completely to their rounding. Yet it was also nearly transparent.

Celebrimbor closed his hand around it, feeling its heat and passion. The one who wielded this ring would be able to spark the fire and passion in the hearts of many.

He began work on the Ring of Fire, using the knowledge and craft he had learned from Annatar. As he chanted his incantation for power into the ring, he did not speak of the desires the elves held for themselves, but those they held for Arda marred.  To these desires he bound the element of fire, with its passion and ability to kindle hope, and to draw to itself those seeking to escape the chill of a dark and cold world.

“Narya!” cried Celebrimbor when he was through and the ring complete.  This ring he did place upon his own hand and to his delight, he felt strengthened and warmed.  With it he would warm the hearts of all those in Eregion, in this land they had made their own.

* * *

The next gem came to him decades later, from somewhere in the East.  He paid handsomely for it, and regretted it not.

“An adamant of the first waters,” he whispered, nearly unable to draw a deep breath in his excitement over this diamond of unsurpassed quality.  Pure white and clear, the gem was perfect. His heart immediately thought of Galadriel. “Only one of noble birth can wield such a stone. She is as pure and unconquerable as adamant.”

He gave long thought to the qualities of adamant, the hardest of stones, and thought of the element that was harder still: water.  It shaped and smoothed all that it passed over, seemingly molding to the object as it flowed past, but in time it was the object that was shaped by the water.

To the white stone he bound the element of water. “You are Nenya, the Ring of Water, and the one who bears you will bring knowledge, healing and refreshment to all who come to her.”

Secretly he wore Nenya as he went about Ost-in-Edhil.  Reclusive since beginning his life’s most important work, he opened his heart to others and felt a serenity and tranquility develop in those around him.

* * *

The year 1590 of the Second Age

Celebrimbor held at last the sapphire that would complete the Three.  He had struggled the most with this ring, for its qualities were not wholly his own.  Fire he loved and Water he understood, but the breath of Arda was elusive. The sapphire was the sky and contained within it was Arda. To this ring he bound the element of air. “The skies and stars we share with Valinor, and the gifts of Varda shine to us as a reminder of unshakeable trust and faithfulness, loyalty and harmony.”

“Vilya I will call you, the Ring of Air, for you are the sky and in your clear blue depths twinkle the stars we hold precious. The one who bears you will be one of deep understanding and knowledge of all that is past and one with the ability to see what is to come.”

He sank to his knees, Vilya in his hand.  He was finished! The Three were complete and of all the Rings of Power created, they were the greatest.  They did not bind the wearer to the ring, nor seek to increase the one.  Instead, the gem and the elements of nature that created them were joined, and the power they held was for Arda and her people.

Trembling with anticipation, he slipped Vilya on to his hand.  As he wielded it, tranquility settled around him and he felt as though he drifted along on a slight breeze.  Cool, refreshing calm settled about him and he found himself exploring the subtle differences between this ring and Narya and Nenya.

Few knew of his accomplishment, and none knew that he wielded the rings himself, learning their ways and seeking to use their power.  But Ost-in-Edhil prospered and grew more beautiful over those years.

* * *

Spring of the year 1600 of the Second Age

Celeborn strolled through the city, as was often his wont, for it was on such unscheduled and relaxed excursions that the citizens of Eregion were most open and direct with him.  He could not remember a more serene or peaceful time in the land; indeed, never had they been more prosperous.

“Lord Celeborn!” called a shopkeeper.

He turned to greet the elf, who smiled broadly from behind his display of goods.  However, the reason for his smile was held in his arms.  Celeborn approached the shop, smiling indulgently at two small elflings who raced in front of him and then around to the fountain behind him in a game of chase and capture. 

“My daughter, Narusel,” said the shopkeeper.

The infant cooed and waved an arm at him, and he caught the tiny hand on one finger.  She wrapped her five tiny digits around his, and smiled at him from beneath dark lashes.

“Mae govannen, Narusel,” replied Celeborn.  He lifted the child into his arms, waving the father away when he reached to disengage the child’s fingers from the handful of his silver hair she had grabbed with a delighted cry. Narusel kicked and squealed as she played with the soft silver strands.

When finally he returned the infant to her father, his silk robes were rumpled and drooled upon, his hair in slight disarray, and the tip of one finger thoroughly gummed.  “Thank you,” he said to the shopkeeper, who managed to grin abashedly that his daughter had so engaged the lord of the city, and flush with embarrassment that the lord of the city would leave in less than pristine condition.

Celeborn decided to return home, for deep inside him had flared an unquenchable fire.

Celeborn found Galadriel in her garden, seated amidst roses that had never been more fragrant or of colors so true. As he sat down next to her, a grin tugged on his lips as her finger rose to the stain on the silk near his shoulder. She raised her eyebrow at him in question.

“I have just met the most beautiful elleth in Ost-in-Edhil and fallen in love,” he answered with a smile.

Galadriel frowned at him; then a smile spread over her face as she understood what must have transpired.  “Indeed.  And will you forsake me for this one more beautiful?”

Celeborn paused in consideration, enjoying the sly smile on her face. “Rather I would create one with you,” he answered.

Galadriel reached her hand out to touch his face and words were not needed. Long they had discussed a child, but always they had lived under the danger of Morgoth’s wrath or had duties that made parenthood seem impossible.

“Such passion I see in your eyes,” she murmured. With one final caress of his cheek, she stood and began walking to their house.  She had gone only a few feet when she turned to look at him, her brow raised in question. “Have you changed your mind already?”

Celeborn felt the grin spread across his face, and he laughed as he rose gracefully to his feet.  Where he had come prepared to reopen the discussion, she apparently had already reached conclusion!  Trust his Galadriel to do what she wanted, when she wanted.  In this case, he would not argue.

* * *

Celeborn strolled the street to the city plaza, nodding to the many who greeted him but not stopping until he came to the shopkeeper’s store.  The shopkeeper began laughing upon sight, and quickly disappeared inside his shop.  He returned just as Celeborn had reached his counter.

“Baby!” squealed Narusel as she bounced in her father’s arms.

“My daughter, Celebrían,” said Celeborn.

The shopkeeper leaned near, allowing Narusel a closer look at the child. Narusel clapped her hands and giggled, “Pretty hair!”  She pointed at Celeborn.  “Pretty hair too!”

Celeborn smiled, for indeed his daughter already had a head of silver hair, as soft as silk, and eyes of blue-green.  She cooed and giggled in return, reaching in fascination for the long black curls of the child above her.  Narusel’s father quickly substituted his own dark hair into Celebrían’s grasp and she tugged on the strands in wonder.

When their visit had concluded, Celeborn held Celebrían so she could see the activity of the world around her as he walked.   He found a seat at the fountain where the elflings played, and he did not have to wait long for several to run by.  They stopped, recognizing the lord of the city, but it was not his presence that held their attention. Soon surrounded by ellyn and ellyth of many sizes, he let his little silver queen hold court among these little ones who would be her playmates.

* * *

Celebrimbor felt a strange foreboding come over him, as if a dark and dangerous wind had swept in the eastern window of his workshop.  Unconsciously twisting Narya on his finger, he turned his thought and will to the ring and then to the east. A long moment passed as he sensed a connection through the ring, and then a look of horror crossed his face, reflected back to him in the gold of the ring’s band.

“No!” he cried, falling to his knees.  He tore the ring from his finger as an anguished sob escaped him.  Gasping for breath, he leapt to his feet and raced to the locked chest where he kept the rings when not wearing them.  He carefully laid Narya with Nenya and Vilya, and his tears splashed on to the Adamant stone of Nenya. “No,” he whispered in despair. He locked the chest.

The words he had heard repeated over and over in his head: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.  Annatar had made a ring to enslave them.

“Annatar!” he spat into the silence of the workshop. “Sauron, lieutenant of Morgoth, survivor of Beleriand!”

He lit the fire in his forge and while waiting for it to heat to the temperature appropriate to melt gold and Mithril, he unlocked the box in which he stored the Seven and the Nine.  One of the Seven he had already given to the King of Khazad-Dûm.   As the rings were bared before him, he sensed a sizzling power radiating from them, and he feared to touch them.  Taking tongs in hand, he took one and carried it to the fire. 

Despite his fear, he found it nearly impossible to cast the ring into the fire.  Finally, with a great force of will, he closed his eyes and dropped it into the flame. The minutes ticked by interminably slow, but he was patient, not retrieving the crucible until he was sure the ring had had time to fully melt.  Using his great gloves, he pulled it forth.

Fear overwhelmed him and he cried out in anguish. “Betrayed!  We are betrayed beyond measure!”  He sank to the chair near his worktable, the crucible left on the stone hearth by the forge.  In the middle of it lay the perfectly formed ring, unscathed by the fire.

Bewildered and lost by what he had seen, he walked out into the sunny streets of the city. Nothing appeared different; children laughed and the fountain bubbled and trade was conducted in the plaza.  Stumbling over his own feet, he caught his balance before tumbling on to the brick paved road.  Hands reached out to him, but he pushed them aside.  Nearly blinded by his anger and shock, he began to run through the streets, seeking the home of Galadriel.

Banging on the door, he pushed past the servant who opened it and found Galadriel in her sitting room.  She had stood when she first heard the noise at the door, but he was not whom she was expecting.  His eyes did not comprehend the clothing of an infant that she had laid aside, nor the soft pink blanket draped over the chair.

“Celebrimbor?

Galadriel grasped his arm tightly as he swayed and forced him to sit.   “What has happened?” she asked calmly.

Celeborn had entered on his heels, dressed as if he had been out, but Celebrimbor did not remember seeing him.  He held an infant in his arms, the child cooing and gurgling in delight at the sight of Galadriel.  Celeborn handed the child to her, smiling as tiny hands grasped at the bodice of Galadriel’s gown and tiny lips sucked on the fabric of her dress.

Celebrimbor stared at Galadriel with what appeared to be disbelief. She held a child, a child she was about to nurse, a child that was apparently hers. He rose.

“Nothing,” he answered curtly. “I was overcome by the heat of the forge. All will be well now.”

He walked out the door, not looking back, and returned to the House of the Mírdain.  There he locked up the ring with the others, and sat in silence throughout the day and long into the night.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Celebrimbor did not reveal to you then that Annatar was Sauron and had made his own ring?” asked Elladan, disbelief in his voice.

“No, he did not,” answered Celeborn mildly.

“He was in shock himself, I believe, and seeing us with Celebrían only furthered his . . . lack of wisdom,” added Galadriel.

“Why could he not destroy the ring in the fire?” continued Elladan, puzzled.

Galadriel sighed.  “There are several thoughts on why this is, though I do not purpose to know which, if any, are the whole truth.  The craft of Sauron was such that he placed a part of himself into each ring.  That craft, when used by the smiths of Eregion, did so even when he did not touch the rings.  That is why the One can have dominion over the Three.  It is said in ring-lore that a ring can be unmade only by its maker or in the fire in which it was created.  Celebrimbor and Annatar together made the Seven and the Nine; some believe this is why Celebrimbor alone could not destroy it.  The fire of the forge did not burn constantly, thus the fire that day was not a continuation of the fire that created those rings.  At times the forges did grow cold and were cleaned, and all new fuel was used.  Some believe that the same fire which made the ring must be used to destroy it, and this is why the ring could not be unmade.”

“What of the Three, then?” asked Elrohir drowsily. “Celebrimbor made them alone.  He should have been able to test the theories and see which was correct.”

All eyes rested on Galadriel and next to her, Celeborn bristled.

“The power of the Three was not in destruction or domination. There was no reason to unmake them,” she said.

Celeborn snorted in disgust and stood, moving to the cooking area to refill his glass of wine.  Elladan looked around the circle and realized that this was an issue of contention among more than just his grandparents.

“If the wise could not agree, then I suppose there are many facets to the issue that discussing tonight will not resolve,” he finally said.  He pushed his brother’s head down when Elrohir looked at him in confusion. “Go back to sleep, elfling.”

“Naneth, did Narusel become your friend?” asked Arwen.

“Yes, she did.  She became one of my best friends, almost like a sister to me,” answered Celebrían, relief on her face at the change of subject.

“There were many children in Ost-in-Edhil then,” added Celeborn as he resumed his seat. “But Narusel was the first friend your naneth had and the two of them did have adventures together.”

“Tell me one, Naneth!” cried Arwen.

“Not now, Arwen, for we all must rest tonight, as we did not last night, and rise early, for tomorrow we begin our journey home.”

“Praise the Valar,” mumbled Elrohir.  “It is about time.”

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:

Some readers like these little notes of what influenced my writing, so I’ll add a bit here.  In the timeline in Appendix B of LotR, The Tale of Years, there passes about 95 years from the time Celebrimbor ‘perceives the designs of Sauron’ and when Sauron has finally amassed an army to attack the elves.  Why, in 95 years, did the elves not destroy the rings?  In Unfinished Tales, in the section ‘Concerning Celeborn and Galadriel,’ Tolkien writes: ‘Now Celebrimbor was not corrupted in heart or faith, but had accepted Sauron as what he posed to be; and when at length he discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron, and went to Lórinand to take counsel once more with Galadriel. They should have destroyed all the Rings of Power at this time, "but they failed to find the strength." Galadriel counselled him that the Three Rings of the Elves should be hidden, never used, and dispersed, far from Eregion where Sauron believed them to be.’  This certainly suggests that Celebrimbor could have destroyed the rings, but this version does not fit the timeline of Appendix B and has other problems.

In the books on ring-lore, it seems that no ring of power is easily destroyed.  I then found the following quote in FotR:

It has been said that dragon-fire could melt and consume the Rings of Power, but there is not now any dragon left on earth in which the old fire is hot enough; nor was there ever any dragon, not even Ancalagon the Black, who could have harmed the One Ring, the Ruling Ring, for that was made by Sauron himself.  Gandalf to Frodo in Concerning Hobbits, FotR

This could suggest that even the lesser rings of power were not easily destroyed.  The whole quest is concerned with getting the One Ring back to the fire where it was made.  Mount Orodruin is a volcano, and its fire would have bubbled at its core continuously, making it much different than a forge.  The One Ring could be destroyed in the same fire. 

'The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them. But of them it is not permitted to speak. So much only in this hour of doubt I may now say. They are not idle. But they were not made as weapons of war or conquest: that is not their power. Those who made them did not desire strength or domination or hoarded wealth, but understanding, making, and healing, to preserve all things unstained. These things the Elves of Middle-earth have in some measure gained, though with sorrow. But all that has been wrought by those who wield the Three will turn to their undoing, and their minds and hearts will become revealed to Sauron, if he regains the One. It would be better if the Three had never been. That is his purpose.’ Elrond, at the Council of Elrond.

Somehow, in his craft, Sauron poured his own strength and malice into the One Ring with the purpose of ruling all of the other rings.  He did not touch the Three and as Gandalf told Frodo ‘they endure no evil.’  He may not be able to bend the bearer of an elven ring to do his evil will, but Elrond says ‘their minds and hearts will become revealed to Sauron.’  What that means in open to interpretation, but it seems Sauron having any insight into one’s heart or mind would give him the power to endlessly torment, and ‘enslaved’ might be a good word to describe that.

So, the Three perhaps should have been destroyed, on the chance that Sauron ever regained the One.  Perhaps this is what Celebrimbor and Galadriel had not the strength to do.  And, perhaps Celebrimbor in his horror may have denied the truth to himself for some time.  It did take Sauron nearly a century to amass a force large and strong enough to attack Eregion.

The situation must have felt truly helpless, if indeed the Seven and the Nine could not be unmade by the elves.  Sauron made them and his craft put some of his power into the rings, power to bind the wearer to the lesser ring and the lesser rings to his own.  The desires he exploited were for wealth and power, and the pursuit of them corrupts.  The Elven rings were different in this way – they did not bind their bearer and perhaps Sauron could not control the bearer. For as Gandalf pointed out at the Council: ‘For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts.’

There is also lore on the symbolism and meaning of the ruby, sapphire and adamant gems.  It fits surprisingly well with the final bearers of the rings and the fruits of how they wielded them.  These gems are part of myth and lore, so I rather believe Tolkien intended this.  The depths of his work continue to amaze me – and I suppose we are like amateur archaeologists uncovering the layers of the world he created.

As always, thank you very much to all who are reading and especially to those who leave encouragement, questions and their thoughts.   

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 17: Celebrían

The day dawned bright under sunny skies, without a single cloud to darken the horizon.  Elrond turned his face east, to soak in the morning light, but the ease and joy he received from Anor were less than he had expected.  Turning his thoughts inward, he searched for any source of discord among his family.  Finding none, he let himself drift deep into meditative thought, seeking to know if this discontent he felt was warning or foreknowledge of some event yet to come.

He sensed Galadriel’s approach before she joined him. For a long while neither spoke. Then Galadriel broke the silence, using words, for neither seemed willing to bare their thoughts to the other.

“Many a year has passed since Ohtar rode into Imladris with the tokens of the House of Elendil,” she said softly.

Elrond turned slightly to look upon her, nodding slightly in agreement with her statement.  Only three had escaped the disaster at the Gladden fields, where Isildur and his three oldest sons had perished. His gaze drifted back to the east, Anor now rising above the tops of the trees, shedding light upon the swift moving waters below him.

“Had the One been found by a person of power, we would feel the effects throughout Middle-earth.  It has not been found,” she continued.  “The hopes and ideals of Celebrimbor were not iniquitous, nor will the works touched only by his hand bear any evil. In time, one could learn to wield them as intentioned.”

Elrond continued to watch as the bright morning glow spread over the camp, now being dismantled in preparation for travel.  The trunk of the dead oak lay to the side of the camp, its smaller branches having been cut and stacked for firewood, a gift to future travelers.  A sudden vision flashed in his mind, of Elrohir crushed beneath the tree’s weight, of the bodies of all four of those who had been in the tent laid out on biers, their souls having fled to Mandos’s Halls.

“In the qualities of the sapphire, in the power of the Air, you are well chosen,” she finished.

She glided past him, the sleeve of her gown brushing against his arm. He felt the touch of her mind, her presence calming and refreshing, yet he knew beneath the surface of tranquility there resided a heart of unquenchable fire.  He was witness to her love for her daughter and grandchildren, and the deep, thought at times tumultuous, passion she bore for Celeborn.  Seldom in conflict, though usually of equal importance to her, were the duty and responsibility she carried for their people and Middle-earth.  Yet she also desired power.

Turning, she faced him. “Someday we may be tested, though I too perceive that in this matter I would face the greater struggle.  I do not plan to fail.”

He watched as she returned to camp, Arwen immediately rushing to her, looking for a companion to watch with her as the wagons were packed.  His hand slid unconsciously down his side, the slight weight of the velvet bag attached beneath his clothing barely noticeable to his touch.

“Adar, will you come knock some sense. . . er, I mean, speak words of wisdom to Elrohir?” asked Elladan. “He thinks he is riding today.”

Elrond could not help but smile as he saw Elrohir standing before Glorfindel, Celebrían and Erestor, pleading his case.  Not yet allowed to walk unattended, his attempts to prove his abilities were comical, as none would walk with him now.  Elrond joined the small group, schooling his expression into one of placid neutrality to keep from joining the others in barely contained amusement.

“Good morning, Elrohir,” he greeted his son pleasantly, wrapping one arm about the younger elf’s shoulders. “You appear to have rested well last night.”

“I did, Adar, thank you,” replied Elrohir, focusing his most charming smile and all of his attention on his father.  Elrond knew when he was being manipulated by one of his children, but he played along nonetheless. “As a matter of fact, Adar, I feel so well this morning I believe I am able to ride.  I feel much improved when I am upright.”

“Improved circulation, more blood to your head,” murmured Elrond in apparent agreement.  He caught Glorfindel’s eyes, the elf quickly catching on to his plan and moving silently to stand behind Elrohir.  “Of course, there is more to riding than merely being upright.  There are strength and balance to consider.”

As he spoke the words, Elrond tipped Elrohir slightly off balance by bumping into him while bending as if to pick up something from the ground.  Elrohir grabbed for his sleeve, but Elrond moved just enough to make the grab mostly useless, leaning into Elrohir rather than balancing his weight. A panicked look crossed Elrohir’s face as he began to fall. “Adar!” he cried.

Elrond did not react, but watched as Glorfindel deftly caught Elrohir and set him upright again, one arm wrapped about the young elf’s waist to steady him. “I am sorry, Elrohir,” Elrond said, true condolence in his voice. “For today you will ride in the wagon and perhaps with one of us eventually, but not by yourself.  Not yet.  You expect too much of yourself if you think to not only master that cast in one day, but ride with it as well.”

Tears threatened Elrohir’s eyes, but he managed to hold them in check as he nodded in response to his father.  He drew in a deep breath, not meeting the eyes of those assembled around him, and turned to walk back to the campfire. Remembering he was not to walk alone, he stopped. Glorfindel squeezed his shoulders in understanding and walked with him back to the tent.

Elrond felt Celebrían’s arm slip around his waist and leaned slightly into her.  “He was so earnest, Elrond. Such a trial this has been for him!”

Elrond pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding down the length of her back and over the curve of her hip. He kissed her tenderly.  “He has borne the trial well, all things considered. I am glad you are here, Celebrían, as he is better with you present.”

He felt her tense at his words and silently cursed himself for reopening that rift between them.  While he was still deciding what to say to further explain his words, she relaxed against him, wrapping both arms about his neck and returning the kiss. I know what you meant. There is nowhere else I would rather be than with you and our children.

“Adar, Naneth, there is still one tent that has not yet been dismantled,” said Elladan helpfully as he moved past them.

Celebrían reached out with one hand, swatting him as he walked past.  Elladan yelped, for she hit hard, and Elrond laughed. “See to the horses, Elladan!  We are nearly ready to go.”                    

Elladan smiled, joy lighting his face, and Elrond felt his own heart lighten in response. He had not realized how subdued Elladan’s personality had become during this trial, but in the last few days he had teased and prodded his twin and now his parents, evidence of a return of his good humor.

“He is your son,” he said to Celebrían.

Celebrían smiled with pride, turning her back to Elrond and leaning against him as she watched Elladan greet Garthon near the horses.  “Yes, he is,” she agreed.  “They are all mine.  But I will share them with you.”

“Your generosity is one of the things I love best about you,” replied Elrond, but his interest was suddenly captured by the delicate ear so near his lips.  “Although, this ear is very lovable too.”

Celebrían laughed and pulled away from both the lips that had captured her ear and the hands that had the rest of her.  “That ear has a price, meleth-nín,” she teased.

“I will pay any price,” replied Elrond rashly. “Name the forfeit.”

“Negotiate publicly if you must, but save the rest for home,” said Celeborn dryly as he and Glorfindel walked past them.   Glorfindel sidestepped Celebrían, giving her wide berth. “No swatting me,” he warned her, his eyes twinkling to match hers.

“He is scared of me,” Celebrían confided to Elrond as she grinned at Glorfindel.  She leaned close to Elrond then, one hand slipping into the neck of his tunic as she whispered in his ear.  Elrond knew his eyes widened and he could not help the smile that spread across his face. He looked up into the amused expression on Glorfindel’s face.

“I think we should leave now,” Elrond managed.  “The sooner we leave, the sooner we will be home.”

Glorfindel howled with laughter and Celebrían smiled wickedly as Elrond straightened his tunic and began walking away.  Celeborn fell into step with him, guiding him towards the shore of the river where they would be alone, and Elrond knew the elf also had something he wished to say to him.

“In answer to your current thought, yes, my daughter has always had that rather wicked sense of humor,” began Celeborn.  “We conceived her rashly and I think it became an inborn quality.  She does, however, bring out the best in you.”

Elrond smiled. Yes, he did have to agree with that.

“I would counsel you, were I asked, to not use Vilya at all,” continued Celeborn. “Yet I sense that all of the Three will eventually be in use, and I even foresee that what is born of them will be for good. The cost to you will be great, Elrond. Bearing that kind of power, even when not used to dominate, carries its own price. The location of the rings should not be known by any but the bearers and those who would protect them.”

Elrond lifted his eyebrow in question at Celeborn, wondering if somehow his father-in-law knew what he and Glorfindel had spoken of the day prior.

“But among us, there should be no secrets.  If you choose to use it, bear it wisely and seek good counsel as you learn to wield it. And,” finished Celeborn, “do not use it here.”

“I will heed your counsel,” replied Elrond. “I shall count upon your wisdom in the future.  The days will not always remain as they are now.”

“No, they will not,” replied Celeborn.  “In time, shadow will return.”

They returned to camp, the only evidence of their sojourn there the neatly stacked wood near the downed oak tree. Wagons were packed and the horses ready, waiting only for their riders.

Elrond could see the stubborn set to his son’s jaw as Elrohir looked at the place made for him in the wagon.  Elladan stood next to him, but there was no teasing between them now.  Both twins looked aghast at the thought of Elrohir riding in the bed of a wagon.

“Adar, perhaps Elrohir could ride with me,” suggested Elladan.

Two sets of hopeful eyes met his, and Elrond glanced from them to the wagon and back.  The wagons were not meant for riding on, not even by riders, for their horses did not need the guidance of reins. Yet, cook had made a comfortable nest on the wagon floor, with the feather mattress, cushions and pillows, and the bed he had made was high enough that a rider could see over the sides.

“I will ride with you, Elrohir, if you must go that way,” said Arwen resolutely. Elrond could see that even his daughter was not thrilled at the prospect.

He turned his gaze towards Elrohir, his son’s face falling as he read the look in Elrond’s eyes.  Elrond felt pity fill him, and he nearly gave in, but he knew the pain would drive Elrohir to the wagon in a few hours regardless. “No, Elrohir,” he finally answered. “I know that you would be miserable after just a short time of riding, for your leg has not healed enough to withstand that.” He moved near his son and pulled him close, speaking words meant only for Elrohir’s ears. “Let go of your pride, Elrohir. There is no shame in this.”

Elrohir drew in a great breath of air and held it for a moment, then exhaled and nodded.  He accepted a hand from his father into the wagon and made himself comfortable on the bed.  Arwen climbed in after him, crawling into his lap and wrapping her arms around him. Elrond latched the back of the wagon closed and mounted his own horse.

They set out, scouts having left earlier that morning to check the road they would follow, and it was a long party of elves that traveled the road south. The destruction of the storms was evident, with broken tree limbs and downed trees visible along the way.  Several times on their morning journey they came across sections of the trail that were damaged, as if a flash flood had swept over the area, taking with it all the vegetation and much of the ground as it passed. 

Elrohir and Arwen sat at times at the side of the wagon, elbows or forearms propped on the edge as they surveyed the damage. Elrond could hear only bits of their conversation, but Elrohir appeared to have a rapt audience in Arwen, who hung on his every word.  They rested the horses at midday, and Elrohir and Arwen gladly climbed down from their perch. There was no argument when it was time to continue, and when Elrond next rode near the wagon both were lying on their stomachs, reading stories from a book that Erestor had sent over.  A smile crossed his face when he realized they were reading out loud together, each taking on different voices of the characters they were playing. At one point he heard Elrohir growl and Arwen squeal, and much laughter followed. 

Elrond grinned as Glorfindel and Elladan drew up on either side of him in haste. “They are storytelling,” he said, just loud enough for them to hear.

Celebrían’s voice drifted back to them in song, and Glorfindel laughed with glee and spurred his horse forward to join her.  His voice soon joined hers, and Elrond shook his head.

“It is the dwarven walking song!” cried Elladan.  “We heard Naneth sing it only once when we were children, and when we asked her to sing again she said she forgot the words!”

“Your Naneth learned it from the dwarves when she was just a child, according to Celeborn, and he has not yet forgiven them,” replied Elrond.  He smiled at Elladan. “It has been sung in the Hall of Fire, when dwarves have been our guests, but not in recent times.”

Elladan spun around to look at the wagon.  “I do not think they have realized Naneth is singing yet,” he said, relieved.

“If you listen closely, only certain verses are being sung loudly,” noted Elrond.

Elladan began to laugh.  “Adar, you and Naneth are so different! You are quiet and reserved, and she is vivacious and merry.”

Elrond felt warmth spread through him as he thought about his wife. He met Elladan’s gaze and then looked forward to the head of the column where he could see Celebrían’s silver hair shining in the sunlight.  “You are like starlight and the quiet of evening, and Naneth is the bright glow of morning and birds singing,” said Elladan thoughtfully.  “What made you fall in love with her, Adar?”

Elrond rode in silence for a moment as he thought of the first times he saw Celebrían. “I loved your naneth from the moment I saw her. I know that sounds like romantic nonsense, but it is true.  I heard her laughter and saw her beauty. . . not just her outward beauty, either.  Her eyes were warm and they twinkled, and she was kind to everyone she met.”

“Did you tell her right away?” asked Elladan curiously.

“No,” replied Elrond. “She was a breath of fresh air, like the coming of spring after a cold and dark winter. She came to Imladris with her parents, but when they left for Lindon she went with them.”

“Did she love you in return?”

Elrond smiled. “You will need to ask your naneth that question, Elladan.  Gil-Galad sent me a letter saying a beautiful elleth had come to his court, but she was uninterested in anyone there. He told me she thought the King’s herald surpassed them all in her measure of worthiness.”

“Adar, that is romantic!” exclaimed Elladan.

“Those were Gil-Galad’s words, and he wished me married,” replied Elrond dryly. “I may have wished they were true, but I do not know if they were true or merely Ereinion’s attempts to match make between us.”

“The High King played matchmaker?” asked Elladan, astonished.

“No,” laughed Elrond.  “But he was my uncle and had helped raise me. He wished happiness for me and thought me too serious at times.” He fell silent and suddenly the horizon seemed blurry as he remembered Gil-Galad. “At Dagorlad, we were sitting together one night planning strategy for the battle. He sat back suddenly and looked at me and said, ‘Elrond, when this is over, go home and marry Celebrían. She is a fine maiden and will make a wonderful wife, mistress of Imladris and mother to your children.’  Then he bent back over his map and resumed his studying of our battle plan for the next day.”

“He was right,” said Elladan.

“Gil-Galad was seldom wrong,” replied Elrond without hesitation.

Elladan was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, but as soon as they made camp for the night, he pounced on his mother. She was sitting next to her mother, with Arwen on her other side.  Elladan swung Arwen up into the air and plopped down with her in his lap.

“Naneth, when did you know you were in love with Adar?  What made you fall in love with him?” he asked without preamble.

Elrond watched the smile spread across Celebrían’s face, and then she looked up and around, her gaze finally settling on him. He felt her presence through their bond, and then felt heat rising in his face as she began naming for him all the things she loved about him.  He felt her laughter in response to his reaction; then suddenly he could hear her voice speaking again.

“I loved your Adar from the first moment I laid eyes on him,” Celebrían answered Elladan.  She studied him for a moment.  “Why do you ask, Elladan?  Are you wondering if you are in love with someone?” She paused for a moment, seemingly thinking. “I saw you speaking to the daughter of . . . .”

“No, Naneth,” interrupted Elladan hastily. “I am not wondering about myself, but about you and Adar.”

“Hmmm…,” teased Celebrían, watching as Elladan blushed under her scrutiny.  She laughed aloud then.  “I will not ask more about her,” she said, to Elladan’s visible relief.  “You wished to know what made me fall in love with your adar?  I think it will be difficult to name only one thing.  He was handsome and wise, and he was unafraid of a challenge, for he was building Imladris into the beautiful home it has become.  My parents thought highly of him, but I think it was his eyes that made me fall in love with him. He had the kindest eyes I had ever seen, eyes that met those of each one he spoke to with genuine warmth.”

“Naneth, if you loved Adar at first sight, and he says he loved you at first sight, why did you not tell each other?” asked Elladan, a slight note of exasperation in his voice.

“Elladan, the ever practical!” laughed Celebrían, but she sobered quickly. “Times were dark then, and the future was very uncertain. There was much planning occurring, for the defense of the realms and the alliance with Men. It was not a time to speak of our love, and indeed, I did not know of your father’s love for me, nor he of mine, until later.”

Elladan turned his charming grin to his grandparents. “Daeradar, Daernaneth, tell us more about Naneth as a child, and tell us more about the Rings of Power.  Naneth was just born when you found out that Sauron had made the One Ring.”

“Celebrimbor did eventually tell us,” began Galadriel, “though, in some ways, he betrayed and deceived us as well . . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Celeborn was sprawled out on his back in the grass of the garden, Celebrían sitting astride him and bouncing up and down on his stomach.   Raising his hips and lower back at the same moment she bounced up, he catapulted her forward, catching her in his arms and then throwing her above him and catching her on her descent.  Celebrían’s delighted screams filled the air.

“Do that again, Ada!” she cried. She looked up at the clear sky and bright sun and raised her arms, as if reaching for them.  “Throw me to the sun and Arien will catch me!”

“Arien would see your pretty silver hair and think she had at last caught Ithil, and she would not wish to return you,” replied Celeborn as he lowered her to his chest. He blew a wet kiss on her cheek.  “You are mine, princess.”

Celebrían giggled and returned a sloppy kiss. “You are mine, Ada.”

Galadriel watched them play for a few minutes longer, the message in her hand not forgotten, yet she felt a foreboding that once they had learned what the sender of the message wanted to speak to them about, their lives would be irrevocably changed.  The idyllic scene before her seemed poised on the edge of a precipice.

She walked silently into the garden, a smile spreading across her face as Celebrían played with Celeborn’s hair.  Her fingers were not dexterous enough to weave ribbons into the crooked braids she was making, but she managed to tie a short pink ribbon to the end of one.

“Ada is pretty now,” she proclaimed. Her face lit with joy as Galadriel knelt down beside them. “Nana! Play with us?”

Galadriel laughed as Celebrían crawled into her arms and then pulled herself upright, standing on her mother’s thighs and resting her hands on mother’s shoulders.  “Bri braid nana’s hair?” she asked.

“I would be delighted,” replied Galadriel.  She sat then, so Celebrían could stand next to her and begin her artistry.  Celeborn sat upright next to her, taking the message she handed him. He read it through twice, then looked up at her.

“For nearly three years we have not seen nor heard from Celebrimbor.  He hides in his compound, and his Mírdain say he works at night, alone in his workshop, and broods during the day.  He has sent for many books from the library, scrolls about Melkor and Gorthaur. And he writes, but lets no one read the words he has scribed on to the many scrolls. He has declined to meet with us upon our request, and now he requests an audience with us. How do you read this?” asked Celeborn.

“Nana, you need white ribbons,” decided Celebrían.

Galadriel pulled a white ribbon from the sash at her waist and gave it to Celebrían before answering.  “He was not well the day he came here. He wished to tell us something then, but he had been locked up for so long he had not realized we had a child, and her presence shocked him. I think we are going to learn whatever it was he meant to tell us that day.”

“He wishes for us to come to his workshop,” mused Celeborn as he scanned the message again.  “That is an opportunity seldom afforded.”  He reached out with long fingers to tickle his daughter.  “Celebrían, would you like to play with Narusel?”

Between giggles caused by her father’s questing fingers, Celebrían answered, “Yes, Ada! Play with Narusel!”

Celeborn and Galadriel gathered up their child, and a short time later appeared at the shopkeeper’s door.  He had elflings of various sizes with him today, and an older elleth was playing on the shop floor with Narusel.  The older child stood and curtseyed as she recognized the lord and lady of the city, but Narusel saw only her friend.  “Cebri!” she cried as she leapt to her feet and ran to meet the guests.

Celebrían nearly jumped from Celeborn’s arms, and he released her somewhere near the ground. She landed with both feet running and ran into the arms of her friend.  They hugged each other as they danced in circles.  The shopkeeper smiled indulgently as the elflings danced around the older child.

“My brother’s children are visiting,” explained the shopkeeper.  “His eldest will enjoy having two to play with today.  She delights in little ones.” He turned back to Celeborn, bowing slightly.  “She will be well with us.”

“We thank you. Celebrían loves it here,” he replied.  “We will send someone for her if it grows late.”

“Nay,” replied the shopkeeper.  “She is welcome until you return, whenever that may be.”

Content that Celebrían was in good hands, Celeborn took a moment once they were out of her sight to remove the pink ribbon and crooked braid from his hair, then did the same for Galadriel.  Celeborn looked at the ribbons he held in one hand, then at Galadriel.  They both laughed.

“Now that we have our own child, I notice such things,” admitted Galadriel.  “I see parents with interesting hair patterns and now I know they have little ones at home.”

They walked hand in hand to the compound of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, the gatekeeper opening the iron gate immediately and allowing them passage up the stairs and to the entrance of the compound.  Another elf met them inside and led them through the maze of corridors, finally passing through another locked door, hewn of stone, so heavy that it took two nearby guards to push it open. Inside, Celebrimbor waited for them.

Galadriel nearly gasped at the sight of him.  He was thin and unkempt, his dark hair limp and lifeless, even tangled in places. His clothing hung loose about him.  Dark circles beneath his eyes were lessened by the look of resignation and despair within them. A slight sound escaped her as she reached to take his hand, but he pulled away from her and instead motioned for them both to sit.

Once they were seated, he opened the ornately carved chest that was before them. “Do not touch them,” he warned in a lifeless voice.

Galadriel held her breath as she looked at the exquisite rings before her.  She had to consciously remind her fingers not to touch them, for the three begged to be held and caressed.  Celebrimbor opened two other chests, one displaying nine rings and one six, with the seventh missing.  Their workmanship was different than that of the three: they were beautiful, but they were outshone by the brilliance of the three.

Taking a deep breath, Celebrimbor began his story. He explained the origins of each ring, who had made them and their purpose, and he ended with what happened the day he came to their house. Throughout his long monologue, his voice monotone except for when he described the power of the Three, he held their eyes with his own.

“That is when he revealed himself, and I recognized him as Sauron, Gorthaur, and his plan was revealed to me.” He bowed his head. “I have learned all I can of his power; I have written down every step and thought and process used in the creation of the rings. I have analyzed it from every angle.  I have tried every craft I know, every spell, to destroy the lesser rings.  They cannot be destroyed.  They cannot be used,” he finished.

Galadriel looked to Celeborn for the first time since the lecture had begun. He gripped her hand tightly, so much so that she had to reach her other hand over and loosen his grip.  He had grown pale, as pale as she thought she was herself. His eyes flashing with anger, Celeborn was the first to speak.

“You are saying that Annatar is Sauron and that he resided within the city, under our noses, for several centuries, learning all you could teach him and you learning all the craft and magic he could teach you.  Magic and craft you do not understand and cannot undo. Rings of power have been forged that cannot be destroyed, yet can both empower and enslave the bearer for eternity. One bearing the ring would not only become a slave, but a tyrant to any they held power over,” he said flatly.

“The Three will bear no evil, nor will they dominate or enslave their bearer,” repeated Celebrimbor tiredly. “But they cannot be used, for in their making some of Annatar’s craft was used, and with the One he could lay bare the mind and heart of the one wielding it.”

“Where is Sauron now?” asked Celeborn, nearly spitting the name of the evil Maia in his contempt.

“I have sent out messages and messengers, seeking knowledge of where he is from, where he resides.  To the east is all I know at this time,” answered Celebrimbor, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Who knows of these rings?” asked Galadriel in a tight voice.

“We three are the only ones who know the Three are completed.  Perhaps five of my jewel-smiths know of the seven and the nine, and Sauron, of course.

Silence fell over the room as all stared in silent contemplation at the rings before them. Finally, Celeborn rose and Galadriel stood with him.

“I will be sending scouts out to determine where Sauron resides and how many serve him. Lock up these rings, well, Celebrimbor.  Ensure no others learn of their existence,” growled Celeborn.  “When we need to speak with you, you will see us immediately.”

Celebrimbor nodded in acceptance, and Galadriel saw relief in his face as well.  She could almost pity him for having carried this burden alone for three years. As she looked deep into his heart and mind, she could feel the overwhelming despair and loss within him, and guilt as well. She could read his thoughts, for in his state he could not hide them.  He had at times doubted Annatar’s sincerity, the craft itself and the potential for evil, yet in his selfishness he had ignored all to further his own desires.

Turning, she walked with Celeborn from the room, past the locked door and long corridors, until they were finally in the sunlight again.  They walked slowly, silent, as the full measure of all Celebrimbor had told them sunk into their minds.  They were at the shop of Narusel’s father only a few moments later.

“Ada! Nana!” cried Celebrían.  She raced out to meet them, flinging herself into Celeborn’s waiting arms.  She wrapped her arms first around her ada, then reached to do the same to Galadriel.  Galadriel saw the tears glistening in Celeborn’s eyes as he released her, and she understood the depth and breadth of the many emotions racing through him.  Her foresight told her that the implications of what Celebrimbor told them would change the world, rock its very foundations, before an end would be found.  And into this time they had brought a child.

“She had dinner with us,” said Narusel’s father as he strode toward them with his little daughter in his arms.  “They had a grand time playing together and with Narusel’s cousins.  Celebrían is welcome anytime.”

If the shopkeeper saw any distress in their faces, he did not acknowledge it.  They both thanked him and returned home with Celebrían.

* * *

Ten years later

“Naneth, Narusel and I are going to play in the fountain!” called Celebrían as she flew past Galadriel’s desk without pause.

“Celebrían!” Galadriel called.  She waited until her small daughter had returned to stand before her, and still did not speak until she stopped rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet in anticipation of running.  She smiled as she looked the child over.  Her hair was bound back with clips, keeping it fairly neat, and she was clean.

“Are these more comfortable to play in?” she asked, tugging lightly on what looked like a skirt, but was really leggings with a fabric overlay.  Narusel’s mother had conceived the idea after watching their daughters hang upside down with their skirts about their faces and their underthings plainly seen.

“Yes, Nana,” responded Celebrían, twirling slightly to make the skirt flare out.

Galadriel smiled at her daughter’s grin.  She still loved her ribbons and pretty things, but she liked to play and chase with the ellon at the fountain as well.  Narusel’s mother was a very practical elf, agreeing that their daughters should look respectable but also wishing for them to have adventures in their play.  Most of the young elleth were now wearing similar garments as they played, propriety intact and the elleth not deprived.

She sat back in her chair and waited.  Celebrían looked at her curiously, then a sudden giggle burst from her.  She stood up straight and looked her mother in the eye. “Please, Nana, may I go to the fountain with Narusel? I will be home in time for dinner.”

“Yes, Celebrían, you may. Only to the fountain or Narusel’s home, though,” replied Galadriel, as she kissed the child on the forehead.

“I promise, Nana!” cried Celebrían as she raced out the door.

Galadriel returned to her map as the sound of her daughter’s footsteps faded away.  Scouts left for months and even years at a time, seeking knowledge of Sauron and learning the location of his stronghold.  Thus far they had accumulated little hard information.  The Men of Númenor were making more settlements along the coast.  The Haradrim had thus far ignored their attempts at friendship, although some of the Easterlings had treated with them. The Easterlings were not friends of many of the villages of men, having made several sorties into the west in recent years. 

Messengers sent to Amdir and Oropher had returned without news; neither had heard rumor of a new shadow rising.  Galadriel and Celeborn had argued over how much to tell these two kings, and finally Galadriel had won and nothing had been said.  How could they explain that they only knew their old enemy had reappeared and had a ruling ring of power?  They didn’t know anything about his size, strength, location or plans. To Gil-Galad though, she had conceded that the truth should be told.  Tasked with drafting the message that would be carried to him, she stared at the nearly blank parchment as she again perused the map.  Her desire was that she would have answers, or at least facts, to give as well as the tale of Celebrimbor’s folly.  How did they assess this potential threat? How did they plan?

Precautions had been taken, though, for the city.  The children did all play within the city walls, walls now reinforced and guarded.  More elves were trained as warriors, and the smiths had made more swords of late than any other craft.  Questions had been raised within the city, wondering about whether a threat was growing or rumor of war had come.  Celeborn had been hard pressed at times to explain that while they did not have knowledge of an exact threat, they had reason to believe there was one. They could not keep their people on a state of alert without giving them more information, either.

Many times they had returned to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain to speak to Celebrimbor. 

“Does Sauron need the seven and the nine?” Celeborn had asked. “Can he create rings of his own, rings made of his own hand that he can give to whom he chooses?”

Celebrimbor had answered indecisively, agreeing it was possible for Sauron to do this.  He even proposed it was probable Sauron would do this.  More and more, though, his mind drifted and he veered off on tangents that seemed irrelevant to the question asked. At times he thought Sauron would ignore them and go off to the east, to use what he had learned there.  At times he recalled Sauron’s hatred of Númenor, and thought he would turn his attention there.  Seldom did he think that Sauron would return.  Mostly he mourned the inability to use the Three, the pride of his career.

Galadriel marked on the map where the latest scouts had been sent, then laid down the quill, the letter again not started.  She wished to tell Gil-Galad all; she just wished she knew what ‘all’ entailed.

A commotion at the doorway caught her attention, and she rose to see who had come, when the front door was opened and a small mud-covered child entered. Behind her stood one of Celeborn’s guards, himself quite wet and a little muddy as well.

“Celebrían?” asked Galadriel in disbelief.

The small figure hung her head and would not meet her mother’s eyes.  Galadriel looked to the guard, her eyebrow arching in question. He bowed, and then answered.  “A disagreement at the fountain, my lady, that overflowed into the garden where the gardeners were spreading new soil.” Galadriel sniffed delicately. “The soil was amended with fertilizers, my lady.”

“Indeed,” she answered calmly. She looked upon the guard, who clearly wished to be anywhere but returning children to their naneths. “Thank you for escorting her home.”

The guard fled.

“Celebrían, go out to the garden.  I will speak with you out there.” Galadriel waved her back outside.  She returned to her own chamber, exchanging her gown for old trousers and tunic, and enlisted a maid to carry a metal tub outside.  She found Celebrían standing forlorn in the middle of the garden, not touching anything, as the maids filled the tub with water.

“Take your clothes off and set them on the grass,” she directed.  As Celebrían disrobed, Galadriel was hard pressed not to laugh as patches of white skin appeared amidst the black mud covered areas.  Galadriel filled a bucket with water, felt some regret that it was cold, and dumped it over Celebrían’s head.  A muffled shriek came from the dripping mass, but two buckets later she was fairly clean.  “Now in the tub.”

Celebrían climbed in the tub, sighing at the relative warmth, for the maids had warmed some of the water.  Galadriel knelt down and began soaping and scrubbing.

“Now I am finally sure you are my Celebrían,” she said as she set the rinse bucket down for the last time.  She titled up Celebrían’s chin and turned her face slightly.  “Why is your face bruised?”

“Someone kicked me,” muttered Celebrían.

Galadriel stood and held out a towel, which she wrapped around Celebrían when she stood.  She rubbed her briskly and then sat down with Celebrían in her lap.  “Now tell me what happened.”

Celebrían hung her head, but at Galadriel’s prodding finally began to speak. “One of the ellyn said that Adar is making everyone into warriors and making Ost-in-Edhil into a fortress for no reason.  Another ellon said Adar did it because he was so old he forgot the war was long over.”

“Hmm…” answered Galadriel as she worked a comb through the tangled hair.  “How did you respond to that?”  She had to bite her lip, then, when her animated daughter began to give her the details.

“He is not old, and he has reason for doing what he does,” I said.

“He is too old and he forgets things.  It happens in men all the time but only in REALLY old elves,” said the ellon.

“Take it back!” I said

“No!” said the ellon.

“Stop saying things about my adar or I will make you eat dirt!” I said.

“You are only an elleth! Besides, I am much bigger than you,” said the ellon.

Celebrían was quiet for a moment, so Galadriel prodded her again, “So you did what then?”

“I pushed him in the dirt,” answered Celebrían. “Then his friend pushed me, so Narusel pushed him.  We were all already wet.”

“I see,” managed Galadriel, the cost of not laughing nearly making her snort.  “How did it end?”

“The guard came and told us to stop fighting, so we did.  But then the dumb ellon pulled my hair, so I shoved him into the manure. Then another guard came and one took me and Narusel home and another took the ellyn home.”

Galadriel finished combing the tangles out of the hair of her unrepentant daughter, and then turned the child to face her. “Now what shall we do with you?”

Celebrían twisted the towel between her fingers, her eyes suddenly interested in everything but her mother’s face.  “I think I should be sent to my room.”

“I think that would be a fine place for you to stay until your adar comes home and he and I discuss this,” answered Galadriel.  She felt no guilt at her hope that Celeborn would think of a suitable punishment, although she might be able to do so herself by evening.  At the moment, however, she thought the manure pile an adequate place for the small ellon.

She set Celebrían on her feet and wrapped the towel more snugly around her, and then watched the small figure trudge towards the house.  Her footsteps became slower and slower, and finally she turned to look at the mother, tears in her eyes.  Galadriel walked quickly to her daughter and scooped her up in her arms, and carried her instead to her own chamber.  There she settled into the rocking chair where she had nursed her daughter as an infant, and let her cry as she rocked her to sleep.  She then put Celebrían in her own bed and resumed her work.  

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Arwen was staring at her mother aghast, while Elladan and Elrohir were nearly falling over with laughter.  Celeborn was grinning and Galadriel just appeared serene.  Elrond looked again at his wife and nearly choked on his own laughter at the completely unrepentant look on her face.

“They really did have it coming,” she said primly.

Elladan and Elrohir burst into gales of laughter again.

“Naneth, did you get punished?” asked Arwen, her eyes darting from her mother to her grandparents.

“Narusel and I had to apologize to the ellyn and they had to apologize to us,” answered Celebrían.  Her eyes flashed briefly. “They did not say unkind things about my adar again.”

A flash of light in the slowly darkening sky caught their attention.

“Another storm,” said Erestor, already on his feet.  He began scanning the camp, determining the safest places for them to take shelter. His gaze settled on Elrohir, who stood up on his good leg, the crutch used with skill to help him jump a few feet.  “I can move this time,” he promised.

The stories over, they prepared the camp to withstand another storm.

* * * * *

Gorthaur------------------ the Sindar name for Sauron
Ellon/ellyn---------------  young male elf/elves
Elleth/ellyth---------------young female elf/elves

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 18: Scouting

Morning of day 14 somewhere along the Hoarwell River

Rain fell steadily as the elves began another day’s travel. During the night, torrential downpours had loosened tent stakes, and one of the tents of the Silvan guard had collapsed on top of them and slid partially down the slippery incline.  A wrestling match had begun amidst much laughter as the guards had difficulty extricating themselves from the tangled mess and setting the tent back on level ground. While all had found humor in their predicament, the continuing rain meant that the tent and belongings of those who had been inside had no opportunity to dry.

The wagons were covered with tarps, and the arched boughs that formed the removable skeleton for the wagon that held Elrohir’s bed were high enough that he could sit upright under the covering with ease.  Erestor had seen him looking at Elrond with pleading eyes, but he had not argued at the curt shake of his father’s head. He had crawled dejectedly into the wagon, but his easy smile had returned when Arwen slid in next to him.  The elfling was smart enough to realize they would have the better day beneath the dry tarp, rather than sitting atop a horse with water running off their hooded capes like small waterfalls.  She immediately pulled out her books and paper and pencils and coaxed her brother into drawing with her.

Erestor’s eyes next searched for Elrond and Celebrían. He found them riding in front of the wagon, both shrouded in long hooded capes. Glorfindel and Elladan rode on either side of the horse pulling the wagon. Satisfied that the line was properly ordered, and knowing that Celeborn and Galadriel’s guard were seeing to their welfare, he rode to the front of the line just as one of the advance scouts returned.

“Captain,” the elf reported to Athranen as he pushed his hood back slightly, “there is another washout a half league ahead.  The incline is steep. Even our horses had difficulty near the area, and we did not cross.”

Erestor listened as the scout described the terrain near the washout.  The path was running parallel to the river, and the incline down to the river was steep.  Washouts on the path were becoming more common and more treacherous. The young scout pushed his hood back further, revealing soaked hair, and as Erestor looked closer at the elf he noted that mud covered his boots and trousers, and there were dark splotches on his cloak as well.  The pattern suggested the elf had slipped and fallen, not something he would care to admit, yet if he could barely make it on foot, how would the wagons fare?

“We will need to travel west to find a way to get both horses and wagons around this,” the scout finished.

Athranen nodded, then let forth with a short chirping whistle.  Glorfindel appeared moments later. When Athranen had finished outlining the problem, Glorfindel looked around at the elves who had gathered to hear the news. He was just about to speak when an elf stepped forward.

“We will find a way,” interrupted the Silvan elf.

Elladan and Garthon exchanged smiles.  “We will find a better way,” replied Elladan boldly.

The Silvan guards grinned with unabashed glee at this challenge from their Imladris counterparts.  They had laughed at themselves over the tent incident the night before and had not minded the Imladris elves laughing with them, but a chance to prove their worth over their friends was clearly welcome.

Celeborn stepped forward. “A competition, then!  However, the terrain is dangerous and we have a child with us.  The route which is safest and shortest wins.”

Erestor watched the two groups of elves depart, their laughter and teasing finally fading as they raced on ahead.  He could still hear some of their words as they split, bets being placed as to who would win the contest.  He could not help but smile.

The rain was ending and the sun peeking through the clouds when Erestor turned to Athranen.  “I will ride on ahead to have a look at the wash out.”  With a nod, he set out.

* * *

“Are we placing bets?” asked Celeborn as he walked back to the wagon where the rest of the party had gathered.

“Yes,” answered Athranen.  “I am, of course, betting on the Imladris warriors.”

“Then I shall, of course, bet for the Silvans!” cried the cook as he stepped forward.  He smiled at Celebrían and then, lifting her hand, kissed it.  “Not that the son of dear Celebrían and the twin of our Elrohir will lose! But, I must be faithful.”

Celebrían laughed at the comical cook.  Turning, she looked to her parents.  “Naneth, Adar, place your bet.”

Celeborn grinned, his eyes meeting Elrond’s and then Glorfindel’s.  They began laughing as well, eyes twinkling, and finally Glorfindel spoke.  “I vote for Erestor.”

There was silence; then Elrond laughed again.  “Erestor.” 

Celeborn smiled at the remaining members of their guard.  “I must bet that Erestor will win as well.”

“Erestor?” asked Elrohir, confused.  He looked around at the group and realized that Erestor was indeed gone.  “Did he go with Elladan?”  When Glorfindel shook his head, Elrohir asked, “Should he be out there alone?”

The three elves laughed at him.  Elrond finally drew in a deep breath to control himself and sat on the wagon edge, reaching to tweak Arwen’s braid. “Erestor will have found and prepared the way and we will be over it, before either of the other two groups returns.”

“Erestor?” asked Elrohir again.

“Yes, Erestor,” answered Glorfindel, finally containing his own mirth. “Erestor is one of the best scouts in Middle-earth, Elrohir, and there was a time when no one knew these lands better than him.”

“Erestor?” repeated Elrohir in disbelief, voicing what many around him were thinking.

Glorfindel gently swatted him on the head.  “Quit repeating yourself, elfling,” he laughed.  “When Sauron attacked Eregion in the Second Age, Gil-Galad sent Elrond to aid the elves here. Erestor was the scout that planned the route Elrond would follow; he scouted the way that led us into battle, and when we were overrun, it was Erestor who found the hidden valley where we built Imladris.”

Elrohir’s eyes were wide with incredulity.  “Erestor?” he cried, stunned.

Glorfindel sighed at Elrond.  “You smack him. I am clearly not getting through to him.”

“But Erestor is . . . is . . .,” stuttered Elrohir.

“Erestor is what?” asked Glorfindel, teasing.

“But he runs Imladris; he advises Adar; he doesn’t do… that,” said Elrohir.

Elrond laughed as he patted Elrohir on the back. “Erestor does indeed do that, and very well, I might add.”

A whistle caught their attention, and with wide grins Glorfindel and Athranen started the group moving again.  They had gone nearly a quarter mile when Glorfindel suddenly veered them to the left, following a cunningly marked trail that could hardly be seen.  The trail turned toward the river for a short way, then resumed south.  They came to a spot that showed evidence of a heavy flow of water, but a rock abutment kept the path from being destroyed.  Branches had been placed in the mud for traction, and Glorfindel carefully led the horse drawing the wagon through the area.  Eventually the trail took a turn to the west again, and they found Erestor waiting for them on the main path.

* * *

Erestor watched until the entire group was back on the main path, and then with a nod at the again chuckling Glorfindel, he headed west to check on the two groups of elves who were still looking for the best way around the washout. He came across the Silvans first, neatly snaring the first elf to run past him. The elf found himself flat on his back, looking up into the dark eyes of the Imladris advisor. Sitting up, he brushed himself off, although he was now very wet from his roll in the damp grass, and growled at Erestor.  “How did you do that?” he finally asked.

Erestor smiled as he held out his hand to the elf, then pulled the guard to his feet. “You were not thinking of danger around you, only of reaching the prize.”

The elf scowled. “The only danger on this trip has been the weather.”

Erestor located the Imladris warriors next. To their credit, they had posted a guard as they prepared the trail they would use, cutting aside some brush and leveling out the ground over one uneven spot.  He moved in silence to where the guard stood. In a training game, he would clap his hand over the elf’s mouth and restrain him bodily. A grin tugged on his lips as he considered the look of surprise that would cover Elladan’s face. Giving in to temptation, he whispered, “Hello, Elladan.”

Elladan jerked in surprise, his eyes opening wide, but a moment later he was flat on his back on the ground, the wind knocked out of him, staring up at Erestor. Erestor smiled, giving the young elf a moment to catch his breath, and then pulled him to his feet.

“Everyone is waiting for you,” he said pleasantly.

“Why did you sneak up on me?” asked Elladan, bewildered.  He reddened. “How did you sneak up on me?  I did not hear anything and I had looked that direction just a moment earlier!”

Erestor wrapped an arm about Elladan’s shoulder, patting his arm consolingly. “Yes, you had.  I merely waited until your back was turned.”

Elladan groaned in dismay as Erestor led them back to the path.

* * *

As soon as they stopped to rest the horses and eat, Elladan flopped on the rear gate of the wagon. Elrohir was just sliding himself to the end to climb out, and he looked at his twin in amusement.

“Erestor caught me off guard and then flattened me,” said Elladan sulkily.

Elrohir nodded knowingly at him.  “That is what one might expect from one such as Erestor,” he answered sagely.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Elladan, his eyes narrowing.

“Stealth had to be one of his greatest assets, I would think. He spent so much time alone in the wild.  I am sure he could take anyone unaware and slip by any he did not wish to know of his presence,” mused Elrohir.

“What are you talking about?” cried Elladan.

“Really, Elladan, you should have paid more attention in lessons.  Surely you remember that Erestor was the greatest scout of the Second Age, planning the route of Adar’s army to Eregion and the retreat north to what is now Imladris?” replied Elrohir innocently. “He knows these lands like the back of his hand.”

Elladan stared at him dumbly.  “We did not learn that,” he argued. “I would have remembered!”

Elrohir shook his head sadly.  “Sometimes you really were daydreaming, Elladan.  You missed out on some good tales.”

A look of confusion crossed Elladan’s face as he considered their lessons and searched back in his mind for all he knew about Erestor. He recalled Erestor teaching them at times, but certainly no lessons were about him.  Suddenly, a thought came to Elladan. He concentrated fully on his brother, touching his mind to his twin’s.  He immediately felt Elrohir’s mirth and then, a moment later, Elrohir recognized his presence and reached back to him.

Elladan found himself torn between the excitement of exploring the bond with his twin and an overwhelming desire to flatten Elrohir. His baser desire won out.

“Ai!” he cried, pushing Elrohir down on to the bed and pinning him there.  “Goblin-breath! Orc-bait!”

Elrohir began to laugh, not struggling at all against Elladan’s weight pinning him to the mattress.  His whole body shook and tears ran down his face. “You call me gullible!  I just learned the story from Glorfindel a short while ago, while you were off looking for a way around the washout.” Elrohir hiccupped, which only made him laugh harder.  “You should see the look on your face!”

Elrohir’s laugh was infectious.  Elladan was unable to stop from joining him, and he finally collapsed on the bed next to his twin.  Finally calming themselves, they looked up when a shadow fell over them and saw Erestor looking down upon them.

“There is food ready; you may join everyone when you decide to stop behaving like elflings,” He paused, then reached over Elrohir to brush some dirt off the mattress.  “Elladan, you are dirty.  Get off the bed and go get cleaned up.” As Elladan sat up, snorting as he attempted not to laugh again, Erestor tugged on his cloak. “You look like you rolled in a pile of muddy leaves.”

This was too much for Elladan, for, after all, it was Erestor who had knocked him to the ground on the muddy leaves.  He burst into laughter again, then crawled to the end of the wagon. He grabbed Elrohir’s crutch and then tugged on his twin’s good leg.

“C’mon,” he snorted. “I will help you.”

The two walked away, still giggling like elflings.  Elladan looked back over his shoulder once to see Erestor straightening up the bed and smoothing out some of Arwen’s papers that they had crushed.  The advisor was pristine, no mud or leaves on him, and his eyes met Elladan’s for just a moment.  Erestor winked and then walked off in the other direction.

* * *

The skies remained clear that afternoon.  Cook had pushed the tarp over the wagon forward, exposing over half of the bed to the open air.  Elrohir had felt his spirits lift for a moment, glad for the sun and glad to be able to more clearly see and hear what was happening around him.  Still, he felt melancholy, all the more so because Celeborn had just come by for Arwen. She had been torn, deciding if she should ride with her daeradar or stay with her brother.  Elrohir had finally swallowed hard and told her to go.  After all, he could hardly admit he was jealous of his twelve-year-old sister. He rested his chin on his arms, which were folded over the edge of the wagon, and closed his eyes.

“Elrohir.”

Elrohir opened his eyes at the sound of his father’s voice and looked into eyes warm and full of compassion. He knew his own eyes reflected his melancholic mood, but he made no effort to hide it from Elrond.  His father knew him too well for that.

“We have an hour’s journey left today.  Do you wish to ride with me?” asked Elrond.

“Yes, Adar!” he exclaimed.  He also made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm.  Elrond knew him too well for that as well.

Elrond called for the horse pulling the wagon to halt, then slide from his horse and lowered the rear gate of the wagon. Elrohir had already crawled back and he slid to the ground, using the wagon for balance.  He eyed the horse enthusiastically, patting him on the neck and whispering to him, then suddenly realized he had no idea how to mount him.

“Does your leg ache today?” asked Elrond

“No, Adar,” lied Elrohir.  He met his father’s eyes and smiled sheepishly.  “It aches a little, but it’s the ache that is always there.”

Elrond checked the cast and let Elrohir move around a bit, then whistled.  Glorfindel appeared immediately, dismounting and coming to join them. 

“I think I will mount first, and then you can lift Elrohir up to me,” explained Elrond.  “He cannot put his weight on the cast, and I want the good leg first.”

Glorfindel grinned as he looked Elrohir up and down.  He bent down and without a word, picked Elrohir up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of grain, albeit a fragile sack of grain.  Elrohir felt himself passed up to his father and then he was sliding down on to the back of the horse. 

Elrohir wriggled a little, feeling decidedly off balance. The weight of the cast caused him to have to use the muscles of the thigh of that leg more to compensate, and suddenly he wondered if this was such a good idea. The cast also did not allow him to ride in proper position and the stallion whinnied softly as the unfamiliar cast pressed into his side.  He was just about to admit his misgivings to his father when Elrond slid his leg between the horse and Elrohir’s cast, gently supporting the cast and keeping it from rubbing against the stallion’s side.  Elrohir finally relaxed against his father as Elrond repeated the movement on the other side. The position literally made Elrohir recline against his father, and he laughed.

“Now I really do feel like an elfling. My leg is too weak for me to ride alone,” he admitted ruefully.

Elrond wrapped an arm about his son’s waist, holding him comfortably against his chest. “I will not let you fall.”

Elrohir sighed and allowed himself to fully relax and enjoy the ride.  He did enjoy being upright and being able to easily see all happening around him, and the smile that covered his face refused to fade.

They reached the site of the night’s camp a little over an hour later. Tents had already been erected, in hopes of drying out from the previous night and in anticipation of more rain. Elrohir could smell dinner cooking, and the voice of the cook could be heard, issuing orders and speaking animatedly with those assisting him.  Elrohir was so relaxed that when Elrond stopped the horse, he just sat in place, gazing contentedly around him.

“Wake-up, Elrohir,” teased Elrond, gently shaking him.

“Thank you, Adar,” replied Elrohir gratefully. “Riding was wonderful.”

* * *

Glorfindel sat down next to Erestor as dinner was being served.  Across from them, the Silvan guards and the Imladris warriors were all eyeing Erestor with suspicion. Glorfindel watched, amused, as Erestor met their gazes unflinchingly until the younger elves finally looked away. 

“Keep that up and the elflings will believe you intend to eat them alive,” he finally said in a low voice.

Erestor smiled at him. “The elflings will learn to pay more attention next time.”

“You believe that they could learn to sense your approach?  That you can bested?” asked Glorfindel in mock surprise.

“Perhaps,” answered Erestor placidly.

Elladan leapt neatly over the log they were reclined against, landing next to Erestor soundlessly.  He said nothing for a few moments, then turned slightly so that he could look Erestor in the eye.

“Erestor, Elrohir and I were just talking about how little we know about you,” he admitted. “Would you tell us more about how you became a scout and what you did in Eregion?”

“When we come to the right time in the story, I will tell you about the war in Eregion as I saw it,” agreed Erestor amiably.

Elladan smiled, but the smile faded as he thought a little more. “But how did you become a scout? Why? Who trained you?”

“The story is not that interesting, Elladan,” said Erestor modestly.  “Suffice it to say that a green elf taught me much of what I know of stealth and how to move creatively, quietly and quickly. The wisest of the Noldor taught me strategy. I did what was asked of me.”

Elladan still wasn’t satisfied, but when he opened his mouth again to speak, Erestor cut him off. “Ask your daeradar and daernaneth to continue the story where they left off. First, though, go help your brother before he falls and breaks his other leg.”

Elladan turned to see Elrohir trying to hobble into the circle where everyone was seated and moved quickly to assist him.  That Elrohir was tired and uncomfortable was obvious to everyone, and Celebrían motioned for Elladan to help him sit down next to her.  Celeborn appeared with cushions on which he could prop Elrohir’s casted leg.  Finally comfortable, Elrohir’s color improved and he smiled when his grandfather sat down beside him.

“We will be carrying him to his bed,” bet Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded in agreement as he watched Elrond bring Elrohir a flask of miruvor, and then Galadriel knelt before her grandson, touching her hands to his head and heart, strengthening him. “Amazing how he has everyone waiting on him hand and foot.”

Glorfindel snorted. Including you, he thought. Before he could consider an appropriate witty reply though, Celeborn began speaking, for Elrohir had asked him to continue.

“Many years did go by before we learned anything of Sauron’s stronghold or his plans. . ..”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

SA 1635 (Celebrían is about 34 years old, or physically picture a 13 year old).

The knock on the door came in the early evening.  The servant who responded returned a moment later, the captain of the guard behind her.  He bowed politely.

“Lord Celeborn, I have the report from the scout who returned yesterday,” said the captain of the city guard.

Celeborn took the parchment and waved his captain to a seat nearby as he began to scan the document.  He shifted to the side, allowing room for Galadriel to sit on the arm of the chair and read alongside him.  There was silence for a short time as they each reread certain segments, then Celeborn asked, “Is he here?”

The captain nodded and rose, returning a moment later with the scout. 

Celeborn looked over the elf, noting that his skin had darkened slightly and he appeared leaner than when he had left years earlier.  The elf bowed and then sat as Celeborn waved him to a chair across from them.  Celeborn could not help but notice that he seemed slightly uncomfortable on the silk covered chair and remembered how he had felt when he first slept in a real bed after returning from a years-long campaign.

“I trust you have eaten and rested,” began Celeborn.  “Your service to this realm is appreciated.”

The elf nodded in acknowledgement.

“The route you followed was long and winding,” continued Galadriel, moving directly into her questions. “You first reported a patrol of orcs near the Ephel Dúath, south of the White Mountains. Did you see evidence of any further north?  Any estimate of the size of the population in those areas?”

The scout straightened up immediately, his eyes flicking from Celeborn to Galadriel.  “That is the furthest north I saw orcs,” he replied, his eyes following Galadriel as she stood and moved to a desk across the room.  She pulled out a large rolled scroll, and then returned to where they were seated, opening the map out on the table between them.  He slid gracefully from his chair, kneeling before the low table.  Taking the pencil she handed him, he drew as he spoke. “Here is where I saw the patrol.  I followed them north around the Ash Mountains, but did not see more of them or their kind.  The lands to the east were bare and unkind, so I returned to follow the Anduin south.  I saw Men to the south and east, and here along the coast I saw Men in conversation with Orcs.  I could not make out any of their discussion except that soon they would be traveling north.”

The sound of paper shifting caught Celeborn’s attention, and he looked away from the map to the small table and chair where Celebrían sat.  Intent on her embroidery, she did not seem to be listening to their conversation. A small smile tugged on his lips as he considered that she was likely busy planning her next day’s play.  With enough children near the same age in the city, a tutor was employed to teach the group.  After lessons, they often played together, and Celebrían seemed to have taken on the role of leader of the ellyth. Games ranged from dress up and painting to exploring and tree climbing.  With the latter activities, the ellyn often joined them, but Celebrían had not forgotten that the leader of the ellyn had once teased her and she did not follow him.

Celeborn turned his attention back to the scout and the map he was enhancing with details learned on his journey.  He would normally have sent Celebrían to her room, but her attention was clearly elsewhere.

“The Men to the east are recognizable by several things, not the least of which is their sword,” the scout was saying. “It is curved in a graceful arc, much different than the sword of the orc.  With one slashing movement, one can remove the head of one’s opponent. They also carry long bows, heavier than those of the Silvan elves and less graceful, but no less deadly or effective, especially at long distances.”

“Orcs and Men do not serve together out of choice, but of duty to the same lord,” mused Celeborn.  “Of all you have reported, I believe this fact alone is evidence that Sauron is at work.”

“Though for what purpose he leads them we do not know,” reminded Galadriel.  “Sauron is long rumored to have lived among the Men of the east and Orcs have always been his servants.  That they are serving the same master is not unexpected. If we had evidence they were moving north or west, then we could suspect that Sauron’s motives were to harm those who lived in these lands.”

“Orcs patrol the Ephel Dúath,” repeated the scout.  “They do not guard only the mountains, but what they might protect beyond them, I could not see or learn of.”

They spoke to the captain and the scout for another hour before excusing them for the evening. 

“We will continue to gather intelligence,” said Celeborn finally. “There is naught else to do but learn of the whereabouts and plans of the enemy, for they may not involve us as you rightly reminded us.”

“His plans involve us,” answered Galadriel softly. “I cannot see when or how, but Sauron will neither forget us nor what he crafted here.”

“Naneth, I have finished this part,” interrupted Celebrían. She proudly held out her work for her mother to see, the gaily-colored threads showing the sun rising over the mountains.

“Your color choices are commendable,” praised Galadriel as she inspected the work.  “Your stitches here are a little crooked, though.  Turn your work next time so you aren’t stitching so near the hoop and it will be easier.”

“Yes, Naneth,” answered Celebrían as she rotated the hoop as her mother suggested, her keen eye already seeing the benefit.

“Go now and prepare for bed,” said Galadriel as she kissed her daughter on the forehead.

Celebrían turned to her father next, and Celeborn felt the rush of warmth that he experienced whenever he saw his child.  “Adar, will you come tell me a story?”

Celeborn smiled at her. “I will.  What would you like to hear about tonight, my daughter?  I will think on it while you find your nightgown and wash up.”

Celebrían thought for a moment, finally turning her head to the side as she looked at her father.  “The War of Wrath, Adar, and how you and the king and the Valar defeated Morgoth and orcs and dragons.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened in surprise, for he had expected she would again wish to hear the Lay of Lúthien or tales of Doriath. Just entering the bloom of maidenhood, she still played as a child but glimpses of the lady he knew she would become were beginning to show through in the stories she wished to hear.  He merely nodded, though, and she kissed him on the cheek before skipping off to her room.

* * *

“Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel requests your presence at the city fountain,” announced the guard at the door.

Celeborn looked up from the report and maps he was studying.  The more he had pondered the scout’s report, the more he had decided that whatever lay east beyond the Ephel Dúath was of importance and should be explored.  He shook his head to clear it of the thoughts of the scouting expedition he was pondering sending into those lands and stood, nodding to the guard as he did so.  His curiosity was piqued, for it was seldom that Galadriel requested him to immediately join her.

He could see the gathering of elves at the fountain, Galadriel’s height and golden tresses making her easy to find in the crowd.  Several guards were nearby, but Celeborn could not tell if they were keeping the order or merely observing.  The crowd parted as he made his way to Galadriel.

Standing beside his wife was his daughter.  A dark smudge was visible on one cheek, her hair was mussed and her dress torn in one place.  Yet she held Galadriel’s hand tightly, not as a child caught in wrongdoing, but as a child afraid.  Celeborn heard an elf speaking as he moved to stand next to Celebrían, sheltering her between her parents.

“Children do not play such games idly, Lady Galadriel,” said the elf boldly. “Why would your daughter play we were under attack by Sauron and his men and orcs if there was not a threat?”

Celeborn felt his heart sink as he thought of the conversation held the night before in their home.  Celebrían had been present, but had seemed engrossed in her embroidery. He might otherwise have blamed her play on the story he had told of the War of Wrath, but he would not lie, especially not in front of his child. He turned to the guards.

“Call a meeting for this night in the Great Hall at sundown.” He turned to the elf who had been speaking, at the same time he felt Celebrían wrap both arms about his waist and bury her face into his side.  He stroked her hair as he answered. “All of your questions will be answered there.”

The elf nodded stiffly; then, taking a small ellon by the hand he led him away.  The child, who dragged a play wooden sword behind him, turned back once to look at Celebrían, waving goodbye to her.

The crowd slowly dispersed, but their tension was obvious.  As they moved away, murmuring began and Celeborn could not hear individual words so much as the tone of fear and suspicion.  “Let us go home,” said Celeborn.

Celebrían walked between them, holding both of their hands.  Celeborn felt something sticky on his fingers, and lifted her hand to look at it.  There was a bleeding cut on one finger.

“What did you do to your finger, Celebrían?” he asked as he pulled out a handkerchief to wrap around it. As he looked at her, he realized the smudge on her cheek was not dirt, but the start of a bruise.  “And your cheek?”

“I tried to shoot an arrow, Ada,” she answered.  “The first time I hit myself in the face and snapped my finger, but I did much better after that.”

No more was said until they reached their house.  As Galadriel tended Celebrían’s cut and bruise, Celeborn said, “Tell me what happened. Start with why you were playing such a game to begin with.”

Celebrían twisted her skirt with her uninjured hand, looking at the floor, and Celeborn reached to tip her chin up to look at him. She took in a deep breath and started to speak.

“It was not so much a game, Ada, as getting ready. If Naneth believes Sauron will come here, then we all have to know how to fight.  You said that on Balar, where the elves all lived before the War of Wrath, even the children could wield a sword and a bow.  I do not know how to do either!  So I talked to some of the older ellon about playing war and what we would do if Ost-in-Edhil was ever attacked, and we decided to start learning to fight. We took turns being orcs and elves, and the elves would run and climb in the trees while the orcs chased them. Some of the ellyn had bows and said they would teach us to use them so we could fight back and not just run away.

“Then one of the ellon said he would be Sauron.  So he stood up on the edge of the fountain and said he was lord of the earth, and he challenged the elves.  So we attacked!  That is when Lanthir’s ada came.  He wanted to know why we were pretending to fight Sauron.”

“What did you say?” asked Celeborn.

“I said that you were looking for him,” answered Celebrían, again lowering her eyes. Her voice fell to a whisper. “That you were trying to find out if he meant to harm us.”

“What happened then?” prodded Celeborn gently.

“Lanthir’s father grabbed my arm and pulled me to him.  He kept asking what I was talking about and how did I know this.  I pulled away and my dress tore, but he grabbed my arm again. He kept asking what we knew about Sauron,” replied Celebrían, tears in her eyes. “Then there were elves all around me, asking what I had heard. I was so scared, Ada!”

Celeborn sank down into the chair and pulled his daughter into his lap, holding her as he had when she was a small child. He met Galadriel’s eyes over the top of Celebrían’s head and sighed.  I should have sent her to her room last evening, or at least we should have said she was not to speak of anything she overheard to anyone but us, he thought.

She will not soon forget that lesson. The timing of telling our people may not be what we had hoped for, but we shall tell them now and it will work out for the best, answered Galadriel.

“Celebrían, look at me,” said Celeborn gently.  When her eyes met his, he continued. “We did not tell you not to repeat things you had overheard, so I will tell you this now: if you over hear something and you have questions, ask your naneth or myself. We will answer you the best we are able.  If people ask you questions, tell them speak to us. Adults know better than to ask information from a child in such a manner, but the name of Sauron invokes terror in those who can remember him, and I fear they forgot that you were only a child.” Celeborn kept his words gentle, but inside he wished to shake those adults who would scare his daughter so. “I will tell you what I will tell our people tonight. You are not to come; I will tell you about the meeting tomorrow.”

Celebrían nodded, and Celeborn told her about Sauron.  He finished with how Sauron had come to Eregion in the guise of Annatar and learned jewel-craft with Celebrimbor.  He did not speak of the rings.

“Now, your naneth and I need to prepare for this evening.  Cook will send your dinner to your room. Go bathe and rest, and spend your evening quietly at home.  We will come to kiss you goodnight when we return,” he finished.

“You are not angry with me, Adar?” asked Celebrían.

“No, my daughter,” answered Celeborn.  He set her on her feet and kissed her forehead again, and then watched silently as she went to her room.

* * *

There were only several hours left before dawn when the meeting ended and the remaining elves dispersed into the night.  Celeborn stepped into the night air, and breathed in deeply, then looked up to see the stars twinkling overhead.  He found it comforting to see stars that had looked down upon him in Doriath, but also felt a sense of fragility as he thought of all the destruction witnessed by those stars. 

“You spoke well, husband,” said Galadriel softly.

“As did you, wife,” replied Celeborn, taking her hand in his as they walked.  “Some left wishing they had not known of this until we were certain Sauron was a threat.  Some are angry we did not tell them sooner.  The reactions are much as we expected. Future events will determine if what we did here tonight was right, wrong, or indifferent.”

“We should send scouts to see what lies beyond the Ephel Dúath,” said Galadriel.

“I agree,” replied Celeborn.

Inside the door of their home they found two wrapped packages. Celeborn carried them to the table and carefully unwrapped them.  He lifted the bow first, feeling its weight and examining the carving.  Galadriel unwrapped the sword, then stepped back and took an experimental swing with it.

“This is well balanced as well as beautiful,” she noted.

“I asked the captain to have the weaponsmith find or make me weapons the right size for Celebrían,” replied Celeborn. “My daughter will not feel helpless, though I will hope she never has need to use them.”

Galadriel arched a brow at the possessiveness in his use of the words ‘my daughter’ and replied, “My daughter is not helpless, though she will benefit from learning to wield such weapons.”

* * *

Twenty-five years later….

“Lord Celeborn, the scouts have returned from the east,” said the captain at the door.

Celeborn blinked in surprise and rose to his feet.  The two scouts entered, one leaning on the other.  Celeborn pulled a chair up and helped to ease the limping elf into it, even as the elf covered his heart and bowed his head before his lord.

“We feared you were lost,” said Celeborn as he clasped the elf’s hand.  “When your son went in search of you and did not return, we feared for him as well.  Yet your wife never doubted that you both lived.”

“She was my strength,” answered the elf, tired but his eyes now shining.

“You must go to her and rest.  We will talk when you have had a chance to sleep, eat and bathe,” said Celeborn.

“We have come to you first,” replied the injured elf.  “My son has saved me from the hands of our enemies, but my desire to bring the report to you of what I have learned led our footsteps here.  Sauron has built a mighty stronghold and is now growing an army. Orcs and men, wargs and other evil things.”

“His plans?” asked Celeborn, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Dominion of Middle-earth,” answered the elf. “Domination of all peoples.  The most outspoken hatred I heard was for the men of Númenor. He hates them and he fears them.”

The older elf reached to caress his son’s face.  “We should have sailed west when Beleriand sank, that you might have been born where there is peace.”

The son kissed his father’s hand, tears streaming down his cheeks.  “We have you back, Adar.  That is what matters.”

Celeborn watched the father and son together, remembering the hope they had had in Lindon, the hope that led them to Eregion. Peace they had had for many centuries, but he recalled the words of Eönwë, herald to Manwë, King of the Valar.  He had reminded them the curse remained and that Middle-earth would be only a temporary home to the Firstborn.  He had reminded them that the west awaited them, whenever they were ready to come.  Instead of finding that thought comforting now, he found it angered him.  Sauron should have been captured and taken with Morgoth those many years ago, but the Valar had not found him when they broke Thangorodrim. Sauron had been left behind, and he apparently had decided that with his own lord gone, he would set himself up in Morgoth’s place. Celeborn’s jaw tensed as he thought of the battle they would wage against any who thought to drive the elves from their rightful homes, from this the land of their birth.

The older elf tried to rise and stumbled, and Celeborn felt all anger fall away as he helped the elf to his feet.  He was so thin now, and Celeborn could only imagine what the son had saved his father from.  He watched as the son put his arm about his father’s shoulders, and helped him back out to the street.  Many on the street had heard of his return, and a crowd was waiting outside the door.  They honored him in silence as he walked slowly down the streets to his home, crossing the threshold under his own strength. All heard his wife’s cry of joy, and many wept as they thought of her long years of waiting and believing that he would return to her.

Celeborn stood at the steps to the Hall and watched until the elf was in the arms of his wife. As he turned to walk back to his office, he looked east. He suddenly noticed that it appeared as if a shadow had grown on the horizon, a dark cloud to herald the return of dark times. He decided to go home instead.

Celebrían sat on the porch swing, an adult now and more beautiful in his eyes than he could have imagined. A male elf, older than her but not that far past his majority, sat beside her.  He heard the injured scout’s words again, and when he looked upon his daughter he felt a deep understanding for the elf’s sentiment.  He had hoped she too would never know anything except peace. As he climbed the steps to the house, he saw Galadriel seated at the opposite end of the porch and found himself glad that she always served as chaperone. He already knew that this young elf would never suit his daughter and feared if forced to spend long in his company, he would tell him so.

“Suilad, Adar,” said Celebrían, rising to kiss his cheek.

“Suilad, Lord Celeborn,” said the suitor. Celeborn never could remember his name.

He greeted them, but his mind was elsewhere. The scouts have returned from the east, he told Galadriel. The news is as you suspected. Galadriel rose to follow him into the house, and soon after they heard Celebrían gently dismiss her suitor.  Well attuned to her parents’ moods, she knew that her father bore news and wished to hear it.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Daeradar, what happened when you told your people about Sauron’s army?” asked Elladan.

Celeborn’s sigh was barely audible.  “Many feared the worst and some, especially those with young children, decided to sail west.  Those who had withstood Morgoth were resolute in their wish to stay.  Those born in Middle-earth after the sinking of Beleriand could not imagine that Sauron could wage war against the elves, for they had never known war.  They stayed.  We began training all in the use of weapons and building our supplies that we might outlast any siege of the city.  Yet, we did not know if he would ever attack.

Arwen was watching her mother curiously and finally climbed from her grandmother’s arms to stand before her.  “Naneth, why were you being courted by an elf who was not Ada and when can I have a bow and a sword?”

Laughter in the camp smothered quickly when Arwen turned her stern look upon the offenders.  Elrohir still lay with his head in his mother’s lap, and when he continued to laugh, Celebrían scolded, “Shush!” as she covered his mouth with her hand.

“I did not know your Ada then and when you are older,” she replied.

Arwen looked thoughtful for a moment, then knelt down before Elrohir.  She pushed Celebrían’s hand away from his mouth.  “How old were you when you got your first bow and sword?” she asked sweetly.

Before Elrohir could answer, Celebrían clapped her hand back over his mouth.

Arwen looked at her mother. “It is as I thought.  They were my age or younger,” she concluded.

When Elrohir nodded in response, Arwen pecked him on the cheek and then climbed over elves to reach her father.  Elrond pulled her into his lap, waiting, but she merely kissed his cheek and then made herself comfortable.  Taking one of his hands in hers, she rubbed his fingernails and traced the lines of his palm.

Elrond looked on her fondly and said, “We will have a sword and bow made for you and start lessons when we return home.”

Arwen tipped her head back and smiled at him, and Elrond leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

Elladan snorted.  “She just charmed him without even having to ask!”

“Your charms at that age were just as effective, though different,” answered Glorfindel as he threw a pinecone at Elladan’s head. “Your daeradar could not wait to start you with your first bow after hearing how you wished to learn from the best archer in middle-earth.”

There was much laughter as wine was poured and passed around and Celebrían’s childhood was laid bare for all who wished to know of her antics and suitors.  Erestor noticed when Elrohir drifted off into sleep.  He moved silently around the ring of the campfire and lifted him from his spot on the ground, nodding as Celebrían thanked him.  Elrohir’s bed remained in the wagon, and Erestor laid him carefully on it, propping up his broken leg and covering him with a blanket. Rather than leave him alone away from the rest of the camp, Erestor made himself comfortable against a sack of grain.  A few moments later, Glorfindel approached, two cups of wine in hand. He handed one to Erestor as he sat down next to him.

“You do not win the bet for carrying him to his bed yourself,” said Glorfindel.

“I already did,” answered Erestor as he lifted his wine glass.  “I got you to wait on me.”

They watched as the stars appeared in the clear sky and Eärendil began his night’s journey.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 19: War in Eregion: Ost-in-Edhil

Elrond became gradually aware of a muffled giggling and opened one eye a slit to see who had invaded his dreams and pulled him back to reality. A second voice joined in the mirth, and he could not help the smile that tugged at his lips as he recognized the voices of the two most important females in his life.  Pretending he was still asleep, he rolled slightly, allowing his view to improve without having to open his eyes and prove his wakefulness. Celebrían still lay next to him, but she had acquired a small leech that sat astride her, giggling as she played with her mother’s hair.

“Did you ever fight any ellyn with your sword?” giggled Arwen softly.

“The ellyn were scared of me and my sword,” bragged Celebrían.  She tugged Arwen down closer to her.  “Though they might have been more scared of my ada. They thought he was a big fire-breathing dragon who delighted in incinerating innocent young ellyn.”

Arwen giggled and looked down at her own ada, then reached out and ran the tip of her finger down his cheek.  Elrond fought hard not to smile at the tickling touch.

“Was Ada scared of Daeradar?” she asked.

“I am positive he was,” answered Celebrían.  Even as Elrond heard her words, he felt the touch of her mind against his.  I was not, he protested.  Your parents liked me.

“He chased me, but I finally let him catch me,” she told Arwen.  You chased me! argued Elrond.  Dressing up like a princess and watching my every move; I was like the innocent lamb being chased down by a wolf.

“Your ada was like a lovesick calf, barely able to function in my presence. I had to marry him, just so Imladris would again have a lord,” finished Celebrían.  Humph, he grunted.  Well, in that there might be some truth.

A roll of thunder echoed around them, and Elrond realized why Arwen was awake and in their bed. She clutched tightly at her mother, her memory of the storms from the last several nights giving her pre-storm jitters.

“I wish Ada could stop the storms,” murmured Arwen.

Celebrían laughed softly.  “No, not even adas can stop the storms.  But adas can make you feel safe.  I think if we scoot a little closer to your ada, he will cuddle us both close in his strong arms and you will feel snug and secure.”

Elrond felt Celebrían move herself and Arwen closer to him on the wide cot they shared, and he sighed in his pretend sleep and wrapped an arm about them both.  He sent a soothing touch to his daughter’s mind, and then touched his spirit to Celebrían’s.  Go to sleep, my silver queen. I love you.  He felt peace envelop her and within moments both Celebrían and Arwen were sound asleep against him.  Content, he drifted back on to the path of dreams where they awaited him.

* * *

Glorfindel and Erestor sat on their horses, both silent as they looked upon the muddy mess before them.  The scouts stood to the side, their boots mud-stained and their cloaks wet.

“I am thankful that we did not have storms like this in the first days after the bridge collapsed,” said Glorfindel finally. “We can manage this now; I would despair to think of this weather when Elrohir and Arwen were still so badly injured.”

Erestor flashed a smile at his companion. “We have seen worse.”

“Aye,” agreed Glorfindel. “There are times when I envy the forgetfulness of aged mortals.”

Erestor laughed. “I suppose that is true, at times, but I prefer the wisdom of time and ages. We are less likely to repeat our errors.”

“I would not know,” mused Glorfindel. “I have not made any.”

Erestor snorted. “Apparently the forgetfulness of mortals has overtaken you, then.”

Glorfindel grinned, then returned his attention to the mudslide before them. “Age and time are not on our side this morning, mellon-nín, as we have waited now for several minutes and this mudslide has not cleared itself.”

“There really is not any good way around this one,” replied Erestor grimly. He looked east, the mud easily stretching all the way to the river’s edge.  To the west were marshy bogs, peppered by what he less than fondly recalled were sucking mud holes.  He studied the spot in front of them again.  “This may be as good as we will find.”

Glorfindel slid off his horse and removed his cloak and over tunic. He folded them neatly and placed them in the small pack hanging from the side of his horse.  “Let us get started then,” he said cheerfully as the first of the elves appeared with armfuls of damp cut grass.

Erestor watched as Glorfindel threw himself into the work with the younger guards and warriors, wading into the mud and spreading the stalks of grass into and over the top of the mud, and he could easily see why the warriors of Imladris would follow Glorfindel to death, if need be.  Removing his own cloak and over tunic, Erestor moved slowly into the thick mess, thankful for the boots that encased all of his lower legs.  Instead of helping, however, he began mentally mapping the way through the mud that the horses and wagons would follow.

* * *

Elrond eyed the muddy, marshy path before him doubtfully.  The hoof prints of horses and an occasional boot mark were visible in the black mud, with strands of gold and green grasses protruding from the mashed mess.  His eyes quickly scanned the elves, noting that while all had mud caked boots, most were fairly clean.

“We will lead the horses through and bring the wagons last,” said Erestor to the waiting group of mounted elves.  “Allow your horse to be led; we have determined the best path and will lead you through it.”

Elrond looked at the wagon bearing two of his children and then again at the mud slicked road before him.  While the guards had led their horses through, they had not yet tried to take a wagon through the muck.

“Erestor,” he called, stopping the activity around him. “Perhaps Arwen and Elrohir should ride through this pass.”

Erestor’s face grew thoughtful, although Elrond was sure this was not the first he had thought of the matter.  He finally shrugged.

“I will bring Elrohir to you,” he said.

“Arwen can ride with me,” called Celebrían.

Erestor swung Arwen up atop his shoulders, avoiding getting any mud on her clothing, and delivered her to Celebrían’s arms.  He returned for Elrohir, who looked all the more happy for getting out of the wagon.  Elrond watched as Erestor easily lifted Elrohir from the wagon and then up to the horse. As with the day before, Elrond eased his own legs between Elrohir’s legs and the horse, supporting him comfortably.

“Your strength is now occupied with your son and is not available should your horse become skittish or have difficulty in the mud,” warned Erestor calmly.

Elrohir turned his head to look at his father, his mouth opening to speak, but Elrond interrupted him, sliding an arm around his son’s waist as he spoke. “I have more faith in Alagos than I do in that wagon.” The stallion nickered in response, shaking his head and stomping a foot, and Elrond patted his neck affectionately.

Erestor returned to the head of the small column that had formed, taking Celebrían’s horse by the lead that had been slipped around its neck, and began walking lightly atop the mud.  The horse was less happy as her hooves sank into the mire, the mud sucking her down as the mare lifted each leg in turn to step forward.  Erestor stayed by her side, whispering in the mare’s ear.

Glorfindel had slipped a lead over Alagos’s head, and once Erestor was a short distance ahead, he led the stallion into the crossing.  As the horse’s front leg sank into the mud, Elrond tightened his grip on Elrohir, his leg pressing tight against the stallion’s side as he strove to balance Elrohir’s unwieldy cast.  Alagos whinnied in confusion, the movement of Elrond’s thigh against his side telling him to veer to the side, but Glorfindel’s strong hand on the seldom used lead rope instructing him otherwise.

Elrond looked ahead to see if Celebrían was having any difficulty, but she held Arwen easily in front of her, allowing Erestor to guide the mare.  Alagos responded to the encouraging words Glorfindel kept murmuring to him while Elrond focused on steadying Elrohir before him, and slowly they made their way forward.

They were nearing the end of the crossing when Celebrían’s mare suddenly began to struggle. She bucked slightly as she tried to pull a foreleg free of the mud, and Elrond could see that Erestor had sunk deeper into the mud as well.  Erestor calmed the mare, convincing her to stay still, and Elladan suddenly appeared next to them.

“Take Arwen,” directed Erestor.

Elladan reached for Arwen, placing her atop his shoulders, and her hands wound tightly into his hair.  Elrond could tell she was hesitant, but she trusted her brother implicitly. Elladan walked the remainder of the way across the grass and mud mixture, only lightly sinking into the mud.  He turned, seemingly thinking to return for his mother, and found her moving lightly across the mud behind him. 

“Naneth, you did not need to walk in the mud,” protested Elladan, but a sly smile spread across his face.  “Although we have learned you did not mind a good mudfight as an elfling, so perhaps you enjoyed it.”

Celebrían did not have time to respond, for Elladan saw that Erestor was still working with the mare, and he hurried back to assist him.

“Her foot is tangled in something,” said Erestor.

Elladan did not hesitate, but bent over, slipping his hand down the horse’s leg and into the mud.  He dug for a few moments as Erestor held the horse steady, then dropped to his knees and shoved the other hand deep into the muck.  “Her foot is stuck between two roots,” he reported. The muscles of his upper body rippled and strained as he pulled the roots apart, and suddenly the mare reared up, her leg free. The abrupt motion caused Elladan to tip over backward, and he sprawled out in the mud.

Erestor steadied the horse, pulling her forward so she avoided stepping in the same place.  She bucked again, struggling against the lead, and it appeared to Elrond as if Erestor was about to tumble into the mud as well.  The elf managed to keep his feet, however, and with an apologetic look at Elladan, Erestor continued on with the mare.

Glorfindel had watched the scene unfold silently, holding Alagos in place, but now turned to Elrond.  Elrond did not need to hear the words to agree with Glorfindel’s plan. It was obvious they would do better on their own feet.

“I think we will walk,” Elrond informed Elrohir. “Can you hold steady while I dismount?” Elrohir nodded, and Elrond slipped from Alagos, landing as lightly as he could. He then reached for Elrohir, one hand slipping under the knee of Elrohir’s casted leg, and the other around his son’s waist. Elrohir allowed himself to be pulled from the horse, but as he leaned into his father, his cast banged against Alagos near his ear and the horse reared away from the blow.

Elrohir fell on top of his father, who fell into the mud. Elrond gave no thought to his own landing; his entire focus was on Elrohir’s broken leg.  He kept his hands as originally placed, one arm pulling Elrohir to him, cushioning him as much as possible, and the other hand grasping his son’s knee and holding the cast up out of the mud.

Still, the impact jarred. Elrond felt his breath knocked from him and heard Elrohir’s grunt of pain.  Time seemed to stand still as Elrond waited for his lungs to expand and allow air back into them.  Fleeting thoughts crossed his mind: how cold the thick, dark mud was on his neck as it seeped through his hair, how he might better regain his breath if he did not have his son’s weight pinning him down, and the thought he was trying not to think – could his son recover from yet another injury to his leg? Even in the short span of time they lay unmoving on the ground, he could not sense any real distress in Elrohir.

Silver hair brushed his cheek, and he looked up into the amused eyes of his father-in-law. “Let go of Elrohir,” instructed Celeborn.

Elrond felt someone peeling his fingers from Elrohir’s knee and as Celeborn’s words took meaning in his mind, he loosened his grip.  His lungs burned as he finally managed to inhale once Elrohir was lifted from him.  Breathing in deeply, Elrond finally felt his lungs fully expand and the pain in his chest eased.  His vision, which he had not realized was blurred, cleared, and he rolled to his side to see where Elrohir had been taken.

Celeborn strode swiftly yet lightly to the other side of the mudslide, and Elrond could not help but note that the mud apparently did not dare to stick to him.

“Are you able to stand yet?” came the amused voice of Galadriel.

Elrond turned to see Galadriel, dressed in riding trousers and tunic, with one slim white hand held out to him.  He looked at his own mud covered hand and then again at her, and heard her laugh as she took him by the hand and easily pulled him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he croaked, and rolled his eyes when she laughed.

“That was quite a tumble, and, admittedly, a fairly good save of the cast,” said Galadriel merrily. “Glorfindel did not fare so well in his fall, nor Alagos.”

Elrond turned to see his mud covered stallion glaring at an equally mud covered and glaring Glorfindel. Hands on his hips, the golden warrior was nose to nose with the stallion, who stomped and snorted at him.

“If you had just held still as I asked, none of this would have happened,” growled Glorfindel.   The stallion shook his head, sending mud splattering across Glorfindel’s face. “I should let you find your own way out of this bog, you incomprehensible, stubborn, ornery colt!”

The stallion whinnied in a slightly more subdued tone and bowed its head, and Glorfindel acquiesced immediately.  He scratched Alagos behind his ears, whispering to him comfortingly.  Taking the lead, he led the horse through the bog and out on the other side.

Elrond turned back to Galadriel, who was barely containing her mirth.  “Tell me at least that Elrohir is uninjured,” he said dryly.

“Elrohir is uninjured,” replied Galadriel congenially.  “His leg was jolted and might be sore, but it is unlikely to have been damaged.  His greatest distress was you holding him so tightly that he could not breathe.” She laughed again, then barely touching his arm, motioned him forward.

Mud did not dare stick to Galadriel, either, noted Elrond, as he sank into the mud up to mid calf.  She moved lightly along on top of the mud and grass as he strained along next to her, and he wondered briefly if anyone had ever pushed her in the mud.

“No,” she answered his thought. “Not even my brothers dared attempt that when we were children.”

Guarding his thoughts more closely, Elrond silently cursed the mud.

They were the last across the mud slide, except for the rear guards some distance behind them.  Even Cook had managed to guide the wagon through the mire, though admittedly several elves pushed it from behind. Elrond sighed with relief as he stood again on firm ground and immediately looked for Elrohir.   He found Celeborn examining him a short distance away and knelt down next to them.  Reaching to touch his son, he suddenly realized his hands were covered in mud and stopped, and then he realized Elrohir was laughing.

“You are a mud monster, Adar!” he teased.  Looking over Elrond’s shoulder, he grinned. “Clearly Elladan is your son!  El, do you remember when Glorfindel first taught us to follow orders and you fell in the mud?”

Elrond turned slightly to see his mud-blackened son standing slightly behind him, arms folded across his chest. As he looked over Elladan, he realized he must look equally filthy.  Elrohir was muddy, particularly his back and hair, but much less so than either of them. Celeborn’s tunic and trousers were dirty from where he had carried Elrohir against him, but his face and hair were clean.

“I am remembering how uncomfortable dried mud all over the body felt quite well,” replied Elladan sardonically.

“Are you injured, Elrohir?” asked Elrond, turning his attention back to his original concern.

“No, Adar,” replied Elrohir.

Elrond studied his son for a moment and knew when Elrohir looked away that he was not telling the entire truth.  A smile tugged at his lips as he suddenly saw an elfling before him again, one who was as honest in his misdeeds as he was in his good deeds.  He allowed his gaze to linger long on Elrohir, until his son was literally squirming before him.

“It is not broken,” amended Elrohir, a light blush on his face, “however, I will admit to some minor discomfort.”

Elrond raised one brow quizzically. “What kind of minor discomfort, Elrohir?”

As he waited for his son to answer, he realized that everyone was gathering around, standing, whereas Elrohir was lying propped on one elbow.  Remembering how conscious of his injured status Elrohir was, Elrond decided to move them all away. “We need water and clean clothes for all who are muddy,” he directed.  “We might as well find a suitable place to camp.” Erestor suddenly appeared, barking orders, and the small crowd dispersed.

He knelt down next to Elrohir, wiping his hands on a cloth handed to him by Celeborn.

“Here,” said Elrohir quietly, pointing to where the break had occurred. “It was throbbing wretchedly, but now it is just an ache.”

Elrond frowned slightly, resting his hand on Elrohir’s leg above the cast.  He could neither see nor feel the area affected, thus did not know how bad the potential injury might be.

“It is a good thing you insisted on the cast, Elrond,” said Celeborn, voicing Elrond’s thoughts.

“Indeed,” replied Elrond quietly.  He studied Elrohir for a moment, then said, “If the throbbing does not abate within a few hours, we will need to remove the cast.”

Elrohir’s eyes widened with dismay and he blinked hard a few times, looking away from his father and grandfather as he struggled with this news.

“There is a creek ahead,” called Erestor as he came into view.  “Well, a small river right now.  But we can clean up before moving on. Put Elrohir on the tarp on his bed in the wagon,” he directed.  He stopped near Elrond as he barked orders to all nearby, and though he spoke of Elrohir as he did all the other baggage that needed attending, the tone was belied by the gentle hand that stroked Elrohir’s hair.  “Just a few minutes to the campsite and then we’ll make you comfortable,” he said quietly.

“I have him,” said Celeborn, brushing Elrond aside as he knelt to lift his son.  “You might get him dirty.”

Elrond stood, feeling decidedly ungraceful as the mud-stiffened fabric of his trousers did not move with him.  He joined Elladan, Glorfindel and all the other filthy elves as they walked, avoiding irritating the horses further, to the campsite.

* * *

Small fires burned all along the outer perimeter of the camp, a camp much smaller than they normally made.  The clearing was small, but insect control made the possibility of anything larger impossible.  The smoke of the fires deterred them some, and netting was strung above cots and bedrolls to prevent the elves from being excessively bitten.

“Rub this on your skin! It is my special treatment, guaranteed to keep the mosquitoes away,” cried Cook as he moved among them with small flasks of some sort of liquid.  He himself seemed unbothered by the insects, Elrond noted, and he sniffed the bottle curiously, seeing which extracts and herbs he could recognize. “Try it, Master Elrond! If you find it to your satisfaction, I will share my recipe with you,” he promised with a grin. “Cooks are good alchemists too!”

He was gone before Elrond could answer, his attention having flitted to other matters.

“Ah, Lady Celebrían.  I believe I may be of assistance.  Rinse his hair one more time, while I obtain a special remedy that will remove the tangles the mud has caused,” said Cook consolingly.  “Our Elrohir suffers enough without this!”

Elrohir was subdued. He has spoken little throughout the afternoon, and was stoically letting his mother work the snarls from his hair.  He had been the only one unable to wash in the creek, and cleaning the substantial mud from his hair had been tedious. His trousers were mudstained, and so he was again bereft of clothing while they were washed and dried. Elrond suspected that the pain in his leg had not abated, and worse, some insect had bitten him inside the cast and it appeared to itch terribly.  Arwen had found him a small twig that fit inside the cast, but Elrond had taken it away after he rubbed his skin raw.  The raw flesh, of course, attracted more biting insects, and could not be protected by Cook’s solution, which couldn’t be poured in the edge of the cast.  Elrond finally rubbed salve under the edge of the cast and then wound a bandage around it to keep the insects out.

Elladan, Glorfindel and the guards returned after finishing bathing and brushing the horses.  Cook had by this time managed to make a good dinner for them, the smell of roast venison filling the camp.  Elrond watched as Arwen carefully carried a plate to Elrohir.  A good idea, meleth-nín, for I do not think he would eat except to please Arwen, he thought to Celebrían.

Celebrían and Galadriel had washed clothing and bedding with Cook’s help, and performed much of the hard work of setting up the camp while the guards had seen to the horses. Arwen had carried many a pail of water, which was used to bathe Elrohir, and Elrond thought she would drop from exhaustion before complaining or stopping.  Her devotion still knew no bounds.

She served Elrohir and sat steadfastly by his side, saying little, but under her watchful gaze he ate.  By the time he finished, her eyelids were half closed and she leaned against him.

“Naneth, has Arwen eaten?” asked Elrohir.

“Yes, she has,” replied Celebrían.  She gently picked the sleeping child up, but Arwen did not wake.  “Let your adar give you something for the discomfort, Elrohir,” she bid him. “You need to sleep deeply and well before we continue tomorrow.”

Elrohir turned his face away, and Celebrían stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead before taking Arwen to bed.   The warriors were eating when Erestor moved silently to sit next to Elrohir. He said nothing for some time, and Elrond watched as curiosity and opportunity pulled his son from his discontent.

“Did you travel this way when you came to Eregion?” asked Elrohir.

“I did,” replied Erestor. “I was seeking some way across the river, much as we are now.  The spring of that year resembled this one as well, and mud and insects were as much a problem then as now.”

“When did word come to Lindon? What did you know as you headed east?”

“We sent word to Lindon asking for Gil-Galad’s aid when we knew that Sauron was planning to attack us,” answered Celeborn as he folded himself gracefully into a sitting position on the other side of Elrohir.

Erestor nodded to Celeborn to continue. “Tell of Eregion at that time.”

“Some say now that we waited too long to ask for aid, but though we knew Sauron was gathering his forces, we did not know where he would attack. . .,” began Celeborn.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

SA 1693

“Adar, another scout has returned,” reported Celebrían, having knocked on the door before entering and speaking.  She held open the door to show the elf in; having served in her parents’ office these many years, she knew Celeborn would want to hear the report immediately.

“Thank you, Celebrían,” he replied, dismissing her.  He saw the disappointed look in her eyes at being excused, for he knew she wished to hear the news too.  The scouts, however, were seasoned veterans who would report more bluntly and concisely without a maiden in their presence.

“My lord,” began the scout, speaking before Celeborn could even greet him, “his army grows in might and power.  He has gathered uncounted Orcs and Men from the south and east to his stronghold in Mordor.  He rules them with an iron fist.  Now I have seen advance scouts entering the southern part of Eregion.  My lord, I do not know his plans, but in all of these years I have been watching their movements, this is the furthest north they have come.  I was able to come close enough to his scouts to know they were planning strategies of battle.”

Celeborn had motioned the scout to sit and pressed a glass of water into his hands.  The elf finally paused and sipped the liquid.

“If what I have heard is true, a messenger of Sauron travels to Ost-in-Edhil,” the scout finished.

Celeborn looked the elf over carefully, noting the travel stains on his cloak and boots, a tear in his tunic, and eyes that bespoke weariness.  Long this elf had served them, spending many years apart from his family, as he lived in stealth to learn of Sauron’s ways and plans.

“Go to your home and see your family.  Eat and bathe and rest.  Tomorrow we will hear your full report.  I will notify the city guard to watch for a messenger and send out riders to meet him, when our sentries spot him,” he commanded gently. 

A look of dissent appeared on the elf’s face, but Celeborn interrupted him before he could speak.  “I wish to have all my advisors hear your words, for they are of critical import to the region. You will be best prepared to handle their questions when you have rested.”

The elf nodded his acquiescence, and Celeborn could see that despite the protestations he wished to make, the scout was relieved. Celeborn walked with the scout out of the city hall, then made his way to a secluded area of the park where he could sit in the quiet of the trees and listen to what wisdom they might share.

* * *

“Sauron is demanding that all the rings of power be turned over to him,” said Celebrimbor, waving the message in his hand. “He claims that they are rightfully his, as without him, we could not have forged them. I will not give over to him the culmination of my life’s work.”

Celebrimbor paced the length of the room as he spoke; now he stopped, his eyes fixed on Galadriel.  “In his message, he says he will come and claim them if we do not send them willingly to him.”

“The rings must be hidden,” replied Galadriel. “The lesser rings could be thrown into the sea, or buried deep in the Misty Mountains.  In Moria, in the deepest abyss, somewhere he will never find them.”

“The risk of them being found is slight, but how grievous to the one who stumbles upon a ring unawares and places it upon their finger,” interjected Celeborn.  “We find ourselves in a quandary, for we cannot unmake them, nor can we guarantee they will not be found if hidden.”

“What course must we follow, then?” asked Galadriel impatiently. She turned to Celebrimbor.  “The Three at least must be hidden among the elves.”

Celebrimbor nodded in agreement.  “They, at least, were not made by his hand.  They are powerful and he desires them, though I do not think he could turn the bearer to an evil end.”

“Where will we send them? To Gil-Galad is the only logical answer,” said Galadriel, answering her own question.  “Lindon is furthest from Mordor and escape by sea is possible.”

“Lady Galadriel, you will keep Nenya,” said Celebrimbor suddenly.

Celeborn stiffened and felt a sudden dread sweep over him. “No, they should all be sent to Lindon,” he replied. His eyes met those of his wife, and he saw her desire for the ring clearly.

“Nenya is powerful, Galadriel.  In your hands, the decays of time would be slowed and you could strengthen and refresh those around you.  A day will come when you may find it safe to wield,” argued Celebrimbor softly, pointedly ignoring Celeborn. “I thought immediately of you when I saw the adamant. It is meant for you.”

Galadriel looked again at Celeborn and he saw that her decision was made.  Anger welled up within him. “Then you will take it to Lindon yourself, and stay there with it, for I will not have you here if Sauron comes!”

Galadriel did not even flinch at his tone, but met his gaze steadily.  “I will consider it, if Sauron comes,” she answered calmly.

Celeborn slammed his hand down on the table, then closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steadying breath.  Once calmed, he turned back to them.  “What of the Seven and the Nine?”

Celebrimbor shrugged.  “It is the Three he wants.  The lesser rings are just that: less.  They are not capable of great works or deeds.”

“Then we will send Narya and Vilya to Gil-galad,” concluded Galadriel.

* * *

A few months later….

Celeborn looked at the map showing the vast encampment still many leagues south of Eregion, and despair filled his heart.  Years of preparation meant naught against an army so large.  Sauron’s army numbered more than all the citizens of the city combined. Ost-in-Edhil would fall under the onslaught; of this he had no doubt.  He looked up into the eyes of the scout, whose pale face reflected the hopelessness of the situation.  Pushing aside his own fears, he began issuing orders.

“You will ride to Lindon to ask for aid from the king,” he informed the elf.  As he spoke, he quickly penned a letter stating that attack was imminent and that Gil-galad should expect refugees.  “Many have chosen to sail in these dark years of waiting; many more will do so now.”

He turned to his captains.  “Prepare our army for battle.  As they draw near, we will ride out against them; we must hold them back to allow those of our people who wish to leave to escape to Lindon. Messengers will be sent to King Durin in Moria and King Amdir in Lorinand, warning them and asking them for their aid.”

As aides, advisors and captains jumped to do his bidding, Celeborn went in search of Galadriel.   He laid out the scout’s map before her, remaining silent as she made her own assessment.

“We cannot withstand this force alone,” she concluded quickly.

“I have sent word to Gil-galad, asking for aid and telling him to expect more refugees,” he answered, then chose his words carefully. “You should take Celebrían and go to Lindon.”

She bristled, as expected. “I am of more use here.”

“And Celebrían?  Are you willing to see her die when Sauron breaks down the walls and destroys all in his path?” interrupted Celeborn.  When she did not answer, fury rose within him and he said harshly, “For Nenya, then, if not for our daughter? Would you risk it to Sauron’s control?”

Galadriel pushed back her chair and rose to her feet in a graceful flurry, standing nose to nose with him.  “Do not try to command me, husband! There is much to consider and I will not make a rash decision,” she hissed.  “Do not forget Celebrían is an adult and capable of making her own choices.”

Celeborn took a step back, shocked. “Celebrían has never known war! How can she discern the right step? She can wield bow and sword, but in defense, not offense!  Do you not think that Sauron would be most pleased to capture our child, our daughter, to torment before us? Use her as a weapon against us?”

He saw the glimmer of fear in Galadriel’s eyes at his words, and knew his point had sunk deep into her mother’s heart.  He softened.  “I must prepare messages to the dwarves and the elves of Lorinand.  We must both warn them and ask for their aid.”

He quietly left the room, allowing Galadriel time to consider his words and come to some conclusion.  His was already made, however.  He would send her away tied over her horse if she would not go willingly. Celebrían, he knew, would do his bidding.

* * *

Galadriel found Celebrían sitting alone near the fountain. The streets were nearly deserted, unusual at any hour but especially at this time of the day.  Normally full of children playing and minstrels singing, now it seemed that even the birds had fallen silent. Her daughter did not look up as Galadriel sat down next to her.

“Narusel has left,” said Celebrían quietly. “Her adar had been considering sailing for some time, but with today’s word, he decided to go immediately.”

“Any adar would fear for his children, knowing an army marches upon the city. Narusel’s younger sister is but a small child. He does well to take his family west,” consoled Galadriel.  “Were you able to say fare well to Narusel?”

Celebrían nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Galadriel wrapped an arm about her and pulled her close. “We must go too, my daughter. Messages must be sent to the dwarves and to Lorinand. We shall be the ones to take them.”

Celebrían looked up. “Will Adar come too?”

Galadriel shook her head.  “No, he must stay to lead our warriors.” She saw the protestation in Celebrían’s eyes and raised a finger to lips about to protest. “Your adar has long been lord of this city, and his duty is to defend it.  I would stay, but I will not send you off alone and you cannot stay. There are worthy tasks for us to accomplish as well.”

“Naneth, I can stay and help defend the city too,” cried Celebrían.  “I can defend myself, and I can help in other ways.  The warriors will need support.”

Galadriel smiled as she considered her own thoughts along these lines.  Celeborn’s words, however, haunted her mind. “No, Celebrían. Sauron has reason to hate your adar and me.  You would be a desirable prize to him.”

Celebrían’s eyes grew large as her imagination allowed her to consider what Sauron would do to her, but Galadriel knew her daughter’s innocent mind could not even conceive the torment she would suffer.

“Prepare only a small pack with a clothing change and necessary items. We will leave at sunrise.”

As Celebrían stood, Galadriel noticed the lock of black hair wrapped around her hand. Her best friend since birth, now a memory, unless they would meet again one day in Valinor. She was sure Narusel traveled with a long silver tress as well.

* * *

She found Celeborn at the armory, now the headquarters of the army.  He was in conference with his captains when he saw her enter and left them immediately to join her.

“I have spoken to Celebrían.  We will leave at dawn tomorrow, and deliver your messages to the dwarves and to Amdir in Lorinand,” she announced.  She saw the relief in his eyes, and knew he would now be able to focus all of his attention on their defense. “I know not where we will end up, if we will stay in Lorinand or go to Lindon.”

“I will come home this evening,” he promised, as he was drawn back into the plans for the defense of the city.

Galadriel and Celebrían were packed and ready, and Galadriel had written the messages to Durin and Amdir herself when Celeborn finally came home.  Lines of worry and care were carved about his eyes, but he relaxed visibly upon seeing her. He held out his hand to her, and when she took it, he pulled her roughly into his arms. His mouth crushed hers in a kiss that was demanding and passionate, his hands threading through her hair, tugging the golden strands as he moved her towards their bed. She responded in kind, arduous and passionate, demanding and forceful, and they removed each other’s clothes without care for preservation of the items. Their lovemaking was fierce as they wrestled for dominance and possession. Each was marked by the other, their bodies mapped and explored as lovers who wished to remember and be remembered, until they both lay exhausted.

They rose as dawn broke, bathing and dressing, and then Galadriel picked up her pack as she looked one last time around the room. It was but one of many homes they had shared, less than some places they had lived, but it was the bed in which Celebrían had been conceived and where she had been born.  It was in this house they had served their people as lord and lady. She did not know if the house would still stand when all was over, nor did she care.  She knew in her heart she would not return.

Celebrían was already awake and waiting for them, the amused glint in her eyes suggesting that her parent’s fare well tryst had been heard.  “I trust you are not well rested?” she quipped lightly.

Galadriel laughed, and Celeborn replied, “May you one day be so fortunate, daughter, to find a mate with whom you would wish to spend a night of passion.”

He wrapped his arms about his only child, then, and pulled her close against him. His hands traced over her, memorizing her, for he had told Galadriel if he were to spend many an age in Mandos’s Halls, he wanted perfect recall of those who waited for him.

“Come to us soon, Adar,” whispered Celebrían. “Be well.”

Celeborn watched silently on the dwarf road as his wife and daughter walked east to Moria. No guards accompanied them, for Galadriel would not allow any to be taken away from more important tasks.  The dwarves would see them safely through Moria, and they would move with care from the eastern door to Lorinand.  He had been separated from Galadriel on multiple occasions, and in war, and they knew what it was like to part not knowing if they would see each other again in Middle-earth. Never had he been parted from his daughter, however, and even while he was grateful she was being sent to relative safety, he felt as if his heart had been torn asunder.

When they were lost to the morning shadows of the mountains, he turned back to the city.  In many dwellings and on the main road heading west, to Lindon, similar scenes were being played out as husbands and fathers watched their wives and children depart, not knowing if they would see each other again on this side of the sea.

Some stayed. Celeborn pushed his fear for them aside, knowing he could not leave any warriors to protect them.  Celebrimbor and his Gwaith-i-Mírdain and their families had refused to leave, as well as many others who had withstood trial and battle before.  Some had lived in Sirion and Balar; a few were survivors of Nargothrond and Gondolin. 

“My lord, we will be prepared to march south day after tomorrow,” reported the captain who had appeared at his elbow.

Celeborn looked south, knowing that battle and death awaited them.  “So be it.”

* * * * *

The next chapter will continue in the Second Age.  I will save all author’s notes to the end of the section on the War in Eregion, for there are many conflicting passages that make one ‘canon’ impossible to hear.

Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing.  Your comments and encouragement mean the world to me.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 20: War in Eregion Part II: Moria to Lorinand

The dwarf king looked upon the two female elves standing before him impassively. Galadriel watched in exasperation as the dwarf king's eyes strayed repeatedly from her to her daughter. Galadriel would hold his eyes for a few moments, but then his attention would again stray to Celebrían.  Celebrían, however, had eyes not for the dwarf-king, but for the majesty and grandeur of his halls. They stood before his carved stone throne, on a floor of what appeared to be polished silver, and one could easily forget one was in a cave, for the crystal lamps that lit the hall shone as if the sun were contained within them.

“You will not learn more from staring at my daughter than you will from my tongue,” Galadriel finally said acerbically.  She smiled at Durin’s surprised expression, softening her words, and then stepped forward. “Sauron’s army approaches from the south even as we speak.  I bear you this news in hopes that you will come to the aid of your allies, the elves of Eregion, but also so that you may protect yourselves, for though Sauron may start with the elves, he will not forget the dwarves.”

“Narvi says you seek passage through Khazad-dûm,” said Durin, acknowledging her words with a slight nod.

Galadriel bowed in return. “Safe passage through the mighty halls of the dwarves would be a gracious gift, for we seek also to bring word to King Amdir of the elves of Lorinand.”

“And your people? They do not seek shelter in Khazad-dûm, which will withstand any assault of orcs and men?”

“Nay, good king,” replied Galadriel. “Our army rides south to engage our enemy, and those who must flee travel west to the Havens of Mithlond.”

“Yet you travel east, my lady?” asked Durin, his voice courteous yet curious.

“We do not flee in fear for our lives, but to seek aid from our allies. Do we not all wish to live in Eregion peacefully?” replied Galadriel. She studied his eyes, probing ever deeper into the dwarf’s mind to discern his intent and his loyalties.  The dwarf was difficult to read, more so than any other dwarf with whom she had previously conversed.

“I will take counsel with my own advisors, but you may pass through Khazad-dûm,” said Durin finally. “Though you may have need of haste, I hope you will tarry to see the beauty of our great halls and caverns, and the crown of stars in Kheled-zâram.” He paused. “When you reach Lorinand, you will greet the elvenking for me.”

Galadriel bowed again.  “A true friend you are to the elves, and you have our gratitude,” she said graciously.   Though she did not speak of it, she was also grateful for his greeting to King Amdir.  He had in essence opened the door for the two kings to speak, and in this Galadriel could only hope they would coordinate their efforts, if not work together. 

Durin lifted his hand in farewell, and it was then that Galadriel saw upon his hand the band of polished mithril.  Her breath caught as she looked upon the tiny gems that were wrought so carefully within the band that they appeared to be a part of it, and she looked upon Durin with a sudden trepidation.

Celebrimbor had said he had asked for the ring to be returned. That Durin wore it openly meant he had either refused to part with the jewel, or that he had not been asked.  Yet, if Durin wore it openly, what control did Sauron have over him? Seemingly none, for she had read no deceit in him.  Perhaps the lesser rings did not exert the hold on their bearers as Celebrimbor had feared?  Were only the Three of great enough power to do so?

“My lord,” she began in a low voice, “may I have a private word with you?”

Durin’s eyes narrowed as he looked upon her, but he nodded for his advisors to leave, and Narvi stepped forward to escort Celebrían away from the throne.  Galadriel waited until she could hear Narvi describing in detail the glory of the golden ceiling of Khazad-dûm, calling the caverns by their elvish name, Hadhodrond, for he appeared delighted to speak to Celebrían in her own language.

“Sauron seeks the rings he created with Celebrimbor. That which I see on your finger is like those that they made. Was your jewel a gift from Celebrimbor?”

Durin frowned, stroking at his long beard as his face grew hard. He fingered the ring, his eyes darkening. “What kind of person gives a gift and then asks for its return?” he asked darkly.

“Such a thing does seem ungracious; however the gift’s giver wished only to keep you from harm,” she answered calmly.  “The ring was touched by Sauron and is imbued with evil.  Why would you want to keep it?”

“Mithril and gems are of value whether or not touched by Sauron,” answered Durin curtly. “Take your daughter and pass through Khazad-dûm; your errand awaits you.”

Narvi stepped forward at a wave of Durin’s hand, Celebrían’s hand resting on his as he escorted her with obvious pleasure, and he led them from the great hall.

* * *

Narvi led them from the king’s hall down a long corridor that shone brightly with crystal lamps.  Elaborate carvings graced the passage, and they passed from hall to hall and down stairs from level to level as Narvi narrated the history of each and who worked and lived in them. They passed a room where laughter sounded merrily, only to end abruptly as those within realized that strangers were near.

Celebrían looked over her shoulder as Narvi led them past, and stopped suddenly with a small cry. “Children!” she cried in a low voice.

Narvi laughed in his booming voice. “Yes, children.  They are about their lessons and crafts today.”

“I have never seen a dwarf child before, though!” exclaimed Celebrían.  “My whole life I have lived in Ost-in-Edhil and the dwarves would come to our celebrations, but I never saw your females or your children.  I thought you did not have any!”

Narvi clapped her on the back as he threw back his head and laughed. “We have few females and even fewer children, but females did attend!” He winked at her. “Look closely next time.”

Taking her gently but firmly by the arm, he led them forward and soon giggles and laughter sounded again behind them.  Celebrían looked over her shoulder a moment later, while her mother spoke to Narvi, and saw a small figure dart behind a pillar. A moment later she heard a soft giggle.

“To the left and down are the great lodes from which we mine the mithril,” said Narvi, stopping at a platform before a bridge over a deep chasm.

As he went on describing the terrain of the mine and how the dwarves worked, Celebrían stepped back a few paces into the shadows and then turned and looked down the corridor.  A flash of red caught her attention as the small figure darted forward again. Staying still and silent, she watched patiently as their follower caught up to them, seemingly unaware that she was crouched behind the last pillar.

The sounds of Galadriel and Narvi speaking continued, but she was no longer paying attention to their words.  Instead, she watched as the dwarf child came closer.  Darting forward over the last segment, the child dashed behind the pillar and bumped into her.

Celebrían caught the child in her arms, and big brown eyes looked at her with a mixture of fear and curiosity.  She smiled and laughed silently, pointing to where Narvi still spoke to Galadriel and covering her lips with her finger.  The dwarf child, a female, Celebrían finally decided, looked to Narvi and then back to Celebrían, and smiled and nodded her agreement to their quiet conspiracy.

“Hello,” whispered Celebrían, greeting the child in the language of the dwarves. “I am glad to meet you.”

The child’s eyes widened and she did not answer at first, but instead reached out with pudgy fingers to touch Celebrían’s hair.  She stroked it gently and when Celebrían smiled the child picked up a handful of the silver tresses and let them fall through her fingers like a shimmering waterfall. She smiled then, and if it were possible, her eyes opened even wider as Celebrían felt a tentative touch against the slight point of her ear. She shivered slightly, for her ear tips were very sensitive.

The child giggled softly at Celebrían’s reaction and again ran her finger over the outline of her ear. Celebrían laughed and tossed her head slightly, making the dwarf child giggle and then the child reached out with both hands and ran them through the silver locks.

“She will perhaps have a fine eye for locating Mithril one day,” came Narvi’s dry voice.

Both Celebrían and the child jumped, but when the child would have darted away, Celebrían hugged her close. The child buried her face in Celebrían’s hair, peeking up at Narvi and finally grinning at him.  When he held out his arms to her, she disentangled herself from Celebrían and ran to him.

“This is Kali, daughter of my brother’s son,” said Narvi as he scooped the errant dwarfling into his arms.  He spoke to her in her own language for a moment, and the child took on a slightly chastised look.  When she bowed her head though, he tipped her chin back up and smiled at her. She answered him in fast dwarvish, and Celebrían did not understand her. “She likes your silver hair, Lady Celebrían, and followed you to see the shimmering silver that flowed from your head.”

Celebrían laughed and stood. “I am glad to meet you, Kali.”

The child looked at Narvi, then slid down from his arms and bowed slightly. “Ke-le-bree-an,” she said slowly.

A soft clap caught Kali’s attention, and she darted away as quickly as she had come.  Celebrían heard a soft murmur as the child was greeted by someone hidden in the shadows, and then she was gone.

“A full day’s journey you will have tomorrow before you reach the Great Gates,” said Narvi as he ushered them across the long bridge.  He spoke a command and a door opened out of the rock, revealing a room where they might eat and rest. “Tonight you will stay here and enjoy the hospitality of the dwarves.”

A dwarf appeared with refreshments and warm, wet towels with which they could wash. Narvi bowed before them.

“An escort will join you in the morning to lead you the rest of the way. I wish you safe passage to Lorinand. Rumor is growing of a threat to the south – beware the journey down the Celebrant!  Perhaps one day we will meet again,” he finished, and turning abruptly, he left the room.

Celebrían set her pack on the floor and sank into a broad, low chair.  The hike through Khazad-dûm to reach Durin and ask for passage had taken much of the morning, and now already it was late evening and still they had far to go.  She missed the sounds of the wind and the trees, yet the caverns were so immense it was easy to convince herself she was in the meeting hall in the city.  She closed her eyes as she recalled the look of the city, and of her father standing on the road watching them leave. Grief welled up in her as she considered that that might have been the last time she would ever see him. War was coming and he would lead the fight against it, and if he fell she would not see him again this side of the sea. A tear slipped down her cheek.

She felt her mother sit beside her and then comforting arms slid around her and pulled her close.   She leaned into her mother, felt Galadriel’s strong, slow heart beat against her ear and felt herself strengthened as her mother’s mind touched her own.

“There may be grief at parting, but let there not be despair,” said Galadriel softly.  “Our part is to serve as messengers, but those messages may bear the fruit of aid that will help your adar.  He is strong and has fought many battles. We will see him again.”

“How do you know, Naneth?” asked Celebrían, looking up to search her mother’s face.

“I do not know anything for certain, but my heart tells me this will not be his end,” replied Galadriel. “Hold on to your hope, Celebrían.”

The dwarf returned then with a meal for them, and they ate lightly of the filling food before resting upon the couches provided.

* * *

They reached the First Hall after sundown of the next day.  They had eaten in the splendor of the Second Hall, the largest they had passed through and perhaps the most ornate. Crossing Durin’s bridge had required cautious feet and a lack of fear at the great drop into the deep chasm below. The Great Gates were open, and Galadriel felt her heart lighten as she saw the twinkling of the stars in the night sky.  She felt Celebrían’s hand slip into her own and squeezed softly, for she knew that despite the beauty and grandeur of this great cavern, her daughter had never lived below ground before, and she knew the burden such a first experience could bring.  At times great shafts of light where the mountains opened to the sky above had shone down upon them, and the places where that light had reflected upon the carved stone walls had been breathtaking to behold.  The dwarves had used those light beams to their greatest advantage, showing off their skill and workmanship to its greatest degree.  But the elves loved the light best, not that which it reflected, and once Celebrían had stopped in a beam of light and rejoiced in it. The dwarves had been amused by her, but, reflected Galadriel, probably no more so at us than we were at them.

“The air is chill and night has fallen,” said their guide gruffly. “Will you stay this night and leave when morning comes?”

Galadriel looked at Celebrían and saw the dismay in her eyes, then turned to the dwarf. “Your hospitality is generous,” she replied. “Yet we have missed the stars and open skies.  We will camp just beyond these great doors.”

“My lady,” said the dwarf, bowing slightly. “As you will, but on this night we have received instruction to shut the gates. The protection of the dwarves will not be with you beyond them.”

Galadriel smiled at him, and bowed in return. “Thank you for you hospitality and your concern. The elves will not forget your kindness.”

They walked down the stairs and into the night air, both inhaling deeply and looking up into the skies as Eärendil blinked at them.

“Must we stop, Naneth?” asked Celebrían. “I do not mind walking beneath the stars.”

Galadriel looked up the dark pass of the falls of the Dimrill Stair that rose above them to the north, and then to the wide lands to the south, the Dimrill Dale.  Before them, moonlight shimmered off the water of the Mirrormere.

“The road will lead us past the Mirrormere and Durin’s stone. We will rest there, and you will see the crown of stars that reflects in her deep waters,” decided Galadriel.

They began walking the brick paved road, evidence again of the dwarves’ handiwork all about them. Galadriel had often wondered at these Children of Aulë, for they truly delighted in creating beauty out of stone, such that it appeared to be a living thing, as beautiful as any garden of flowers.

“Durin placed this stone to mark where he first looked in the Mirrormere,” said Galadriel as they came upon the great stone near the end of the lake. She looked up at the mountain face where the entrance arch stood, but all light was now gone, the lanterns extinguished and the Great Gates closed.  As they looked in the waters, a crown became visible, a reflection of the stars. “In daylight the mountains are reflected, and their snowy peaks form a crown as well. At night, the stars shimmer above those peaks, creating a like effect. Durin took this as a sign of his own kingdom and the good fortune of the dwarves.  And so it has been, for though the caverns are laden with silver and gold and gems of many kinds, mithril is more valuable than all and none but the dwarves mine here.”

Galadriel pulled a thin grey blanket from her pack and spread it across the cold ground. A fine weave, it would repel water and warm them in the cool fall air.  She sat upon it and Celebrían sank down next to her, both looking south and east to Lorinand.

“We have many miles yet to go, following the Silvelode from its spring to where it joins the Anduin.  There lie the woods of Lorinand and the home of King Amdir.”

Celebrían lay back upon the blanket, her eyes half closing in sleep as she looked up at the stars above her.  Galadriel pulled open her pack, rearranging its contents for the journey before them.  She tucked a dagger into her boot, a twin to the one tucked in the belt at her waist.  A sword and bow had been fastened to the pack; tomorrow she would carry the sword on her hip as well, and the bow and quiver on her shoulders.  Celebrían carried the same gear, but her pack could be arranged in the morning.

“Naneth, can you not sleep?” asked Celebrían, when she woke several hours later.

Galadriel smiled. “I will keep watch this night, and after tonight we will share the responsibility,” she replied.

Celebrían sat up straight, a flush staining her cheeks. “No, I will keep watch tonight too!” she cried. “Adar taught me, though I have never stood watch for real before.”

“I wish there was no need for you to do so now,” answered Galadriel. “But it is a skill that will serve you well.  Sit beside me and tell me what you see and hear around us.”

Celebrían remembered her lessons well, and attuned her mind to the land about them – its sights and sounds, the song of the trees and of the waters, for a change in any could signal an approaching danger.  Galadriel rested in the early morning hours as Celebrían completed her first watch.

They set out after dawn broke, following the road past the icy spring of the Silverlode. Their daytime journey was uneventful, the path beside the waters of the Celebrant easy to follow and the terrain tolerable.  The eastward slopes of the Misty Mountains grew dark in the early afternoon hours as the sun passed beyond the peaks, and it was in those shadows that they first became aware of the presence of others.

Galadriel motioned for Celebrían to move off the road and down the bank towards the Celebrant. The tall reeds and trees sheltered them, and as the afternoon sun set they watched with keen elven eyesight as figures moved northward, hugging the low cliffs of the mountains.

“Orcs,” said Galadriel finally. “They will not get past the Gates into Khazad-dûm, but they could take the pass over the mountain.”

“To Eregion?” breathed Celebrían, her eyes not moving off the shadowy figures.

“More than likely they are scouts, determining if the pass is suitable to send an army over,” said Galadriel slowly. “They are not about to find out.”

To the north, from where they had just come, there was a copse of trees on the west side of the road. They were still north of the orcs, but would need to move quickly to stay ahead of them and prepare an ambush. “Come,” she whispered to Celebrían.  “Tie up your hair and cover it with your hooded cloak.  We will move north along the riverbed, and then cross to that copse of trees.”

Celebrían nodded her agreement, her eyes wide. Galadriel could not help but smile as she recognized a combination of excitement and trepidation in her daughter. She quickly bound up her own hair and slipped on her light grey cloak, covering her head.  She had long loved this fabric, for the gray seemed to fade into the landscape, making the elves nearly invisible to spying eyes.

When both were ready, they began running lightly along the river, staying in the reeds and brush.   By the time they reached the spot where they would need to cross the road to reach the copse of trees, they were a considerable distance ahead of the orcs. They crossed swiftly.

Galadriel chose a tree large enough for them both to climb.  Celeborn had taught them both to shoot from the relative safety of the trees, where they would be both harder to spot and harder to hit.  She chose their positions and they settled in to watch for their prey.

In that time of waiting, Galadriel found herself remembering watching Celeborn teaching Celebrían.  They started off in the tree in their garden, with her small bow.  She shot stationary targets first, learning to keep her balance while aiming and shooting.  Eventually they moved to targets he would throw in the air, and later, he took her hunting.  She recalled Celebrían shooting her first rabbit and her first deer. Today, Celebrían would shoot her first orc. Galadriel thought of her own childhood and even that of the children of Eregion, and killing an orc was certainly not a rite of passage she would have wished for any of them.

She swept the area again, then turned her eyes back to her daughter, who faithfully watched the cliffs to the southwest. Assuming they all lived through this, she decided they would not mention to Celeborn that they had taken the initiative in intercepting these scouts.

Celebrían touched her arm lightly, and Galadriel followed to where her daughter was pointing at the two orcs, which were approaching as she had expected.  They would pass almost right below them, easy targets. Celebrían had already nocked an arrow. As Galadriel looked again at her daughter, she could see Celebrían’s lips moving, as if she were reciting something to herself.  She watched for a moment, then nearly laughed aloud as she realized that Celebrían was saying over and over to herself to wait until they were within range, repeating her father’s lessons.

She nocked her own arrow and raised her bow at the right time, releasing the arrow. She hit the orc in the throat, and he dropped immediately. Her fingers moved instinctively to grab a second arrow and nock it even as she watched Celebrían’s arrow strike the second orc in the chest.  He shrieked as he yanked the arrow loose with one hand, while his other reached for his knife.  Galadriel launched her second arrow towards his belt line, where the knife was sheathed.  He cried out again as he stumbled and fell to his knees, and then Celebrían’s second arrow struck him near his heart. He managed to pull it free, but it released a torrent of blood that was his death knell.  He collapsed, and movement ceased a moment later.

Once she was sure neither orc was moving, Galadriel turned to Celebrían.  Dusk had come, but even in the dim light Celebrían was as pale as death herself. She still held her bow tightly in one hand; the other was over her mouth. Galadriel pulled the bow from her daughter’s hand.

“Down,” she commanded softly.

Celebrían dropped to the ground a moment before she vomited. Galadriel landed next to her soundlessly and rested one hand on Celebrían’s shoulder, smoothing her hair back while she kept watch on the bodies in the distance.  Once Celebrían had ceased to shudder, she calmly handed her a waterskin.

Celebrían drank, then breathed in deeply a few times before turning to face her.

“I am sorry, Celebrían. I wish you had never seen an orc, much less had to kill one,” she said softly. She saw the distress in Celebrían’s eyes, and reaching out with one hand, she cupped her daughter’s face and wiped the tear from the pale cheek with her thumb. “They were not innocent and they would have killed you, had they found you. Ambush may feel cowardly, but we are not skilled enough in battle to fight them.” Galadriel hardened her voice when Celebrían remained stiff before her.  “These are two orcs that cannot kill an elf or fight against your father; two orcs that cannot report back about a way over the mountain from where they could launch an attack. Your father will fight on only one front, hopefully, and not two.”

At those words, Celebrían crumbled.  She collapsed into Galadriel’s arms, and Galadriel lowered them both to the leaf strewn ground. Not a sound came from her, but the slender body trembled and shook as Celebrían worked out her grief.  When she was finally still, Galadriel spoke.

“Stay here and keep watch. I will be back in a few moments.”

She could feel Celebrían’s eyes on her back as she strode forward, her dagger in hand.  She nudged each orc in turn, ensuring they were indeed dead, and then dragged them one at a time to a low spot along the cliff and covered them with leaves and debris.

“Do you wish to camp here or walk south to that small clearing where we rested earlier?”

“Go to the small clearing,” replied Celebrían steadily. “I do not think I could rest here now.”

* * *

Galadriel took first watch again that night, allowing Celebrían to sleep off the shock of having killed.  They had lit no fire, having no need of warmth and no desire to announce their presence to any who might be near.  As the midpoint of the night drew close, Galadriel considered not waking Celebrían for her watch, for she was easily capable of going for long periods without sleep and her daughter needed rest.  Celebrían was an adult, in age past her majority, but still young and on this night, her mind was also burdened. But Celebrían would not wish to be coddled and Galadriel would not clip the wings of her fledgling. She gently shook her.

Celebrían’s eyes focused immediately and she sat up, her senses instantly aware as she scanned the area and listened to the night sounds. When her gaze settled on her mother, a new determination and strength were present in her eyes. “Sleep for a while, mother.  I will have breakfast prepared when you wake.”

They resumed their journey as dawn broke, retracing steps taken the day before, finally passing the embankment where they had spotted the orcs.  The cliffs were brightly lit by the morning sun and no figures lurked in shadows.  They continued on the path that ran next to the ever widening and deepening Celebrant, fording small streams that ran from the mountains and joined the silver waters in their southward journey.

“There was a bridge here at one time,” mused Galadriel as she looked at the narrow gorge before them. “See the stone pillar in the middle of the stream?”

“There are pieces of wood here in the tall grass,” answered Celebrían a moment later. She knelt down, shifting the planks slightly. “They are undamaged, Naneth, and neatly stacked.  Someone took down this bridge.”

Galadriel felt the sudden sensation of being watched, the hair on her neck bristling, and she swept the other side of the stream with her eyes, seeking any sign of the presence of others.  A feeling of indecision swept over her.  They had to cross to continue to Lorinand, yet she sensed danger in front of them.

“Orcs would not be about this early in the day,” said Celebrían softly. “Could there be elves watching us, elves from Lorinand?”

“They would make their presence known, once they knew us to be elves,” replied Galadriel.  As she turned her head, a glint of light caught her eye as something hurtled toward them.  She dove at Celebrían, knocking her to the ground and covering her protectively. “Stay down!” she hissed.

Galadriel carefully turned herself around in the grass, looking to where they had just been standing, and saw the curved handle of a dagger sticking up from the ground.  Even from a distance she could see the runes carved in the handle and the unusual curved shape.  It was a shape she had seen before, drawn by a scout many years earlier when he had returned from spying on Sauron’s minions to the south.  Their enemy was a Man.

“He must be on the other side of the gorge, lying in wait for us,” whispered Galadriel. Willing herself to stay calm, she looked back north.  They could flee back to Khazad-dum, but that would not help anyone. They needed to reach Lorinand and seek the aid of the elves.  “We need to cross the Celebrant and continue south on the other side,” she decided. “The land is too open here; we will have to crawl in the grass to the banks of the Celebrant and return North, so he cannot see us cross. Go!”

“Naneth, my bow is back there,” argued Celebrían.  “I can crawl through the grass to get it. It is near the stacked wood.”

Galadriel hesitated.  They might both need their bows.  She slipped the dagger from her boot. “Quickly, and make no noise.”

Celebrían began shimmying through the grass on her belly, moving so carefully that nary a blade of grass was disturbed.  Galadriel’s gaze darted back and forth between her daughter and the bank across from them.  She still had not seen the Man.  The slightest of noises to her right caught her attention, but when she looked, she saw only a slight rustling of the wind through the reeds. Fixing her gaze in that direction, she was rewarded when moments later she saw a well camouflaged figure moving toward them on their side of the stream.  He began to run, drawing a short sword as he did so, the curved blade flashing dangerously in the sunlight, and she knew he had seen Celebrían.

She rose and cried out, distracting him. He turned to face her as she threw her dagger, but he sidestepped it easily.  He was now too close for her to use her bow, so she pulled her sword from its sheath, raising it block his first blow as he swung his sword in a wide sweeping arc at her.

The jolt nearly knocked her off her feet, but she blocked him, forcing his sword back and down to his feet.  He was clearly surprised she had stood her ground, and a wide grin split his face, revealing white teeth that stood out in stark contrast to his dark olive skin. He was beardless, with dark hair covered by a scarf. He was not young, but he was strong and sturdy in his fighting stance. She knew she could not outlast him.

She saw Celebrían out of the corner of her eye, fear and indecision on her face.  She had her bow in hand, but clearly feared to use it, for she could easily hit her mother.  As Galadriel blocked another blow, she saw Celebrían make up her mind.  She flipped her bow back over her shoulder and pulled forth her own sword.

The Man seemed to have forgotten about her, for he seemed not to sense Celebrían’s approach.  Galadriel yelled at him, inarticulate words in a language he was unlikely to understand, keeping his attention focused on her. As he thrust at Galadriel again, Celebrían leaped forward, using both hands to drive her blade down across his sword arm. The man screamed as his forearm was severed, falling to his knees.  At that same moment, Celebrían cried out and fell forward, landing next to the man she had just maimed, with an arrow protruding from her back.

There was still another man across the gorge.

Galadriel pulled her bow and nocked an arrow, launching it wildly in the direction the arrow had come from.  She had not seen her quarry and hoped only to distract him.  She looked down to see the man with the severed arm pulling a dagger from his boot with his good hand, even as blood sprayed from the stump of his arm.  Celebrían was lying only feet from him.

“Celebrían!” she cried.

Celebrían was not dead, despite the arrow protruding from her, and she rose up to her knees, her own knife already in hand.  She thrust forward as the man came at her, driving it deep in to his belly.  Missing his fighting hand and his other hand occupied holding his own knife, he was unable to prevent her from pulling her knife from his gut and thrusting it into his chest. He fell to the ground with a grunt as blood began trickling from his mouth.

Galadriel had continued to fire arrows at the gorge, but no arrows were returned. As Celebrían began crawling to her, she dropped into the tall grass next to her. Her hands swept frantically over her daughter’s form, but she did not feel any blood.

“Naneth, I am not injured,” insisted Celebrían, slapping her hands away.  “Come, we must get away from here!”

Galadriel was stunned. The arrow was still protruding from her daughter’s back, but at Celebrían’s words she looked closer and realized the arrow was lodged in her pack and quiver.  She grabbed it and yanked it free, and saw then the black coating on the arrow. Bile rose in her throat as she realized how close her daughter had come to being killed or poisoned.

Celebrían was pulling her grey cloak about her and Galadriel quickly did the same, and then they ran swiftly north, fading into the trees along the banks of the Celebrant some hundred yards to their north and east. Once in some cover, they ceased running in a hunched position, but stood tall and straight as sure feet led them further north.

When they had gone nearly a league, Galadriel slowed to a stop. They had not spoken in that time, but their hands were firmly entwined.  Galadriel pulled Celebrían into her arms. Both of their hearts were beating wildly, their breaths short, more from fear than the exertion of the run. But they appeared safe, at least for the moment.

When both were calm, Galadriel pulled away. She brushed Celebrían’s hood back, tucking stray strands of silver hair behind her ears.  She searched her eyes, probing deep into her daughter’s soul, and was pleased to find strength and courage.  She pulled Celebrían’s head forward, kissing her brow. 

“You are very brave, Celebrían.  Your father would be as pleased with you as I am,” she praised her, and Celebrían flushed with pleasure. “You have kept your head well in danger, but I fear there is more before us.  I do not know how many Men there might be south of us, or if those Men were traveling with those Orcs.  I think we must find a place to cross the Celebrant and continue on the east side.”

Celebrían turned to look east beyond the river. “Is there a path on that side, Naneth?”

“If there is, it will not be so well kept as this one,” answered Galadriel.  “But we will manage. Keeping the river between us and our enemy, whoever they are, seems the wisest course.”

Celebrían pulled away and walked down to the river’s edge.  She began moving north again, searching for a likely place to cross, while Galadriel kept watch to their south.  When Celebrían returned later, she seemed resigned.

“There is not going to be a good place to cross, Naneth.  I found one area where the water seems shallow, but it is icy cold and the bank on the far side is steep.  In another area where the bank rises gradually, the water is swift and deep.”

“We cannot leave a trail or evidence of our crossing, so climbing a muddy bank should be avoided,” said Galadriel quietly.  She looked one more time to the south, but saw no movement.  Her sense that they were being pursued had grown, however. “Come, show me the choices.”

Neither was good, but the swift flowing area with the low banks would leave the least trail.  As she knelt along the bank, she saw tracks of deer, meaning they had used this area to cross. The air was cool and the water like ice, but there was no other option.

“I found these branches, Naneth.  If we tie them together, they will make a raft sturdy enough to hold our packs,” said Celebrían as she began stripping off her cloak and outer clothing.  Soon she was barefoot, with her hair pinned up, and dressed only in her underclothing, and she was wrapping up her clothing in the pack and positioning her sword, knife, bow and quiver on the small raft she had lashed together.

They laughed as they waded into the freezing water, pushing the small raft before them. Galadriel stilled teeth that wished to chatter and willed her body to resist the icy fingers that had reached all about her. She looked at Celebrían to see how she fared, and was met by an impudent grin.

“It is no colder than the fountain in winter,” announced Celebrían, her voice low.

Galadriel studied her daughter intently, then rolled her eyes.  “And you know this because…?”

Celebrían laughed. “I lost a dare with Calith and Narusel and had to strip to my underclothing and swim across the fountain and back.”

“I did not hear of it,” admitted Galadriel.

Celebrían winked and grinned.  “It was at night. There were no witnesses about that winter’s eve.”

Galadriel shook her head.  “I do not want to know what the dare was.”

“No, you do not,” agreed Celebrían amiably.

They reached the other side, and Galadriel carried their packs and weapons up the bank as Celebrían carefully dismantled their raft, placing the branches about as if they had naturally fallen there and returning the rope to her pack.

Galadriel rubbed her briskly with the blanket, turning her skin from a light blue to a rosy pink, and then they dressed and wrapped their grey cloaks about them. “There is not much of a road here,” said Celebrían as they moved through the grass. “We will need to use more care here not to leave a trail.”

They resumed their journey south, moving silently through the empty land.  They passed the gorge, but saw no sign of the Man.  The body of the Man they had killed was also gone. They continued until darkness came and they could go no further, for the uneven terrain was treacherous.

They passed beneath the canopy of the forest of Lorinand near noon of that fourth day. Galadriel felt weariness and tension leave her, even though she knew that Amdir’s realm was still many miles deep into the woods.   The forest shaded the river, dappled sunlight sparkling on the water as it flowed swiftly past them.  They traveled for several miles, stopping to rest at a place where another larger river joined the Celebrant, their clear, cold waters mingling in a tumbling cascade of frothy waves.

“The sound is restful and peaceful, yet it may hide sounds that would warn us of danger,” said Galadriel after a few moments. They continued walking along the river’s edge, when suddenly they came across a path that led east. “This will take us into Amdir’s realm,” said Galadriel.

They heard a splash then, and both turned about abruptly. The trees began to whisper their discontent, their tone obvious, even though they were not familiar with these woods.  Celebrían pulled her bow from her shoulder and Galadriel pulled out her knife as they faded into the shadows of the tress near the banks of the river.

They saw a Man climbing up the bank, a dagger in his hand.  He had pulled a raft up on to the sandy bank, and on it were several small caskets and packs, and pole for directing the craft.  The man resembled the one they had fought and killed earlier, with a similar headdress and curved knife.  A long curved sword hung in its scabbard from his hip, and a bow and quiver were on his back. He looked as formidable as the first man.

Galadriel reached for Celebrían’s hand, drawing her deeper into the shadows.   She watched him explore the path; then he climbed into the lower branches of a tree to better survey the area.  He was a threat that they needed to contend with if they were to complete their errand.  They could not lead him to the elves.

Galadriel silently pulled her bow into position and nocked an arrow she pulled from Celebrían’s quiver. She had emptied her own quiver firing at the bank where this man was hidden earlier, and now they had just five arrows left between them.  

The man climbed down from the tree, surveying the area around the path once more. He looked right at them, his eyes narrowing, but then he turned as if to continue eastward along the path.

Galadriel drew back her arrow and loosed it, the slight twang of Celebrían’s bow sounding before her own arrow had hit its mark.  The man was hit twice, the first arrow glancing off his thigh and the second imbedding itself in his calf, for he had turned suddenly and begun walking away from them.

He did not cry out or react to the pain, merely yanked the arrow free of his calf with one hand as he nocked an arrow in his own bow.  He fired into the copse in which they were hidden as he ran forward, four arrows in quick succession. His tactic was smart, for they were kept busy evading his arrows as he ran toward them and were unable to flee or fight back under his onslaught. 

Galadriel pushed Celebrían behind the tree and then ran in the other direction, hoping the man would follow her.  He did, whipping his dagger at her, and it grazed her arm before imbedding in the trunk of a tree. She dove to the ground, rolled on to her belly, and was drawing her sword when she heard the Man cry out.  She looked up to see him fall, arrows protruding from his neck, chest, back and sides.

It took a moment to register in her mind that Celebrían could not have released all those arrows; indeed, the man was punctured by more arrows than they possessed.  A suffocating silence fell over the land, as even the birds and trees fell silent.  Then, the trees raised their voices in joy, the tone again obvious even if she could not understand their words. To her amazement, elves suddenly began appearing from the trees.  Several checked the man to ensure he was dead, while others approached her.

Galadriel stood, leaving her weapons on the ground in front of her as the elves approached. They were Silvan, wilder cousins to their Sindar king.  One elf stepped toward her, clearly the leader of their group, and she bowed to him.

“What brings a female elf to our forest, and who is the enemy that chased you here?” he asked, his Sindarin strangely accented.

“I am Galadriel of Eregion,” she replied, “and I come with a message for your King.  The enemy found us in your realm, but he is not the reason we came.”

She saw Celebrían walking toward her out of the corner of her eye, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as several of the male elves made overtures to escort her.

The young elf before her bowed deeply. “My lady,” he said, covering his heart with his hand. “Wife to Lord Celeborn, distant kin of my father.  I am Amroth, son of Amdir.  We heard rumor of strange men passing through our land, and I was sent to investigate.  I am glad that we were able to assist you, though he is only one and the tale is of two.”

“The other is dead,” replied Galadriel. She held out her arm to Celebrían, drawing her to her side.  “This is my daughter, Celebrían. We fought and killed the Man yesterday when he attacked us on the road west of the river.”

Amroth bowed to Celebrían. “It is good that one so beautiful is also skilled in arms.” He turned to the elves still standing near the dead man.  “Return him to his raft and return the raft to the sea.  Retrieve anything that might provide clues to his errand here.”

The body of the man was picked up and carried to the river, and several minutes later the elves returned bearing the packs and caskets that had been on the raft.

“Come, I will escort you to my father,” said Amroth.

By the time they reached King Amdir the next day, they had told Amroth of the Orcs they had killed, their fight with the Men, their passage through the Halls of the dwarves, and the army approaching Eregion.  The elves of Lorinand welcomed them as honored guests, and they slept that night on comfortable couches high in the trees.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Galadriel was about to tell more of the Silvan elves and King Amdir’s reaction to the news that war had again found them, but the restlessness of the audience forced her to stop.

“Naneth!” cried Elladan. “Why have we never heard this story?  You killed orcs and killed a man?  Swam the Celebrant River?  Did you ever tell Daeradar?”

“No, they did not,” replied Celeborn dryly.

“By the time we saw you again, it was no longer important,” said Galadriel. “You had faced far worse than anything we had.”

“Naneth, you were much younger then than Elrohir and I are now,” continued Elladan.

“Yes, I was,” answered Celebrían.  “I was scared, but I admit I was excited too. I am glad I was taught to fight, because I needed to then. But I would still protect my children if I could, as I am sure my parents would have preferred that I not face that danger.”

“Naneth, what dare did you lose to Narusel?” asked Arwen sleepily. She had crawled from her bed in the middle of the story to cuddle in Celebrían’s arms.

“It is time young elleth were in bed asleep,” replied Celebrían, gracefully standing with Arwen in her arms.  Her daughter was like a ragdoll in her arms, completely limp with exhaustion, and she snuggled against Celebrían without further argument.

Elrond went ahead of her, straightening Arwen’s bedroll and helping settle his daughter back into sleep. They were silent, watching her for a moment.

“I was nearly undone by your story, Celebrían. I am trying to imagine Arwen being in danger or being far from me where I could not protect her,” he said quietly.

“We left my adar and the other warriors in grave danger.  We did only our part, and our children will face what they must,” she answered resolutely.  She felt his arm slip around her waist and she turned to embrace him.

“Are there any other secrets about you I should know, my wife?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

“Maybe,” she breathed into his ear. She teased him then, flicking her tongue over his ear, then trailing kisses down his cheek and claiming his mouth. She kissed him deeply, all the while her hands roamed the strong, broad planes of his back and hips, then said, “I think the story continues.  Come.”

He groaned as she pulled him back out to the fire, and as they settled back to their seats, Celebrían nudged Elrohir slightly. “Are you awake, Elrohir?” she said, stroking his hair. 

Elrohir’s eyes focused on her and he leaned into her comforting hand.  “Yes, Naneth.  But I had the strangest dream.  You and Daernaneth were fighting Orcs and Men, and you played with a dwarf child,” he answered drowsily.

“Hmm…well, truth can be stranger than dreams,” she teased.  “Do you want to hear more or go to bed?”

“Hear more,” yawned Elrohir. “’Restor was scouting.”

All eyes turned expectantly to Erestor, who squeezed Elrohir’s hand and began.

* * * * *

Thank you to all who are reading, and especially to those who have reviewed.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Warning: The war begins in this chapter, and I have tried to show the horror of what people saw through their reactions, rather than by telling the reader the explicit and graphic details.  I believe this is still suitable to be called PG-13, but the ideas that come to mind are disturbing. The Second Age was a dark time in Middle-earth, and the next several chapters are meant to reflect what appears to be the worst years for the elves.

Chapter 21: War in Eregion Part III: Lindon to Eregion

“The messenger arrived in Lindon with the news of the approaching army late in the fall . . .” began Erestor, picking up the story where Celeborn and Galadriel had left off.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Elrond, Erestor, the king requests your immediate presence in the Hall,” said the page with a quick bow.  The young elf barely waited for acknowledgment before dashing off.

Erestor looked at Elrond questioningly, but the half-elf only shrugged.  They rose from their work, leaving the maps and scrolls spread out across the table, and Erestor followed Elrond down the long corridor to the Great Hall where Gil-galad held court.

The king’s chief advisors were present, but the Hall was otherwise empty of spectators.  Glorfindel stood near a worn and weary looking elf, but his eyes immediately swept over them as they entered, coming to rest on Elrond. Erestor could not help but smile to himself, for Elrond’s protector had always struck him as a bit overprotective considering the safety in which they lived in Lindon.

Gil-galad was not on his throne, but this also was not unusual when spectators and petitioners were not present.  He waved them over to a more intimate seating area, but remained standing himself.

“This is Barás,” Gil-galad introduced the elf who sat near Glorfindel. “He arrived a short time ago with messages from Celeborn in Eregion, but he is no ordinary messenger.  Barás has spent recent years searching for Sauron and learning of his plans. Celeborn sent him as messenger so that we might have opportunity to learn of all he knew. His news is dire.”

With that, Gil-galad motioned for Barás to continue. The elf kept his gaze primarily on the king, straying only to Glorfindel and the other soldiers present as he spoke.

“My lord, a massive army was approaching Eregion from the south when I departed from Ost-in-Edhil,” said Barás.  He slid his sketch of the encampment on to the table before them. Elrond reached for it immediately. “Celeborn was preparing to lead a sortie out against them when I left, in hopes of providing those wishing to escape the coming war the opportunity to do so.  Many elves are coming to Lindon, and most will wish to leave Middle-earth.”

“How many?” asked Círdan.

As Erestor turned slightly to look to Círdan, he glanced at Elrond and thought his mentor had visibly paled.  He barely heard the details of the expected numbers of elves coming to Lindon and how many would wish to sail, for Elrond pushed the drawing to him and he felt his own heart quail as he realized the size of the army Celeborn would be facing. They will be slaughtered, he realized. He lifted his gaze to meet Elrond’s eyes and saw the same conclusion reflected there. On the corner of the page was a series of letters and numbers, and Erestor recognized it as Elrond’s fine script listing the realms and the numbers of soldiers they could reasonably expect might come to the aid of the elves of Eregion. Below the drawing were Barás’s estimations of the size of the approaching army.  The total of the elves did not even compare to what Sauron had at his disposal.

“Círdan, clearly the arrangements for those who wish to sail rest with you. If you would also take responsibility for those who wish only to seek refuge in Lindon, I will turn my focus to the war,” said Gil-galad.

Erestor noted the discussions about how the refugees would be used to free up as many as could be sent to fight, tucking that knowledge away, but his mind was already focused on battle strategies.  How could they best use their people and resources against an army so much greater in size?  Would Celeborn even be able to hold out until help arrived?

“This group will be responsible for our military decisions,” said Gil-galad, interrupting Erestor’s thoughts.  Erestor suddenly realized that Círdan and many others had left, and only Gil-Galad, Elrond, Glorfindel, himself and a few other captains and advisors remained. “Celeborn’s message indicates that he sent word to Moria and Lorinand, seeking aid, so we will hope that they will send it.  We must consider what other allies might be willing to come to our aid, and quickly, for if these numbers are only half accurate, Ost-in-Edhil will not hold for long.”

“If I might lend voice to what seems a cowardly thought,” began Erilasta as he rose slowly to his feet, and Erestor gave the elf his full attention. A Noldo who had come from Valinor and stayed through the fall of Beleriand, Erilasta was, in Erestor’s experience, both wise and thoughtful. “Perhaps the first question we should answer is why we should go to war against Sauron.”

Faces all around the table grew thoughtful, and Erestor forced himself to ask why indeed.  The answer seemed obvious – Sauron was attacking their people, friends and kin, as well as subjects of the king.

“The obvious consequence of not fighting Sauron,” answered Glorfindel mildly, “is that Eregion will fall, then Eriador, and finally Lindon. We will meet our end with our backs to the sea, or we will flee over her waters to safety in elvenhome.”

“That may well occur even if we join in this fight,” replied Gil-galad gravely. He paused, turning to Erilasta again. “Which is perhaps your point. If the chance of victory does not exist, maybe we should seek only to flee these lands and leave Middle-earth to Sauron.” The room was silent. “Yet we have allies who can not flee to Valinor, and we would forsake them to slavery and death.”

“Sauron will not be content with enslaving only the Men of Middle-earth,” finished Elrond. “He fears Númenor and the presence they have created here. He hates them nearly as much as he hates the Eldar. Shadow will fall on Númenor in time.”

“What, then, is our responsibility to the Edain and to the lesser Men of Middle-earth?” asked Erilasta quietly.

“Our responsibility to them is as it has always been,” replied Gil-galad. “We stood together when Beleriand fell.  We lived together here until Andor was prepared.  Our responsibility to them is also their responsibility to us.” The king turned to Elrond. “How would those numbers appear if a mighty navy were to arrive on our coasts and rivers with aid?”

Elrond smiled. “In numbers we might yet be less, but in might we would be greater.”

Gil-galad turned to Erilasta, but his eyes grew distant as he spoke. “In Anardil Aldarion we had one of the greatest elf-friends among us in this age. His father Tar-Meneldur, with whom he was long at odds, surrendered the scepter to him for he knew he could not face the coming darkness.  Tar-Aldarion was long sighted enough to see that the shadow growing to our east would eventually darken Númenor as well, and we signed great treaties with them in preparation for war. That war did not come in Aldarion’s life. Thankfully it did not come during the reign of Tar-Ancalime, whose heart was turned from us.”

“But in Tar-Anarion, her son, you re-established the policies of his grandfather Tar-Aldarion,” added Erilasta, and none had to be reminded how grateful they were.  “Tar-Surion treated with us and his ships came regularly.”

“Tar-Telperion, however, did not wish for outside contact for Númenor, nor care much about the voyages of her captains,” remembered Gil-Galad.  “But she did correspond with me when needed and she maintained all trade policies.”  The king was quiet for a moment.  “In Tar-Minastir I have faith,” he finally said.

“In his son Ciryatan, I do not,” replied Erilasta, his voice soft yet resolute. All eyes turned to him, for it was seldom the advisor strongly expressed an opinion.  He tended to direct conversations by asking questions, allowing others to draw conclusions, although Erestor never doubted for a moment that were those conclusions different from his own, the questions would continue. “He is greedy of wealth. His sailors tell tale that on his last voyages he demanded tributes and tariffs from coastal settlements, and used coercion to force the people to shelter and entertain his men.”

“Tar-Minastir will not demand spoils of war or land or dominion as condition to aid us,” said Elrond finally. “But he is estranged from Ciryatan in many affairs, and Ciryatan may well demand this of us or merely take what he asserts is his due.”

“Tar-Minastir looks ever westward, not east,” interrupted Erilasta. “His heart is good, but his mind elsewhere.  We must reach him directly and not through Ciryatan if we hope to enlist his aid unencumbered.”

Gil-galad stood again. “Yet Celeborn cannot hold back this army for long.  We must bring what aid we can now; I cannot wait.”

“Send aid now,” replied Erilasta. “Lindon’s forces can be well eastward even as we negotiate with Tar-Minastir.”

The look on Gil-galad’s face showed that he had finally registered that Erilasta meant for him to not lead his army, but to send them ahead without him. The king glanced from his captains to Elrond and then Erestor, and Erestor knew they were being gauged.

“Celeborn cannot wait for us to gather our allies and come as one force, and we do need the aid of Númenor,” summed up Glorfindel succinctly.

“And you, my lord, need to negotiate with Númenor directly,” added Erilasta.

“Sending our army now could mean sending all to certain death,” said Gil-galad, his face reflecting his distress. “Yet not sending aid to Celeborn as quickly as possible could mean there is no one left to aid.”

Silence fell over the room as Gil-galad moved beyond their conference area to pace and think.

“Already it is late in the year,” began Erestor. “We will need to prepare for a journey through the winter and hope to arrive by early spring.  If we set up a series of message points, we might be able to keep the king informed of the size and strength of our enemy and the progress of the war. Perhaps this could be done by ship, if there are any to spare.”

“The harvest is in and our soldiers equipped, but there are many we need to train, elves who have not fought before as well as those who will come to supply the soldiers with food and weapons,” interjected Glorfindel. “If we begin preparations immediately, it will still be months before we are ready to move.” He glanced at Erestor. “Spring is the earliest we might hope for.  Summer may be more like it, depending on the spring rains.”

As Erestor, Glorfindel and the other advisors continued their planning, Erestor noted Glorfindel’s gaze shifting from him to something behind him, and he realized that Elrond had also left the area.  He turned slightly, even as he answered Glorfindel, to see Elrond standing in front of Gil-galad.  Gil-galad’s hand rested on Elrond’s shoulder, and their gazes were locked as they spoke with deep emotion. Erestor fell quiet, as did Glorfindel, and he knew they both were listening to what was meant to be a private conversation.

“If I am unable to lead myself, there is no one I would send in my place other than you, Elrond. Yet to send you, who is like a son to me, to what seems certain death . . .. Yet if a king is unwilling to give that which is of the most value to him, how can he ask the same of his people?” asked Gil-galad, grief in his voice.

“I will go in your name, and my hope will remain with you, that you will garner the aid we need and follow as quickly as you might,” replied Elrond steadfastly.

Gil-galad bowed his head for a moment, then returned his gaze to Elrond. “So be it,” he murmured.  Then he drew Elrond to him and Elrond bowed his head slightly as Gil-galad kissed him on the brow.  “May the Valar guide and protect you, and the Star of your father light your path.”

All eyes watched the two return to their places, remaining silent until Gil-galad spoke.

“I will send Elrond to Eregion as a first force,” he announced. “I will send word to Tar-Minastir and negotiate the aid of Númenor, and join you as soon as we are able.”

The group was dismissed soon after, and Erestor watched as Glorfindel moved immediately to Elrond’s side. There was no doubt that he would be serving as captain on the mission, but his role would always be to guard Elrond. Son of Eärendil, son of Idril, daughter of Turgon of Gondolin.  But also distant nephew to Ereinion Gil-galad, and Celeborn and Galadriel of Eregion.  An impressive lineage, thought Erestor, but more importantly, he is worthy of being followed. Elrond himself had trained him in his duties, and Elrond had seen to it that Erestor had every opportunity to learn and experience all that he wished. He had trained with the soldiers of Lindon, sailed on Círdan’s ships, and explored with Elrond and others east and south to increase their information about the lands and people who lived there. Erestor had spent considerable time with Elrond, and Elrond’s love of knowledge and lore had become his passion as well. An idea came into his head, and he walked swiftly forward to join the two.

“Elrond, I would like to work on a plan for scouting and mapping the way your army will follow, and setting up a message relay, if possible, to communicate with Gil-galad. I would also like to see if the rivers are navigable,” he said quickly, trying to suppress the eagerness in his voice.

Elrond’s smile was genuine. “Of course, there is no one I would trust more than you to assist me,” he answered. 

Erestor heard Glorfindel’s grunt of amusement, and he felt a brief moment of anger as he turned his eyes on the warrior. His anger dissipated into confusion when Glorfindel’s teasing eyes met his and he said, “Erestor’s maps are some of the best we have. He has a keen eye for evaluating the terrain and determining what route to take.”

The three entered Elrond’s office together, and Erestor took his normal seat, already putting ink to paper with ideas and lists.

“Erestor,” began Elrond, not continuing until Erestor gave him his full attention. “You are talented and have the skills needed to greatly assist in our preparations to go to war.  However, you are also still young in some ways, and you have not seen war before.  Many will die, possibly including all of us.”

Erestor nodded, waiting for Elrond to get to the point.  A look of sadness crossed Elrond’s face briefly.  “Nothing can truly prepare you for what battle is like, Erestor.  Boredom and tedium, mixed with bouts of frenzied killing.  Friends will die, some painfully and slowly. Some who live will suffer, and the conditions will only make their suffering worse.” Elrond paused, and sighed.  “Spend some time with your family before we leave. On this, I insist.”

Erestor felt a heavy weight settle about him at Elrond’s final words, as he realized that he might not return to see his parents or sister again. He finally nodded at Elrond, who was waiting for some acknowledgement that he had understood him.  “Then let us begin,” continued Elrond soberly.

* * *

Erestor stood on the steps of the palace, looking out over the wide terrace and courtyard at the spectacle before him.  He had not seen this many elflings and female elves in one place in all his days, and the laughter of the children as they played contrasted with the solemn soldiers who were laying out provisions in the adjacent field in preparation to go to war.  There was music and laughter about the fountain area, where most of the children were, but when Erestor looked closely he could see the weariness and sadness in their faces.  Some families were intact, with fathers choosing to sail with their wives and children, but most had left behind a father, brother, husband or son to an uncertain future.

The arrival of the refugees had been well planned for by Círdan’s assistants, arranging for those with kin in Lindon to join them and sending those without kin to appropriate shelters.  Some shelters were staging grounds to the ships; others provided more permanent housing for those who planned to stay or as yet had not made up their minds.

As Erestor made his way down the stairs and skirted the fountain area, he saw an elf standing on the library steps, tears streaming down his face as he looked out over the children playing.  In his hands he held a sword, sheathed in an old leather scabbard.  The runes upon it placed its origins in Gondolin. Erestor would have passed him by, leaving him alone with his contemplative grief, but the elf’s eyes followed him. He was nearly past him when the elf spoke.

“When does the army depart?” he asked hoarsely.

Erestor turned and walked back to the elf before replying. The elf was young, much younger than Erestor even, and his hands were shaking.

“Two weeks time,” he answered, reaching out and covering the elf’s hand with his own.  The elf clutched at his hand, nearly dropping the sword.

“Will they take me?” he asked hesitantly.

Erestor smiled. “They will take you. You look as if you have just arrived, though.”

Tears welled in the elf’s eyes again.  “I have,” he replied, his gaze again shifting to the playing children.  “Those are my sons; the older is yet a decade from his majority and the younger only ten summers.”

Erestor say the two young elves wave to them, and the elf beside him waved back.

“My father and brothers are in Eregion, but they convinced me to leave for the sake of my children.  So I have come, and we prepare to sail.  But now that I am here I cannot abandon my kin to face the might of Sauron alone.  I must tell my sons they must take their mother to safety – most of her family is there and they will be welcomed and cared for – but I must return to Eregion.” The elf’s voice was nearly a whisper by the time he finished.

Erestor felt conflict warring within his own heart.  He looked out upon the faces of the children and at the anguish in the elf’s face, and thought of the choice he was making.  Even if the war turned to their favor, he would face years of separation from his young sons. The greater probability was that he would die under an orc’s blade, and the next time he would see his sons would be at his re-embodiment far in the future.  Yet, they needed every soldier who could wield a sword or bow. Erestor had never felt more inadequate to advise anyone than he did at that moment.

The elf drew in a deep ragged breath and squared his shoulders. He walked down one step toward his family, then turned to Erestor. “I will see you on the field of battle, my friend.”  With that, he walked down the stairs to his sons.

Erestor watched him for but a few moments, for he did not wish to see the heartbreak soon to appear on the faces of the sons when they realized they would be parted from their father.  As he looked out at the other males mixed in the crowd, he wondered how many others he would see in Eregion as well.

Erestor’s scouts and messengers were waiting for him near the city gates with horses and provisions ready.  He had been surprised at how willingly Glorfindel had worked with him, ensuring that he had experienced scouts and messengers to assist him.  Both Elrond and Glorfindel were waiting at the gate as well.

“Gil-galad could not come himself to bid you fare well,” said Elrond. “A ship arrived this morning from Númenor, and he is meeting with the delegation.”

Erestor nodded; he had seen the sails as the ship entered the havens at Mithlond.

“Go with the wishes of all of Lindon and the favor of the High King.   May the Valar protect and guide you,” said Elrond, then he folded Erestor into his arms and embraced him. “We will not be far behind.”

Glorfindel grasped his arm in a warrior’s handshake, and then Erestor mounted.  Without a look back, he led his party out the gates and to war.

* * *

Erestor climbed to the highest branch that would support his weight and looked out over the river and plains that lay before him. The wind drifted from the southwest and though he knew it could not be possible at this great distance, he almost felt as if he could hear the sounds of battle and smell blood in the air.  Dark mud coated his boots, and he was suddenly grateful for it, as he recalled the dreams he had had of blood mixing with soil and clinging to him, a reddish brown mud with a tangy smell. Pulling his map from an oilskin pouch tucked into the top of his tall boots, he opened it, positioning it properly for what he was seeing.  Their army had fallen further and further behind the scouting party, hindered by mud and rain and, on several occasions, by blowing snow.  Erestor was farther ahead than intended, but his message system was working well, with riders and horses stationed now every 30 leagues back to Lindon.  Though he was guiding their path around the worst of the natural obstacles, mudslides and lowland flooding, the journey was still slow.  A whistle caught his attention, and he looked down to see that a messenger had arrived.

“The supply wagons are unable to cross the marsh here,” said the elf, pointing to a spot on Erestor’s map, a spot some distance away from the lines Erestor had marked.

“What are the doing trying to cross there!” exclaimed Erestor angrily. “I said that would bog down the wagons, that it was not passable!”

“Yes, Erestor.  Elrond sends word that your recommendations will not be disregarded in the future,” replied the elf calmly, holding the note out for Erestor to take.

Erestor grabbed the note, crinkling the parchment, and read through the short missive.  “He says that they were already further east when they received the report, and that some of those who had escaped Eregion before the war had indicated this way was open,” he snorted.  “I am sure it was open last fall when they went through!”  He folded the note and stuffed it into his pouch, then turned his eyes back on the road yet before them.  Finding a way through the muddy bogs and marshes would be their next project. He had gone far enough ahead to know it would be a tedious segment, but once through they would come to the crossing of the Hoarwell, east of Ost-in-Edhil.  Erestor felt his heart quicken in anticipation. He would catalogue the movements of the enemy’s troops, and Celeborn’s, assuming any yet lived, and a feral desire to surprise the enemy and decimate them rose in him.

“I smell blood,” said the elf softly. “I almost think I hear the noise of battle as well.”

Erestor turned sharply at that comment, and the elf looked at him in surprise. “I had just been thinking the same thing,” he replied. An indescribable fear filled him. Could Sauron’s forces have crossed the rivers into Eriador?

They quickly regrouped, and Erestor sent two scouts to the north and east while he and an older scout, Maecheneb, explored further south and east.  “Be on your guard,” he warned them. “We do not have the strength to take on even a small war party.”

Abandoning their horses in favor of stealth, Erestor and Maecheneb moved to the southeast.  They had traveled for several hours when Erestor heard the elf sniff, and he realized that the smell of blood was growing stronger.  The acrid smell of smoke soon followed, and moments later the most sickening smell he had ever experienced surrounded him.  Then cries and screams were heard along with sounds of destruction and plunder.  Hidden in a copse of trees, Erestor looked out at the small farming community before him.  There were four houses and a common barn, and beyond them spread out the fields they farmed.  Maecheneb dropped to his knees in despair at what was before them. The buildings were ablaze; in one Erestor could see a woman holding a child near the window as flames consumed the house around her, orcs mocking her until she fell to the flames.

Outside of the burning houses, worse atrocities had occurred and were still occurring.  Erestor watched in paralyzed fear, unable to stop the several dozen orcs who finally finished off the remaining woman and her children.  He could see two bodies of dead men, but more horrible were the two fathers who were forced to watch as their families were slaughtered before them.

Erestor gagged as he realized the orcs intended on torturing the last two men to slow death, and without conscious thought he reached for the bow and arrows strapped to his back.   It was not until his arm was twisted painfully that he realized that Maecheneb was restraining him from action.  I cannot watch this, he thought in despair. I cannot stop them.   He glanced around wildly, seeking some way to force the orcs to finish and move on. The men would die, he could not stop that.  There has to be some way to end their misery!  One of the men screamed in agony, and Erestor stopped his ears as tears streamed down his face.

Something clawing at his trouser leg finally broke through his panic, and he realized Maecheneb was crawling forward through the tall winter grass toward the homesteads.  Erestor dropped to his belly, moving silently alongside the elf.  Maecheneb hesitated though, as they grew closer, uncertainty in his eyes.  Erestor forced himself to calm, grateful that the tall grass prevented him from seeing what was happening.  Heat was pressing upon them from the burning structure as they neared it, and he realized that the orcs tormenting the men were also close to it. He tapped Maecheneb on the shoulder and motioned to the structure.  Communicating his intentions in pantomime, he crept behind the building with Maecheneb close behind him.  The orcs’ own noise and the cries of the men covered the sound of them wrenching free a plank.  Pressing it against the main support of the building, they both pushed with all their might.  A mighty crack was heard as the beam gave way, and the house began collapsing forward under their force. They pushed until they could reach no further without falling into the fire themselves.

The sound of the orcs’ frenzy increased, several screaming as burning timbers landed on them, and the screams of the men were silenced abruptly.  Erestor and Maecheneb dropped back into the grass, scurrying back to their cover in the copse of trees.  Erestor watched in grim horror as the orcs fought among themselves, blaming one another for the falling building. A captain suddenly broke up the fight, his words lost in the crackling of the wood as the houses began collapsing behind them.

“Come,” whispered Maecheneb. “They are all dead.”

Erestor turned to look one more time, but Maecheneb grasped his hand and pulled him away. “We will not watch any more,” he hissed.

Erestor finally vomited as the reality of what would happen next occurred to him.

They ran swiftly back to their base camp, stopping only to cleanse their burnt hands and arms in the cold waters of a stream.  They applied a burn salve and bandages to each other, then they continued on their way.

It was nightfall when they reached their camp; the two scouts who had journeyed north had returned as well.

“We found a burnt out farm and human bones in the fire pit before it,” the scout reported.  “They were at least a day old.”

Erestor allowed Maecheneb to report their story to the others as he penned a message to be delivered to Elrond.  He limited the details to what was important.  Sauron has invaded Eriador. The messenger left immediately.

Erestor slept little that night, but the pain in his hand was only a small reminder of the horror he had witnessed. The looks of terror, fear and pain on the faces of the humans as they died were forever etched in his mind.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Erestor’s gaze fell on the twins as he finished his story. Elladan stared at Erestor in shock.  Elrohir was still holding tightly to Erestor’s hand, his eyes slightly glazed from the medicine his father had given him, and he kept looking from his mother to Erestor, as if he wished to speak, but could not.

“Elrohir?” asked Elrond, concern in his voice as he moved across the circle to his son.

Erestor looked compassionately at Elrohir. “You fear that the orcs your mother fought would have done to her what I saw done to those families,” he stated quietly.

Elrohir finally nodded, and Erestor felt the young elf’s abdominal muscles tighten against his side where Elrohir leaned against him and knew what was to come. He quickly turned so Elrohir was leaning over his leg, facing away from everyone, and Elrond held his son’s hair back as he retched.

Erestor wrapped strong arms about the now-limp body in his lap, allowing Elrohir to recover.  Tears splashed on to his forearm, and Erestor felt an overwhelming compassion for the young elf.  Memories of other young elves near the age of the twins came to mind, and he thought of how many of them he had watched die, and how many he had held until they answered Mandos’s call.  He looked suddenly at his own hands, and thought of all the tears and blood that had fallen upon them.

“Sorry,” mumbled Elrohir.

Celebrían appeared with a cool cloth, which she dabbed gently at her son’s sweaty, grey face.  Elrond handed her a cup of water, and she held it Elrohir’s lips. He sighed with relief as the cool liquid slipped down his throat.  Minutes later, however, that too was ejected from his stomach.

“The medication I gave him has upset his digestion,” said Elrond quietly.  “He had tolerated it well before this.”

Erestor frowned.  “I think my story has upset him as well.”

Elrohir drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I am not upset,” he managed to say as another fine sheen of sweat broke out on his face, replacing the one his mother had just wiped away.

“Elrohir, does your leg hurt?” asked Elrond.

Elrohir’s eyes were closed, but he opened them to look his father in the eye. “Yes, Adar,” he finally answered.  His eyes closed again as his hands grabbed at what was around him, as if a wave of dizziness had swept over him.

“Hold on, Elrohir, I am going to pick you up,” said Erestor softly.  Then, as gently as possible so as not to throw Elrohir’s equilibrium off even more, he lifted him and carried him to his mattress.  The motion was too much for the young elf, however, and he retched dryly, as there was nothing left to bring up from his stomach.

Erestor stepped aside as Elrond and Celebrían tended their son, wrapping their fëar around his, strengthening him and then pushing him into sleep. Though it was now late and dark, Elrond was contemplating the cast speculatively.

“You want to remove it and see if more damage was done,” said Erestor. “Best do it while he is resting and unable to argue.”

A slight smile came to Elrond’s face and he laughed lightly. “Yes, you are right.  And you know, we never did disregard your instruction after that incident.”

“I should hope not,” replied Erestor. “That delay cost you what, a week and several wagon wheels?”

Elrond smiled grimly.  “Something like that.” He turned as Celeborn appeared with his casting tools, and began the process of removing the cast. “I was concerned for you, Erestor, for what you would see.”

“I knew that from the start, but I do not believe you could have said anything to prepare me for what I saw.  Maecheneb had fought in the War of Wrath, and he was nearly as distraught as I was,” replied Erestor.  He looked down at Elrohir, stroking his hair back. “Is it too much to hope that your children will never witness what we have?”

“We can always hope, but Sauron is not destroyed,” replied Elrond as he carefully worked a sharp blade through the layers of plaster.  “Elladan and Elrohir are older now than many who fought in Eregion; older than many who were at Dagorlad.  But I am grateful they are only hearing our stories rather than living their own.”

The cast separated the rest of the way, and Elrond carefully peeled it away from the injured leg. A sigh escaped him, and Erestor recognized it as one of frustration immediately.  He leaned forward to view the injured limb, the bruising, irritation and infection grossly obvious.

“The cast was wet inside,” said Elrond flatly. “And that fall was enough to re-injure the leg, though it is not broken.”

All were silent as Elrond sat with his head bowed for a moment.  Celebrían knelt behind him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and holding him. He finally drew in a deep cleansing breath, and Celebrían released him as he set to cleaning the wound. He slightly twisted the leg and Elrohir moaned in his sleep, unconsciously trying to move away from the pain. Erestor saw the tears that Elrond blinked away, and it was easy to see his frustration and guilt.

Elladan appeared, settling next to and wrapping himself around his twin.  He concentrated on Elrohir, pouring himself through the bond they shared, willing Elrohir’s pain on to himself as their father cleaned, packed, bandaged and splinted the leg.

“No cast?” asked Erestor.

Elrond nodded. “Not yet.  That wound must be allowed to breathe and dry naturally, or the infection will grow. Hopefully, we will be able to make a cast over the splint, one that will allow the wound to heal better.  It will be heavier and bulkier, but if it is possible to do, I think it will be better.  Regardless, he will not be happy when he wakes.”

“Erestor’s words deeply affected him,” interjected Elladan.  “Elrohir will not complain over his situation.”

“No, he will not,” murmured Elrond in agreement.  “He has not complained thus far. I wish, though, that there was more I could do for him.”

Erestor was about to comment when he noticed Elrond fingering his tunic, a slight outline of a pouch visible beneath the fabric.

“Elrohir will recover; it is only a matter of time,” said Celeborn firmly. Erestor turned to him, and found the elf’s gaze focused intensely on Elrond. Under his scrutiny, Elrond’s hand immediately dropped to his side.

“Of course,” replied Elrond. He rose to his feet, his movements a little stiff.

Elrond and Celebrían retired to their tent, and the camp quieted until only a low singing by those seated around the fire could be heard. Erestor looked down at the twins, and realized that Elladan had already drifted into sleep with Elrohir still in his arms. Content that Elrohir was well in hand, he chose a spot to sit away from the others, where he might reflect on the memories kindled by the telling of his tale.  From his position, he could also keep a watch over Elrohir.

He was deep in thought, considering his own life in Lindon, the advantage he had of centuries of tutelage by Elrond and Gil-Galad, Glorfindel and others.  He had been experienced in many things in life, but innocent in the ways of war, when he left for Eregion.  He had certainly done what was expected of him, more importantly, he had done whatever needed to be done.  In his own mind, he was as much Elrond’s protector as Glorfindel was, though in different ways.  Nonetheless, he could not protect his lord from frustration, fear and guilt over his son’s injury. Yet he did not know what more could be done for the young elf. Patience and time seemed the only remedy, and they certainly had plenty of both to share with Elrohir until he healed.

A light glow in the moonlight caught his attention, and he focused his eyes on the shining form bending over Elladan and Elrohir.  Galadriel.  He had not known her well prior to Elrond’s marriage to Celebrían, but the story she and Celebrían had told earlier in the evening had spoken volumes of her fearlessness.  Fearless, unless it involved her child, I think.  He watched as she rested her hands on Elrohir, one hand on his head and the other on his broken leg.  To his wonder, the glow grew brighter and brighter as Galadriel deepened her concentration on her grandson, the light seemingly emanating from where her hand touched his leg. The light finally faded, and Galadriel sat back on her heels as she studied the young elves thoughtfully. She reached out, caressing Elrohir’s face gently; then she rose and returned to her tent.

Erestor grew aware of two others that had also watched, as Celeborn materialized briefly from the darkness before disappearing into the woods and Glorfindel followed a few moments later. Intrigued and concerned, he decided he would perhaps keep watch the whole night.

* * *

Elrohir woke feeling strangely refreshed.  The throbbing in his leg and head, the dizziness and nausea all seem to have left in the night.  He recalled his parents pushing him into sleep and nothing after that.  He shifted slightly, recognizing the always comforting presence of his twin next to him.  He blew lightly at Elladan, until his twin’s eyes focused gravely upon him.

“How are you, Elrohir?” asked Elladan, his free hand immediately touching Elrohir’s face, performing his own little examination.

“Wonderful.  What is for breakfast?” laughed Elrohir.  He tried to shrug Elladan off so he could sit up, but Elladan held fast to him.

“Wait, Adar had to remove your cast.  Your leg looked terrible again,” he said apologetically.

With Elladan’s assistance, Elrohir sat up and leaned forward to inspect what of his leg he could see. “Nothing hurts and what I can see looks fine,” he replied.

Elladan crawled down the bed, carefully peeling away some of the bandages to see for himself.  He looked at Elrohir in amazement, then began to swiftly remove the bandages until just the splint remained.  Sitting back on his heels, he looked at Elrohir in disbelief. “The wound is healed.”  He shook his head.  “Do not move,” he warned his twin.

Elrohir sat still, but could not help but run his fingers over the healed place where the bone had originally punctured through the skin.  Elladan returned quickly with their father, who had not yet even brushed his hair. Elrond brushed his son’s fingers aside as he examined the area thoroughly, appearing stunned, then he ran his hand over his side, as if seeking something. Finally, he stood.

Elrohir watched in confusion as his father looked around the camp, appearing equally confused.   Soon his mother appeared, then Arwen, and soon it seemed everyone in camp had come to inspect his leg.

“Elrohir!” said his father sharply, as Elrohir tried to rise. “The wound is healed, but I am less convinced of the bone.  I am still going to cast it this morning.”

“Yes, Adar,” replied Elrohir, confused at his father’s tone.

Erestor had watched the scene unfold, inspected the healed leg himself, and now stood back to watch how events would fall out.  He did not know what Galadriel had done, or how, or indeed if she was who had done it for sure. She appeared last, gliding serenely to her grandson and kissing him in greeting, before looking over the healed wound.

“I am glad for you, Elrohir,” she said as she caressed his cheek tenderly. “I hope the rest of the trip home is more comfortable for your now.”

“Adar says I still must have a cast,” said Elrohir, “but it does seem to be healed otherwise.”

“A cast is still wise,” agreed Galadriel.  She stood, meeting Elrond’s gaze solemnly, then took Arwen by the hand and led her away to breakfast.

Erestor catalogued the looks on each face carefully. Elrond was intrigued, Celeborn resigned and Glorfindel appeared somewhat sad.  He smiled, though, when he looked at Elrohir, who was nothing short of ecstatic.

This knowledge he would tuck away, for something was happening, and in time it would be made clear.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:  These might be rather long, but I know some people like them.

There is very little detail about events that occurred in the Second Age. The Tale of Years(Appendix B of  the Lotr) lists major events in a timeline. Beyond that, Unfinished Tales seems to have the most useful information.

The timeline of when events happened truly leave one asking, “So where was everyone and what were they doing during these gaps in time?”  The Elven rings were completed in 1590’ Sauron finished his ring in 1600; he declared war on the elves in 1693 and the Three were hidden; in 1695 he invaded Eriador, and Gil-Galad sent Elrond to Eregion; in 1697 Eregion fell, Celebrimbor was killed and Elrond retreated to the mountains where he holed up and built Imladris; in 1699 Sauron overran Eriador; and finally in 1700 the Numenorians arrived.   This is truly a dark time in Middle-earth. Eregion fell, Eriador was overrun and Sauron must have been nearly to the doorstep of Lindon.  The elves in Lindon might have been able to flee, but the rest were surrounded and trapped.

So, some questions arise.  What in the world were the elves doing during the nearly 100 years between the time that Sauron finished his ring, they became aware of it, and he came in war against them?  I had to remind myself that they probably had very limited information during that 100 years as to what Sauron was up to.  They may not have known if he would attack, where or when.  Hindsight is always 20/20 – but at the time, you have to make decisions on what you know, and often that is little.

Another question is why did it take so long for help to arrive?  Again, considering distance and the lack of communication systems and the considerable time it would take to mobilize an army, the timelines are probably apropriate.  Most wars took years.

The big question to me in this chapter was: what motivated the Númenorians to help?  I could guess that they would perhaps have the foresight to see that they might be next, and they had befriended some men, so they might wish to aid the good men of Middle-earth, and they had some loyalty to the Eldar of Middle-earth.  But is that enough to go to war?   I was reading about the kings of Númenor and came across some wonderful gold nuggets in the story of Aldarion and Erendis, including a letter Gil-galad wrote to Aldarion’s father, then King Tar Meneldur.  It was perfect for laying the foundation of Gil-Galad building relationship with the kings, keeping them informed of the growing shadow and reminding them that that shadow would not forget them.  Yet, it is the son of the king that aids them (Ciryatan) that becomes a tyrant to the very people his father helped save!  Clearly, obtaining Tar-Minastir’s aid without allowing Ciryatan to demand tribute in exchange for aid seemed like it would take some skillful negotiating and was good reason for Gil-galad to stay in Lindon. 

That point also bothered me – why would Gil-galad stay behind?  He led his troops to Dagorlad – why, in a war where the elves were so clearly outnumbered that death seemed certain – would he send Elrond?  One could put a number of spins on the High King’s motivations, but everything Tolkien wrote about Gil-galad described a servant leader, devoted to his people and to Middle-earth and I wanted to stay true to that.  So he will retain his nobility and show up with the remainder of Lindon’s forces and the Númenorians.

Regarding the dwarves: Durin did allegedly receive his ring from Celebrimbor, which means it would have been in his possession while Sauron possessed the ruling ring.  So why did Durin, and later the other dwarves who eventually bore those rings, NOT become wraiths?  Had I been an elf in the know, the fact that Durin didn’t fall under Sauron’s control would sure make me wonder if those rings were really all they were cracked up to be.  I have my own theory for why the dwarves were resistant to the control of the rings, which I hope to work into the story.  Tolkien says that the rings increased the dwarves’ greed for gems and gold, so I tried to show that this had already begun.

The addition of the dwarfling was a fun, but probably unnecessary detail. Tolkien wrote that dwarves hid their women and children, and we all know Gimli’s comments about how people believed there were no dwarf women.  I figured if Galadriel and Celebrían were to pass through Moria (and versions of the story of Celeborn and Galadriel suggest at least Galadriel did and possibly on more than one occasion) then the least I could do is show a cute dwarfling in her natural home as the elves passed on by.

Regarding Galadriel and Celebrían: I made them messengers because I can see Galadriel insisting on having purpose to anything she did, and I needed good reason for her to head east, instead of west to Lindon.  There are several versions of the story of Celeborn and Galdriel, and those that placed them in Eregion had them flee east. Since I did not use the genealogy making Amroth their son, being a messenger seemed a good excuse to go that way. Tolkien also wrote that female elves were as strong or nearly as strong as male elves, and Tolkien wrote that Galadriel had seen battle.  We did not get to see too much of Galadriel’s skill, but I felt it more important to show her fearlessness, and I really wanted to show her as a mother willing to sacrifice for her child.  Did Tolkien say she was a good mother? No, but he said elves valued their children dearly.  I can’t imagine a mother who wouldn’t try to save her child. I hope it softened her image a little.  Celebrían was not terribly skilled with her weapons, but she was  using them in battle for the first time. She is also very young in this story  - under 100 years, which is when an elf is considered full grown. She was spunky and able to fight back, though, and I like the idea that Celeborn and Galadriel raised a spirited and self-sufficient daughter.

Regarding Erestor, very little is known about him beyond his position as an advisor of Elrond during the War of the Ring, and one mention in HoME that he might have been kin to Elrond. In my universe, he was born in Lindon, probably of Noldor descent, and trained by and devoted to Elrond.  He is a very skilled elf, but in this story he is growing into his position. It was fun to write him eager and a bit innocent.

If anyone wants specific references to anything, let me know. I have copious notes, bookmarks and underlined passages referenced. It is very important to me to keep to Tolkien’s themes, make things work in his timelines, and make the story plausible in terms of plot and character motivations (aren’t those the true challenges in fanfiction?). If anyone sees something I missed or has an idea, I would love to hear from them.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 22: War in Eregion Part IV: The Fall of Eregion

Elrond rode behind the wagon bearing his children, but his thoughts were far from the pleasant ride he was having with Alagos. Instead, visions of Elrohir replayed in his mind. His son had smiled and laughed throughout the casting procedure, a sharp contrast to the drawn and pale face that Elrond had carefully watched for days for signs that the pain was too much.  The cast would take several hours to set properly, but Elrohir had grinned at that news and let himself be carried by his twin and Glorfindel to the wagon, where he had stretched out in the sun like a long lean cat. Even now Elrond could hear Arwen’s giggles as she wove blue ribbons into Elrohir’s hair as she braided it, and Elrohir’s voice teasing and playing along with her.

Fingering the pouch against his side unconsciously, Elrond forced his hand back to his thigh when he realized what he was doing.  His gaze drifted ahead, beyond the wagon, to where Galadriel rode next to Celebrían.  Galadriel had not said a word, but he knew that she had wielded Nenya to aid Elrohir.  He lightly pressed his forearm against his side, the hard band of metal easily felt against his ribs through the pouch.  His wonder increased as he felt a slight thrumming vibrate into his flesh. The ring seemed to have come alive, as if it sensed that its companion had been put to use.

He could not help but wonder if he would have been able to wield Vilya to Elrohir’s benefit as Galadriel had used Nenya.  Vilya seemed to vibrate slightly faster, as if in reaction to his thoughts. He felt his heartbeat quicken. Could the Three be awakening, telling their bearers the time was now ripe to begin to use them? He wondered if Círdan could sense Narya?  Would Círdan wield Narya?

Elrond closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax, and allowed Alagos to keep the pace and path.  The horse seemed to sense his relaxation and whinnied softly in response. Elrond unconsciously stroked the sleek neck even as he forced his thoughts to still and his mind to clear itself of the many questions that were battling for his attention.  Deep in mediation, he finally became aware of the breaths of another horse mingling with those of Alagos and opened his eyes to find thoughtful blue eyes gazing steadily at him.  Glancing ahead, he realized that the rest of the party was now far ahead, including the rear guard.

“Alagos, you were to keep pace, not meander off on your own,” he scolded the stallion.

Glorfindel laughed. “Alagos did exactly as he was asked.”

Elrond arched a brow at the warrior, but Glorfindel ignored the censure. Elrond could hardly blame him; he had drifted long in meditation and Alagos had responded to the request of one he respected. Glorfindel did not quicken their pace, however.

“Speak, if that is what you came to do,” said Elrond finally, flinching himself at the slightly harsh tone that he had not intended to use.

“My only intention, my lord, was to keep you from falling from your horse,” answered Glorfindel deftly, his tone entirely respectful.

Before Elrond could respond, he felt Vilya move at his side and without thought he slid his hand over it.  He felt its presence, and was again in wonder over the ring’s power. Suddenly remembering Glorfindel’s presence, he jerked his head up to look his protector in the face. Surprise filled him at the sadness he saw reflected in the depths of the clear blue eyes. He turned away, both hands clenching into fists as conflicting emotions warred within him.

A warm hand covered his own, and he gripped it like a lifeline. “The ring seems to have come alive,” he admitted. He drew Glorfindel’s hand to his side, covering the small pouch. Vilya’s vibrations slowed, and then grew silent. “Did you feel it?” he asked hoarsely.

Glorfindel nodded and removed his hand from beneath Elrond’s, then pressed Elrond’s hand against his side and waited with a contemplative look. Elrond was about to speak when he felt Vilya again begin to sing.  Wonder filled him, though it was now tinged by fear.

“Vilya is communicating to whom it belongs,” said Glorfindel, amused. Suddenly, his countenance darkened. “Or rather, who belongs to it.”

“The Three are not evil,” replied Elrond softly. “It does not own me, nor do I own it.”

Sadness again filled Glorfindel’s eyes. “Things we value too highly can come to own us. Do not let it became of more worth in your eyes than it should.”

Elrond opened his mouth to speak, words of defense on his tongue to remind Glorfindel that he had not yet wielded the ring, that when he did, the benefits would be for all, but he suddenly recalled himself and his brother questioning Gil-galad and Círdan about the Silmarils and the choice their mother had made, and he closed his mouth abruptly.  Glorfindel had seen the darkening of Valinor, the flight of the Noldor, and the fall of Gondolin, all driven by lust for the Silmarils. He knew of what he spoke. “Remind me as often as you see need,” he said instead.

Glorfindel took his hand again and squeezed it firmly, communicating without words his commitment to Elrond. They picked up the pace slightly, and as Alagos trotted along Elrond turned his thought to Vilya. He directed his will to it, commanding silence until he was ready to explore the ring’s power more thoroughly.  To his continued wonder, Vilya complied.

“Ada!”  His daughter’s squeal interrupted his thoughts.

Elrond saw Arwen’s head pop up from the wagon, then abruptly disappear a moment later.  Her giggles could be heard mixed with Elrohir’s laughter, and then she reappeared, gripping the wagon gate tightly.

“Save me, Ada!” she cried in mock fear.

Elrond began to laugh as he beheld the state of his two children.  Arwen’s hair was wound into dozens of tiny braids, which were then woven together in strange shapes around and over her head and tied off with ribbons of many colors.  His son, on the other hand, was decorated all in blue.  One braid was hanging down over his nose, while others stuck out at odd intervals all around him. Elrond watched as Arwen was dragged down on to the bed in the wagon again, shrieks and giggles following as her brother tormented her with tickles.

Elrond nudged Alagos to a trot, slowing as he drew up next to the wagon.  Arwen had gained, or been allowed to gain, the upper hand and was currently sitting astride her brother as she tickled him along his sides and up under his arms.  Elrohir finally wrapped his arms about her, pulling her against his chest, and blew a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek. Arwen twisted and squealed one last time, before giving in to the strong arms holding her tightly and relaxing against Elrohir.

“Look, Ada,” said Arwen, sitting up and smoothing her hair upwards.  “Elrohir made a hat out of my hair!”

“And a lovely hat it is,” complimented Elrond.

“Elrohir could make one for you, Ada,” said Arwen slyly.

Glorfindel laughed, and Elrond quickly interrupted before the warrior could encourage such a plan. “I would not be nearly so beautiful as you, my daughter,” he answered, biting his lip so as not to laugh at the complete disarray of hair that was wrapped about Arwen’s head.

“Oh, Ada,” said Arwen, an exasperated sigh escaping her. “You are so silly! This is not beautiful; it is a disaster! We were seeing who could make the worst hair style!” She grinned at Elrohir. “Elrohir definitely won, proving he is very bad with hair!”

“That is why I have to do his hair for him,” Elladan informed them as he rode up. “His braids are always crooked otherwise.”

Arwen giggled as she tugged on Elrohir’s braids, then pulled his hair forward to cover his face. Elrond watched as Elrohir’s fingers snaked up his daughter’s sides, making her squirm and giggle, before he finally shook his head, sending his braids and loose hair flying back over his shoulders.  His son’s smiling face turned to him, then, and Elrond looked into the bright, clear eyes that held no pain. He felt tears prickle at his own eyes, saw the immediate concern in Elrohir’s as he noticed, and smiled reassuringly.  The wagon came to a halt as the party stopped for dinner and rest, and Elrond dismounted to help Arwen and Elrohir from the back.  Arwen blew a sloppy, wet kiss against his cheek, much as Elrohir had done to her, and then slid from his arms to race forward to surprise her mother and grandmother with her new look.  Elrond watched her strike a pose before Celebrían and Galadriel that made all three of them laugh, and then she spun in a circle, bobbing her head and making the ribbons fly. He shook his head and smiled, then turned to Elrohir. Extending his hand to help pull Elrohir from the wagon, he felt the peace and calm about his son as their hands clasped, and he pulled Elrohir into an embrace.

“You look wonderful, Elrohir,” he said, then lifted a braid, “the hair notwithstanding. My heart is filled with joy at seeing you without pain.”

Elrohir laughed as he tossed his crooked and disheveled braids, but hugged his father back. “What caused the healing, Adar?”

Elrond smiled. “I am not entirely sure, Elrohir, but I am grateful regardless.” Elrohir looked at him curiously, but did not push the matter. Elrond waited until Elrohir steadied himself on the crutches Glorfindel handed him, and then watched as his son moved away, his normal grace restored.

“Your sons are not aware that two of the Three are present on this trip,” stated Glorfindel softly.

“They are not,” replied Elrond. “They are not aware of them at all. For now, I prefer they not have this knowledge.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Such knowledge in anyone close to you could lead them to harm.”

Elrond digested that thought carefully, as the remembrance surfaced in his mind of how ages before a Silmaril endangered him and Elros and separated them from their parents. Celebrimbor’s rings had been wrought for good, but Sauron had turned the craft towards an evil end, as the Doom of the Valar had foretold

“The Curse of the Noldor and the Doom of the Valar will exist as long as there are elves in Middle-earth,” said Glorfindel quietly, easily reading Elrond’s thoughts, which the half-elf seldom hid from him.  “I quailed as a child beneath the cutting words of the doomsman of the Valar. I knew my parents were afraid, but they were loyal to Turgon son of Fingolfin, and where he led, they followed.  When Gondolin fell and the King died, and my father and so many of my friends and fellow warriors, those words that were imprinted in my mind played over and over again: slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief. All of our work, all of our care to protect our people, had been for naught. We were cursed, and all we built was cursed.”

Elrond was silent for a long moment as he stood next to this powerful, re-embodied warrior of the first age. Glorfindel had heard the Doom of the Valar spoken, had seen it come to fruition, and yet had returned to the cursed, fading and weary elves of Middle-earth. Elrond thought of why Celebrimbor had made the rings: to aid in understanding, making and healing, and preserving things unstained.  Had his motivations truly been to counter the Curse? Could understanding, making, healing and preserving be turned to evil? Or would these things merely contribute to the final words spoken in their doom, increasing their weariness of life in Middle-earth?  He heard the laughter of his children, and as often happened, felt his weariness evaporate, at least for the moment. Under the curse they might live, but Middle-earth was the only home they knew.

“Yet you came back,” he answered as his thoughts returned to the one at his side.

“I am here,” agreed Glorfindel with a merry laugh.

Elrond turned to meet the bright eyes and joyful face, and thought again about the light of Valinor that shone from Glorfindel like a beacon. That Glorfindel was in Middle-earth was proof enough, should he need such a thing, that while the elves who endured here did grow weary with time, they were not forgotten.

Elladan and Garthon appeared to take their horses, and Elrond and Glorfindel made their way into the camp where Cook’s voice could be heard singing an amusing song he was clearly making up as he went along.  Elrohir, Arwen and their hair were the focus of his verse, and the two were laughing, tears running down their faces, as Celebrían and Galadriel attempted to undo the damage they had done to each other. Elrond could hear Celebrían’s giggles, and even Galadriel’s laughter could be heard on occasion.

Erestor sat apart from them, a smile tugging his lips as he watched them, but his eyes were far away. As Elrond sat down next to his chief advisor, he followed Erestor’s gaze to the bluff beyond them and knew immediately where his thoughts were.

“The land has changed much, but enough natural markers remain to remind us of those days,” said Elrond softly.

“When I learned you had destroyed that band of orcs, I wept with gratitude, knowing they could not harm again.  The next day, though, we came upon the still smoldering remains of another farm. I understood then what the rest of you had learned far earlier about war, how the joy of one victory would fade quickly, because there were so many battles that had to be fought and won to win the war,” replied Erestor. “I grew to dread the thought of coming upon another village or farm, for I feared what I might find.”

The two fell quiet, watching as Elrohir’s and Arwen’s hair was untangled and brushed until the two dark blue-black manes shone in the sun.  They were completely relaxed, their eyes drifted half closed and Elrond smiled as he saw Arwen sway and gently slump against her grandmother as sleep overtook her.  With the pure innocence of childhood, she napped in Galadriel’s arms until gently awakened to have her dinner.

“Erestor,” said Elrohir, when they had finished eating, “will you continue your story?”

Erestor smiled sadly. “I will, although your Adar and Daeradar and Glorfindel may have much to add.” His eyes seemed to unfocus slightly as he remembered the past, and he began, “While already shocked by realizing the war had advanced into Eriador, we finally located Celeborn’s army and learned how dire their circumstance had become…”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Erestor moved silently along the ridge, the shadows of the trees providing cover for his trek along enemy lines.  Sauron’s forces were attempting to reach Ost-in-Edhil by dividing Celeborn’s troops, which were spread between the hills to the south of the city and the bridge on the river to her west.  As a tactical move, Erestor could see the benefit, for Sauron could then surround the two smaller units and drive between them to sack the city. The River Glanduin would be an easy foe for Sauron to defeat once he had Celeborn in hand.

The difference in the size of the armies was terrifying.  How Celeborn had held out this long was a tale that Erestor knew would be told for centuries to come, for the overwhelming odds and his sheer will to hold them off were awe inspiring. Fear twisted his insides, though, as he realized that this appeared to be the final stand. Elrond would need to arrive within just a few days if they were to save the city.

As dusk fell, he watched how the Men in Sauron’s service withdrew from the fighting, returning to the rear of the battle and their encampment, where they would rest for the night.  Ranks of orcs passed them in the opposite direction, taking up position against the weary elves who were forced to battle day and night, weakening their numbers even further.  Quickly diagramming the positions of the city, Eregion’s army and the enemy, Erestor gave his dispatch to Maecheneb, who would cross back over the river and give it to the messenger, who would pass it on to Elrond.

“Be careful, Erestor,” warned Maecheneb.

Erestor clasped forearms with his fellow scout, the familiar warning and the paternal tone not unwelcome.  Although his job as scout was clearly defined, his nature could not easily allow him to watch someone die without attempting to render aid.  His training and Maecheneb’s words were well-ingrained now, though Erestor wondered if he survived this war if he would face consequences for having hardened his heart so much and for so long.

“I want to assess the strength of Celeborn’s army and, if possible, get word to him that reinforcements are to arrive soon.”  He gazed toward the encampment of the elves. With their backs to the blockaded city and the enemy attempting to squeeze through them and encircle them, the ways to reach Celeborn were limited.

“Through the marsh, the Swanfleet they call it, and then up the river,” replied Maecheneb simply as he departed.

Turning to the marsh, Erestor retreated back down the ridge. Even his light step was sucked into the muck that lay beneath the water, and he had to put forth all his effort to maintain the pace he needed to reach Celeborn in time. It took him well into the night to traverse the swamp and river he was forced to use for cover.

The small tent city that was Celeborn’s encampment was quiet, with the warriors who had returned from the front lines of battle sleeping, some in tents and some on bedrolls around the fire.  The entire camp was muddy and damp, and the few elves moving about were gaunt and weary appearing.  Two tents were lit, and Erestor quickly surmised that the larger was for the treatment of the wounded.  He was about to step from the shadows and walk to the smaller, which he had determined held Celeborn, his captains and advisors, when he realized he did not carry any symbol or crest indicating he came in King Gil-galad’s name; he had brought nothing with him but a belt of necessities from his own camp. Deciding that the elves would know he came as an ally, he determined not to rouse the camp and instead slipped quietly between tents to Celeborn’s.

A guard stood at the entrance. Erestor waited patiently as another guard approached him and they spoke in soft voices.  At the moment both were occupied and looking elsewhere, he slipped behind them and entered the tent.

A few cots lined one side of the tent, while tables spread with maps and empty dishes took up much of the rest of the space. He quickly determined which elf was Celeborn, though he had not known him personally while in Lindon, for Celeborn and Galadriel had left with the Noldor jewel-smiths when Erestor was very young. But, if not for his silver hair, Erestor doubted he would have recognized Celeborn at all.

The leader of this army was shirtless, his arm bound to his chest by a bandage that had once been clean, but was now soiled with blood and mud. The glorious silver mane that Erestor did remember was dull and lifeless, braided away from the elf’s face, but with loose strands clinging to his neck and shoulders. He sat on a bench with a map spread out before him, two of his captains at his side.

“They are wise to our strategy of attack,” said one captain wearily. “It will not work again, and we stand to lose some of our best remaining soldiers if we try.”

“It did buy us time, though, as has the rain,” replied the other. “But I fear that I have no more ideas, we have tried them all. We need to send word to those in the city that we cannot hold the enemy back.”

Celeborn lifted his head proudly. “We are not defeated yet.” The green-blue eyes suddenly narrowed, and the silver elf leapt to his feet, drawing his sword with his one good hand as he rushed forward.

Erestor knew he had been spotted as soon as he saw the surprise in Celeborn’s eyes, and he stepped forward into the light. Celeborn’s sword was already in motion as he rushed Erestor, leaving Erestor with no choice but to draw his own.   As he stepped forward he lifted it high before him, intending to deflect Celeborn’s blow, but the reflexes of several ages of battles allowed Celeborn to halt his sword mid-swing as he recognized Erestor as an elf.

“Gil-galad sends you his hopes that you will persevere until aid arrives, and Elrond bids you to stand firm until he can stand with you.  They should cross the Loudwater late tomorrow,” he greeted them.

Erestor would remember forever the look that appeared on the elf’s face as the meaning of the words became clear to him.

“Elrond leads an army here?” gasped Celeborn as his sword fell to his side.

Erestor had barely nodded and replied ‘yes’ when Celeborn demanded, “How many?”

Erestor sighed. “Not enough, but Gil-galad is calling his allies to battle.”

“Will they come?” asked Celeborn, and Erestor noted the hint of fear in the demanding tone.

“I do not know, my lord,” he answered honestly. “But few can refuse King Gil-galad.”

Celeborn nodded, seemingly satisfied, but he swayed on his feet as he turned to walk to his table and one of his captains moved close to his side as he limped back to his seat. Erestor noted how pale Celeborn had become, and saw blood trickling down from under the bandage, and pooling at the band of his trousers.

“Sit,” commanded Celeborn, but his voice was weak.

“I will tell you all I know and listen to all you wish to tell Elrond or Gil-galad while that wound is tended,” said Erestor boldly.

“The healers are tending the seriously wounded,” snapped Celeborn.

Erestor looked apologetically at the captains, both too exhausted to have forced their uncooperative commander to accept aid, before speaking. “Are your captains so poorly trained they cannot tend you?” he snapped back.

Celeborn looked at him in surprise, and Erestor used that to his advantage. “Elrond I am not, but he has taught me some.  Lay down.”

To Erestor’s surprise, Celeborn did.  Erestor cut away the bandages as he spoke, telling Celeborn of Gil-galad’s plans, Elrond’s movements and what he had seen of the enemy’s movements from afar.  He cleaned the wounds and dressed them, then used his own supply of bandages to bind them. Celeborn’s eyes had drifted closed and he had relaxed beneath Erestor’s touch, but as soon as Erestor had finished both speaking and tending him, the elf came immediately alert. He rose and slipped on a tunic and trousers that were less filthy than what he had taken off, and began firing questions and orders off to both his captains and Erestor.

They spent an hour discussing strategy based on when Elrond arrived, for they remained unconvinced that even the two armies combined could defeat Sauron. 

“We must,” said Celeborn, “begin to think that perhaps the best we can hope for is a planned retreat with the remnant of the city.” He paused. “I believe we will win, eventually, but I know it will take intervention of a type I cannot see. We can only plan based on what is known before us, and what is before us is an enemy that we cannot defeat.” He turned to Erestor, his expression grave. “Elrond needs to arrive soon.”

Erestor rose, noting in bemusement that he was finally dry. “I shall return to him with your plans for strategy immediately.”

Celeborn looked at him curiously, then at the entrance to the tent. “How did you get in here?”

Erestor smiled.  “The same way I plan to leave.  May the Valar protect you and Elbereth shine her light to guide your path.  We will return.”

Erestor slipped from the tent, walking silently past the guard who merely saluted him tiredly, and with a sigh of resignation, he waded back into the river and began his return journey.

* * *

Celeborn wiped the blood, sweat and grime from his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, then turned to see who had managed to retreat successfully from the skirmish they had just been fighting.  He counted the elves and realized only a third of those he had led into the fight had returned with him. An anguished sob caught his attention, and he turned to see an older elf on his knees, holding the body of his son. A flood of emotion ran through Celeborn as he recognized the dead elf as a playmate of his daughter.  Only a few years older than she, they had once fought in the mud.  Pity filled him, as the father in him emerged from where he had ruthlessly suppressed all parts of his being except that of warrior and commander.  Anger at the loss of innocence of these young elves filled him with a rage that made him wish for a platoon of orcs to slaughter.  As despair threatened to overwhelm him, he closed his eyes and forced himself to focus on the war and nothing else.

A shout for aid caught his attention, and the surviving elves of his group ran to help extract their friends from the battle they were losing.  Celeborn gently loosened the elf’s hands from his son’s lifeless body, and pulled him to his feet.  “You are needed,” he said. “Your son will make his way to Mandos’s Halls and Námo is sure to have mercy on one who died so young and valiant.”

Celeborn knew the words were inadequate, but he could not leave the father to grieve, for the enemy would kill him, or worse, torment him. He half lifted the elf and then forced him to accompany them to the next battle.  Celeborn never knew how a family member would react after the death of a loved one; some needed time alone to recover before re-entering the fight.  Some needed to fight to take out their anger. As he watched to assess what this grief stricken father would need, he saw the elf’s eyes light with fire.  Celeborn followed his gaze to where another young elf was engaged in battle: a friend of the elf’s son. 

“He will not die today if I can prevent it,” said the elf with a growl, and he threw himself into the battle.

Celeborn followed, his bloodied sword quickly finding a match, and they fought until the enemy pulled back.  To their right, however, he saw another force approaching, and he called, “Retreat!  Fall back!”

As the elves turned to run, he saw the retreating force in front of him turn back upon them and then another company approaching from the hills to their left, and he realized their lines had been broken and they were being surrounded.  “Retreat!” he yelled again, this time grabbing a young elf by the arm and shoving him to the rear.  “Retreat! Back to the camp!”

He watched as the realization of the situation began to dawn on the elves in his command, and they began to flee for their lives.  Celeborn waited until all were running, before he joined them, but he knew they were defeated.  They would retreat to camp, gather their wounded and take what supplies they could carry, and then flee into the hills where some might hope to survive.  With them gone, Sauron would cross the river and walk into the city.

Elrond had not come in time.

* * *

Elrond led his troops over the wide expanse of land south of the swamps, the sounds of battle growing around him.  They were a day later than he had hoped, for the river crossing north of the Swanfleet had been a disaster and much of his army had been forced to travel below the swamps and cross there.  They had incurred some injuries in the failed crossing when a wagon of supplies had become caught on underwater debris, endangering the horses and the much needed supplies.  They had managed to free the wagon, but two elves had been battered in the process.

He could see the banner of the city flying in the breeze above the City Hall of Ost-in-Edhil, but flames had become visible in the last few hours and now that he was close enough to see the buildings, he realized the city had been breached and was on fire. Despair filled his heart. He had come too late.

Elrond heard a murmur of voices behind him, and he turned to see Erestor striding toward him. The young elf had changed much since Elrond had sent him from Lindon months earlier. His eyes had hardened, he moved with a sense of stealth, light of foot and quick, and he seemed to blend in with his surroundings. As he neared, Elrond held out his hand in greeting, and was surprised when Erestor clasped his arm as any warrior would, then immediately released him and stepped back a pace, quickly distancing himself. Sadness filled him as he realized the extent of the loss of innocence in his young friend.  So many more will become this way, should they survive at all, he thought sadly.

“Celeborn called for a full retreat yesterday morning after enemy reinforcements arrived from the south,” said Erestor numbly. “The camp was abandoned and the elves fled into the hills with as many of the injured as they could carry.  Sauron’s forces burned the camp, while others attacked the city.  They used catapults to send flaming debris over the walls, and they finally broke the gate this morning with a battering ram. I could not see if any who remained in the city escaped by way of the river or back gates.”

Erestor handed Elrond a sketch of his estimations of the size and placement of the enemy troops, and Elrond was stunned as he realized how close Erestor must have been to obtain this information. Indeed, he had to have been behind enemy lines in some cases.

“Enemy troops approach from the South, Men mostly, but there were some of the larger orcs in companies as well,” finished Erestor, his hand shaking as he pointed to a spot on his sketch.

Suddenly, a cry arose from the scene below them.  Enemy voices were raised in a primal yell, and it was directed at them. 

“Our presence has been noted,” said Elrond dryly. “Glorfindel, call the captains together.  We cannot defeat this army, but we can try to extract what elves we can from the city and the hills.”

As the captains gathered, Elrond broke them into companies and gave them their orders. “I will lead the frontal assault east with the Silver Company.  Blue and Gold need to circle around here and stop the advancing troops from the south.  Red will cross north of the Glanduin and approach the back of the city – your function is to help any who live escape the city.  Glorfindel, Companies Blue and Gold will be entering into a tactical position that is fraught with pitfalls.  They must not risk being caught between enemies we drive from the city and the approaching army from the south.  I want you to lead them.”

“No,” answered Glorfindel firmly.

A stunned silence fell over the small group, and Elrond raised his eyes to look the elf straight in the face.  Glorfindel looked upon him calmly and Elrond felt heat rise to his face.  The ensuing battle of wills may not have involved words, but Elrond knew that everyone present knew a struggle was occurring.

“Your captains are well trained and capable,” said Glorfindel finally.

Elrond nodded stiffly and finished his orders, then dismissed the captains to prepare their warriors for battle. He turned his back on Glorfindel then, his anger not yet dissipated, and began to walk away.

“Pride is unbecoming in you, Elrond,” said Glorfindel.

Elrond spun around, words of anger on his lips, but they died there as he looked upon his friend.  He was always unclear how Glorfindel did it, but at certain times the light of Valinor shone brightly from him, more so than was normal, and this was one of those times.

“There is no time for diplomacy, for me to say my words for your ears only. Remember this, Elrond, I do not answer to you in only one matter of my service to you, and that is your safety.  I will be at your back.”

Elrond suddenly laughed.  “Yes, you will, and I am sure before the end I will be glad for it, ungrateful though I may seem now.”

The four companies began moving into position immediately, the Blue and Gold Companies coordinating with Elrond so that they attacked in unison. The element of surprise was part of their strategy, for they needed the enemy fighting on several fronts and the confusion that would cause. The Silver Company remained visible to the enemy, who jeered them and challenged them to fight, and Elrond stood tall before his warriors facing them.

Elrond watched the enemy’s movements calmly, the banners of Gil-galad flapping in the breeze. He purposefully kept the attentions of these troops focused on him, and did not turn his head from them even once. Glorfindel, however, had stepped to the back and was following the movements of the Blue and Gold.

“Now, Elrond,” came Glorfindel’s voice.

Elrond unsheathed and raised his sword, then bellowed, “Forward! In the name of the King! Gil-galad!”  Behind him, his troops roared after him, “Forward! Gil-galad!”

As Elrond led his troops down the small ridge, Sauron’s forces came out to meet them.

* * *

Celeborn heard the bellow of voices and the name of Gil-galad raised, and he quickly sheathed his sword and climbed into the largest of the trees in the copse he and his men had taken refuge in. On the ridge between the river and the city, he saw elves streaming down the hillside as the enemy raced out to meet them. Relief and sorrow both flooded his heart, as he saw hope for his elves if they could join with Elrond’s force, and sorrow, knowing how many of Elrond’s elves would die.   Jumping to the ground, he announced the good news that help had arrived from Lindon, and with new strength, he led his elves back into the battle.

* * *

Elrond’s heart leapt with the excitement of battle as his forces thrust into the line of the enemy with such force that Sauron’s men fell back in retreat.  The river was at their backs, and the limited opening of the city gates meant that most were forced to retreat south.  Elrond smiled as he heard the cries of war as the Blue and Gold Companies welcomed the enemy with their swords and bows drawn.

The fight before the city was intense, yet Elrond was unable to break the defenses enough to make it across the river.  They fought into the night, but their might was soon diminished as casualties increased and word arrived that the Blue and Gold companies had pushed north, killing a great many of their enemy, but now were fleeing west themselves to rejoin Elrond, enemy reinforcements at their backs. Elrond ordered his forces to retreat slightly, then made his way with Glorfindel to meet with the captains.

To Elrond’s surprise, though the Blue and Gold companies had taken heavy casualties as well, they had also added a few elves to their number.

“Celeborn!” said Elrond, and walking forward, he pulled his former mentor into an embrace. “I am sorry; we were too late.”

“Even together we could not have withstood the army Sauron has built,” replied Celeborn grimly. “But I am glad you have come. Now, however, you must decide what here you are willing to fight for. The city is lost.”

“Aye, it is,” agreed Elrond.  “We fight only to retrieve those of your people we can.  Our Red Company is at the back gates of the city as well, helping with the evacuation.”

“My lord, we should move north as quickly as possible,” said the Gold Company captain.  “Scouts report enemy movement to our south, with what appears to be a many fingered tactic to snare us in an iron grip this side of the river.”

Dawn was breaking as Elrond commanded his troops to withdraw from battle and head north. His eyes were drawn unconsciously to the city, and on this morn the banner of Eregion was gone.  To their horror, what was now lashed to the pole was a body of an elf, peppered with orc arrows.

“Celebrimbor,” said Celeborn, and he bowed his head. “Sauron has what he came for.”

“Come!” shouted Glorfindel. “The enemy is nearly upon us! Go! Go north!”

The elves fled north, crossing the river wherever they could and leaving the bridge for the wagons bearing the wounded.  As they fled around the city they found a remnant of the Red Company fighting Sauron’s forces as they attempted to follow those escaping the city. At Glorfindel’s call, they too abandoned the fight and raced north.

Elrond lagged to the rear of the fleeing elves, leaving Celeborn to lead the refugees of the city at the front of the line.  He watched as orcs and Men emerged from the river, and the distance between the groups closed.  With women, children, wounded and supplies, the elves could not flee faster than they were.  Torn, he looked back at the approaching enemies, and drew his sword.  To stop and fight would be a last ditch effort and mean certain death, but it would buy time for the others to find refuge in the mountains. If they kept going, the enemy would overtake them, and the weakest among them would die, along with anyone who attempted to help them.

“To me!” yelled Elrond, lifting his sword high.

He felt a shoulder brush his and saw the familiar golden hair from the corner of his eye, then the swish of air as another blade was drawn.

“To Elrond!” shouted Glorfindel.

When nearly half of their uninjured warriors stood with them, Glorfindel send word for Celeborn to continue with the rest.  Elrond felt tears prickle at his eyes as he heard a father send his warrior son on to protect the refugees, and as the elf fell in behind him he heard him say, “His children are so young. Forgive me; I wanted one last chance for him.”  Elrond reached behind him and clasped the elf’s hand in support.

They did not rush out to meet the enemy, but let the enemy come to them.  Their archers began shooting what arrows they had remaining, but soon they were in hand-to-hand combat. Elrond fought as if he had nothing to lose, and in reality he did not.  Their lives were already forfeit. Flashes of gold told him that Glorfindel still protected his back, but as he swirled to stab at one orc and then another, he heard a grunt of pain. As soon as the fight allowed, he looked and saw that his protector had fallen.  Fighting his way the few feet to where Glorfindel lay sprawled face down in the mud, Elrond stood before him, determined that no further blows would descend nor would any orc desecrate the body while he still drew breath.

His arm wearied and he grew tired, minor wounds sapping his energy, and he soon hardened himself to the cries of those dying around him. He could not spare anyone from pain; he could not stop their deaths.  They had come to die, and die they would.  A blow caught him along the shoulder and a cry escaped him, though he did not drop his sword. He swung his sword again, amazed when the heavy blade met only air for resistance.  He focused eyes blurry with sweat and blood to look beyond the few feet in front of him and realized the enemy had thinned.  Suddenly, he realized the enemy was turning and running in the other direction.

“Elrond!”

Elrond tried to focus on whoever was calling his name, but his vision and hearing had dimmed and he realized he was losing blood quickly. He recognized Erestor’s face as he slumped to the ground and wondered where the scout had been, but then darkness claimed him and he knew no more.

* * *

“Has he awakened?”

Elrond heard the voice asking the question, but his mouth refused to aid him by asking who was sleeping.

“No, but the bleeding has stopped and his color has improved.  Let him sleep, for when he does wake and feel the pain of these wounds he will wish for the oblivion of sleep.”

Elrond attempted to turn his head, but a searing pain shot though his shoulder.  His mind was just coherent enough for him to realize that if he was in such pain, then he was likely the one being talked about. Gratified that at least that meant he did not have to answer, he let his head relax again, and realized it was pressed against someone’s chest when he recognized the familiar beating of a heart. Voices spoke above him.

“How is your head?”

“Throbs. Good thing I have hair to hide what is surely a grotesquely misshapen head. Are they in pursuit?”

“Yes, but we have several leagues on them now. Let me carry him for a while.”

“No,” came the firm answer, and Elrond felt himself shifted as gently as possible, though the movement still sent a piercing pain along his side. “You have proven yourself as the consummate strategist in this fight, Erestor.  My brain is good for little right now, but my muscles can carry Elrond.  Scout ahead and determine our course.”

“The march will be long, but I hope to make the Hollin Ridge by sunup. That will offer us some protection and shield us from watchful eyes,” replied Erestor.  “Drink this first, Glorfindel, then I will go.”

Elrond felt them stop and heard the sounds of Glorfindel drinking something above his head, but a moment later he realized that if Glorfindel was drinking, it meant Glorfindel was also alive. In his excitement, he tried again to move his head, but the searing pain returned. He felt Glorfindel’s hands trying to steady him.

“Elrond, do not try to move,” came the gentle voice of a good friend. When Elrond immediately stilled, Glorfindel continued. “Can you take some water?”

Elrond felt the cool trickle of water on his lips and eagerly accepted the drops cautiously spilled between them. He doubted water had ever tasted as good as it did at that moment. Swallowing was hard, but whoever was pouring the water was using the utmost care, and the drops seemed to slide down his parched throat at just the right flow.

“Thank..you…” he croaked hoarsely.

“Do not talk,” answered Erestor. “I will check on you when you reach camp.”

Elrond slid back into dreams as the steady footsteps carried him to the rhythm of the steady heartbeat at his cheek.

* * *

Elrond opened his eyes, focusing on the shadows of leaves in the tree canopy above him.  It was still dark, although the stars did not seem to be visible, and it took him a few moments to realize it was early morning and the sun, though not yet visible, was just rising beyond the mountains to their east.  Remembering how much it had hurt to turn his head, he tried to move only his eyes, and reached out with one hand to feel around him. Golden hair was barely visible, but the pale light that came from the one the hair belonged to could be none other than Glorfindel. He had not dreamed it, then. Glorfindel was alive.

“I am glad to see you awake.”

Elrond looked up and saw Erestor kneeling next to him, a water bottle in hand.  He carefully lifted Elrond’s head and dribbled the precious drops down his throat. Elrond realized the pain was relieved in his head, though he could feel injuries on other parts of him.  Yet, none of that was important right now.  He was alive, Glorfindel was alive, and he wanted to know what happened.

“King Durin and King Amdir sent their armies out from Moria, and they attacked Sauron from the rear,” explained Erestor. “Sauron was enraged, and he chased them back to Moria, but the dwarves and Lorinand elves made it back inside and shut the doors against him.  Not even Sauron could open those doors, so great was the Dwarven spell placed on them. He cursed them, but could do nothing. He suffered heavy losses in that sneak attack, for he was not expecting resistance from the rear.  His forces pursue us again, but we are leagues ahead.”

Elrond nodded his understanding, then decided to try to force his voice to work.

“Celebrimbor?” he managed, trusting Erestor to understand what he was asking.

Celeborn appeared then, and sat down next to Elrond.   “Some of the refugees are members of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain,” he explained.  “Celebrimbor would not leave the city, and when Sauron’s forces broke through, the Mírdain was initially left untouched. Celebrimbor knew why – he knew that Annatar would come for him himself.  When Sauron came, Celebrimbor withstood him on the steps of the compound, blocking his passage and they exchanged harsh words. Celebrimbor was truly enraged that Annatar had deceived him and betrayed him, and Sauron laughed in his face. He demanded the rings and Celebrimbor refused.  At Sauron’s command, Orcs came and overpowered Celebrimbor, and it was Sauron who led them inside.  He ransacked the workshop, but could not find the rings.  Under torture, Celebrimbor finally told him the location of the Nine.  The elf who witnessed this does not know what became of the Seven, but it was the Three that Sauron most wanted.  Celebrimbor told him they were far from his reach and would always remain so.  Sauron taunted him, asked if he had destroyed them, but Sauron knew Celebrimbor could not destroy the work of his hands any more than Annatar could have.  The torture continued, but Celebrimbor remained silent.  Sauron left for a time, and our source crawled from hiding to aid Celebrimbor.  He was unable to pull Celebrimbor into hiding, but he heard Celebrimbor’s last words before Sauron returned with his orc archers and filled his body with arrows.

Celeborn paused and took a deep breath. “We were not there, Elrond, and so cannot know what the Noldor felt when they heard the Curse and Doom pronounced on them as they marched from Valinor. But Celebrimbor was. He repeated those words,

‘To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever…

. . . And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.'

‘The curse has followed me, despite my renouncing of the oath, and the Valar will not remove the curse from my head.  We all grow weary of the world, but the three would have slowed that weariness. They would allow us to preserve and protect the land we love, and create beauty that does not decay. The Valar may not renounce our Doom, but the Three were our chance to lessen it, to counter the doom and live here as we wished, to have a little piece of Valinor here in Middle-earth. . .’

“Those were his final words, for Sauron commanded him to plead for his life, but Celebrimbor would not.  He died with his regrets, but what dignity he had he held on to until the end,” finished Celeborn.

“Did Sauron learn where the Three were hidden?” asked Elrond hoarsely.

“He did not learn from Celebrimbor, but he is smart enough to guess where Celebrimbor may have sent them,” said Celeborn with a resigned air.

“My lords,” interrupted one of the captains, his eyes and address encompassing Elrond, Celeborn and Glorfindel, who had listened to Celeborn’s words as well, “Erestor sends word that we must be resume our journey within the hour.”

The three elf-lords nodded their agreement. An hour later, the wounded were loaded into wagons or carried by the uninjured, children were placed atop broad shoulders, and the ragged elves continued their journey northward.

~ ~ ~* * * ~ ~ ~

Soft weeping could be heard as Elrond finished his part of the story, and Elrond drew Arwen into his arms as she ran her hands up and down his arms and chest, as if ensuring he was well. Glorfindel rose and retrieved his small harp from his things, and then sat on the log beside Erestor. He began to sing as he plucked softly at the strings, and silence fell over the camp as the tenor voice rose in harmony with the instrument.  Elrond watched the tension fall from Erestor as he relaxed, and noted the same effect on the others. The music carried them all beyond the riverbanks on which they were camped, floods and memories of war forgotten, as Glorfindel sang of Elvenhome. Word pictures of Valmar, the city of the Valar, were drawn behind closed eyelids, and the beauty and healing of the gardens of Lorien blossomed around them. The white ships of the Teleri at Alqualondë shone in the sunlight, their sails caught in the breeze as sea creatures dove in the waves off their prows.  The beaches of white sand glittered like jewels, and indeed if one looked closely a precious gem was likely to appear. The Pelóri Mountains rose above the shores, Taniquetil marble white and shining brilliantly in the sun.

As Glorfindel’s voice faded, only the natural sounds of their camp could be heard, the trickle of water flowing from a nearby stream and the calls of birds as they sang their appreciation for the golden bird in their midst and the song he had graced them with. Elrond finally opened his eyes, heavy though they were in relaxation.  To his surprise, he saw tear falling silently down Galadriel’s face. Celeborn, who had avoided her most of the day, now sat behind her, and she leaned against his chest, her head lying back on his shoulder, and Elrond suddenly realized that the song had made her long for home. Her inner light shone brightly, however, as if awakened by the scenes that her mind’s eye had never forgotten.

His gaze shifted to Glorfindel then, and he saw that the warrior was also shining more brightly than normal. One hand gently stroked the dark head of the one sitting at his feet, but no tears stained his face.  Instead he appeared proud and joyful and strong, filled with purpose and love.  The comfort of his touch seemed to flow into Erestor, who, though he hid his sorrow well, had been deeply affected by the remembrance of the death and slaughter he had seen in those years.

Glorfindel began another song, as none seemed ready to leave circle of the fire.  Instead, they sat together long into the night.

* * * * *

Many thanks to all who are reading and especially to those who have reviewed and sent me emails wondering where the next chapter is!  This was by far the most difficult chapter to write, but I hope this look at the rings and the events of the War in Eregion were worth waiting for.

A/N: The following passage from Unfinished Tales, The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, form the basis for the war story. (p. 239 of my version).

When news of this reached Gil-galad he sent out a force under Elrond Half-elven; but Elrond had far to go, and Sauron turned north and made at once for Eregion. The scouts and vanguard of Sauron's host were already approaching when Celeborn made a sortie and drove them back; but though he was able to join his force to that of Elrond they could not return to Eregion, for Sauron's host was far greater than theirs, great enough both to hold them off and closely to invest Eregion. At last the attackers broke into Eregion with ruin and devastation, and captured the chief object of Sauron's assault, the House of the Mírdain, where were their smithies and their treasures. Celebrimbor, desperate, himself withstood Sauron on the steps of the great door of the Mírdain; but he was grappled and taken captive, and the House was ransacked. There Sauron took the Nine Rings and other lesser works of the Mírdain; but the Seven and the Three he could not find. Then Celebrimbor was put to torment, and Sauron learned from him where the Seven were bestowed. This Celebrimbor revealed, because neither the Seven nor the Nine did he value as he valued the Three; the Seven and the Nine were made with Sauron's aid, whereas the Three were made by Celebrimbor alone, with a different power and purpose…..

In black anger he turned back to battle; and bearing as a banner Celebrimbor's body hung upon a pole, shot through with Orc-arrows, he turned upon the forces of Elrond. Elrond had gathered such a few of the Elves of Eregion as had escaped, but he had no force to withstand the onset. He would indeed have been overwhelmed had not Sauron host been attacked in the rear; for Durin sent out a force of Dwarves from Khazad-dûm, and with them came Elves of Lórinand led by Amroth. Elrond was able to extricate himself, but he was forced away northwards, and it was at that time [in the year 1697, according to the Tale of Years] that he established a refuge and stronghold at Imladris (Rivendell). Sauron withdrew the pursuit of Elrond and turned upon the Dwarves and the Elves of Lórinand, whom he drove back; but the Gates of Moria were shut, and he could not enter. Ever afterwards Moria had Sauron's hate, and all Orcs were commanded to harry Dwarves whenever they might.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 23: The Hidden Valley

Arwen was still subdued the next morning, and she clung to Elrond, eating only when he coaxed her.

“Sweetheart, what is wrong?” he asked.

Tears filled her eyes and she flung her arms about his neck. “You were hurt, Ada, and Glorfindel had to carry you,” she sobbed into his neck.

“Arwen, that was long ago,” he reassured her. “Do you feel my arms around you? Do you feel my heartbeat against your chest?” He felt her nod her head against him. “I am sorry we ended the story when we did,” he apologized. “Glorfindel did carry me again that day, but by that night I could walk some. I was fortunate to have Glorfindel protecting me.”

Arwen pulled away from him, her eyes opening wide. “When Glorfindel goes with Elladan and Elrohir, does he protect them that same way? Would he guard their backs and carry them if they were wounded?”

Elrond smiled. “Yes, Arwen, he would.  And he would protect you and your naneth, too.”

Watching his daughter process this information made Elrond smile, for she had clearly related it to her anger and jealousy many days earlier, when she had been angry with Glorfindel for taking her brothers away from her.  She was seeing Glorfindel in a new way, and Elrond suddenly found he was looking forward to Glorfindel teaching Arwen as he had the twins.

“What happened next, Ada?  Did Erestor find a place for you to go that was safe?” asked Arwen curiously, as she wiped away her tears and brushed her hair back from her face.

“Erestor scouted ahead, finding places for us to hide from the enemy, for we had families and children and wounded who could not move as fast as the warriors, and who could not fight.”

“But where did you go?  Where did you sleep and what did you eat?” persisted Arwen.

Elrond studied her for a moment, deciding how much he would tell her of this time. His daughter had a very sharp mind, but also a very generous and loving heart, and she felt the grief and hurts of others deeply. But she was also a very persistent child, seeking answers to her questions, and he knew if she did not hear from him what happened, she would seek the information elsewhere.   In this and other ways, she had much in common with Elrohir.

“Erestor!” called Arwen as the advisor walked past them, and Elrond grimaced as he realized he had already waited too long. Erestor approached them with a smile that was truly reserved for Arwen and Celebrían, and Elrond rolled his eyes as he recognized the look, for it had appeared on Erestor’s face the first time he had laid eyes on Arwen as a newborn and fallen in love with her. “Please tell me about what happened when you led the army and all the refugees away from Sauron. I was asking Ada, but I just remembered that he was injured and might not know.”

Erestor smiled indulgently, sitting down beside them with his morning meal. “We are near the Swanfleet, and this morning we will cross the bridge at Tharbad and then turn north towards home, following much the same way that we fled back then, only we won’t be hiding and planting ambushes for those following us. We will tell you about it as we go.  But do not fear for your adar: his wound healed quickly and he remembers well all that happened.”

Arwen frowned at him. “Adar was being carried by Glorfindel because he was hurt,” she argued.

Elrond was about to reply, puzzled by her refusal to accept both his and Erestor’s reassurances, when Elrohir gracefully plopped down beside them. Elrond could not help but smile at his son’s acrobatics as he coordinated his crutch and breakfast perfectly.

“I think I understand what concerns Arwen,” announced Elrohir, and he bent over and kissed her as she turned hopeful eyes to him. “We do not remember everything that happened while we were injured. Arwen remembers little before Adar came and I remember even less.”

Suddenly, Elrond understood. With no other experiences but their own to relate to, they thought he would not remember either. “I was not so young as you, sweetheart, nor so injured as Elrohir,” he explained. “I was weak from blood loss and in pain from the injury, but within just a few days I was back to normal.”

“We did worry about Glorfindel, though,” said Erestor seriously, but his eyes were twinkling. “He was not the same after that blow to the head.”

“How so?” rumbled Glorfindel as he towered over Erestor.

Erestor looked up at the warrior calmly.  “Ask again at the end of the day, my friend, if it is not obvious to all.”

Glorfindel snorted, but did not answer, and Elrond met his eyes a moment later. Though they would not speak of it, they did agree: it was Erestor who was not the same again.

* * *

“Naneth, look at the swans!” cried Arwen.

Elrond looked ahead to where Arwen rode with Elladan, but she was no longer seated sedately in front of him.  She was standing on the horse’s back, held securely by her brother’s arm about her waist. Her eyes were wide with amazement as she looked at the large white birds swimming at the edges of the marsh named for them.

“We have had to travel so far west because of the flood that we could not see them until now,” said Elrond to Elrohir, who again rode in front of him. This time, however, Elrohir balanced himself and his cast without aid. “The floods have widened the marshes far beyond their normal borders, but it appears that in the calmer edges even the cygnets can swim safely.”

“They have babies!”

Elrond and Elrohir laughed at Arwen’s squeal of delight as she spotted the family as well.  At that moment, several swans took flight, flying low over them and south to the sea. As they flew over her head Arwen lifted both of her hands to them, as if she could touch them. She was not disappointed, however, for a moment later a long white feather drifted down, settling on to her palm.

They were nearing the city gates of Tharbad, and the bridge that would cross the river that had so thwarted them. The same young guard was on duty this day who had been there when Garthon, Celeborn and Galadriel’s party, and then Erestor and Celebrían’s group had passed through the city.  He allowed them to pass without stopping, his eyes fixed on Galadriel and Celebrían, who rode side by side.  No sooner had they passed him by when he laid eyes upon Arwen, and a star struck smile covered his face.  Elrond watched as Arwen met his eyes and smiled in return.

“He looks awe-struck,” said Elrohir, amused.

“Few mortals have ever seen a child of the Eldar,” Elrond reminded him. “He thinks her to be just out of her toddler years by her size, yet her grace is of one with more than the twelve summers she has lived.”

“Arwen is a beautiful child,” said Elrohir. Then he growled, “I suppose it will take all of us to chase away her suitors as she comes of age.”

Elrond laughed. “We can take guard shifts by her door! I suspect, however, that in the future, much as now, when Arwen makes up her mind about something, there will be little to deter her.”

They crossed the bridge after a short wait while Erestor spoke to the Captain of the guard for the city. Elrond heard murmuring from some of the humans near him, and heard his name mentioned along with other leaders of the Battle of the Last Alliance. He met the eyes of all who looked upon him, and felt compassion stir inside him for these people whose ancestors he had fought with at Dagorlad.  How confusing it must be for them to see elves who were both in their present and part of their past.  He had seen paintings they revered of their leaders of old, and the elves caught in those portraits were as unchanged as the artist’s hand allowed.

They left the south road that led to the southern kingdoms of the Dúnedain, and headed north along the little used trails. Dwarves still used the paths on occasion, as well as men, but only a few bricks of what had been there during the years of Ost-in-Edhil’s existence now remained.  Elrond paused as he reached the top of the ridge, looking down upon the Glanduin River and the ruins of the city.

“It was from this ridge that you led the charge into battle,” said Elrohir softly, and Elrond felt his son’s hand wrap around his own.

“It was,” answered Elrond. Glorfindel and Erestor had stopped beside him, and all three looked down at what had been their battlefield.  For a moment, Elrond could see the battalion of orcs challenging him; hear their cries for blood and death. Flames leapt from the city walls and Celebrimbor’s arrow-riddled body hung from the pole. Forcing the sounds and images from his mind, he nudged Alagos forward.  The rest of the party fell into line behind Elrond, as he naturally assumed the role of leader again. The horse walked slowly at first, then increased to a trot, his tail swishing proudly behind them.  They walked over fields where so many had died, then crossed the bridge over the Glanduin and followed the stone path to where the city gates once stood.

They rode through the town, Celebrían dismounting near the crumbling foundation of the city fountain where she had played as a child. She took Arwen by the hand and led her around the square, telling her of playing with Narusel there and pointing out where her friends’ families had lived. Elrond had never been to the city ruins with Celebrían, and he dismounted and trailed after her, listening as she told their children of her memories. They picked their way past crumbled brick overgrown with brush, and several times Celebrían stopped to consider where she was.

“Our house was here,” she finally called, flashing a smile at Elrond as her parents joined her at what had been their garden entrance.  There was little left of the foundation, but she seemed certain, and Celeborn and Galadriel seemed to agree this was their home.

Elrond listened to their children asking Celebrían questions, Celeborn and Galadriel answering as well, and he was pleased to hear laughter as fond memories were recalled. The only home he had lost that he remembered was Balar, and it was taken by the sea. He had never had a chance to go back to it or see any remnant of the life he had had there.

A larger ruin to the east caught his attention, and he stepped carefully through the permanent debris that hindered his way. The building stood alone, the river to one side and a road leading into the mountains at her back.  A grassy area fairly free of debris lay          before the remnants of an arch and stair.  Elrond knew that he had found the compound of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.  He climbed carefully up the cracked and crumbling brick stairs, moving with care around the arch that looked like a stiff wind could blow over.  No roof remained, and few walls, but Elrond wandered through what was there.

His thoughts drifted to Vilya, where it hung silent at his side. He placed his hand over the pouch, and directed his thought to the band inside. This is where you were made. Do you sense your creator here? Or the one who would have you, if he could? He felt the light humming vibration of response beneath his fingers as Vilya came to life.  Satisfaction flowed through him as he felt the ring respond to him, only to him.

“Celebrimbor’s workshop was here on the back of the compound.  Some of these blackened stones might be remnants of his forge.”

Elrond stepped around a pillar and walked to where Celeborn was sifting through black stones upon what appeared to be a sort of hearth.  Crumbling a chunk of soot into black dust, Celeborn then let the particles blow off his palm and away from them.  Elrond did not need to hear words to know what his father-in-law was thinking: his wish that the same fire that produced that final soot had also melted the rings made earlier in that same forge.  Yet there was no point in verbalizing what was not and could not be.

They walked without speaking away from the ruins, joining the others near what had been the rear gate of the city.   They mounted again, but Elrond fell slightly behind his family, preferring to watch and listen rather than be part of their discussion.  The love he bore for Celebrían welled up within him as he listened to her, and he could not think of a picture he treasured more than the one before him now.  Their children were asking questions and listening as she told them about what the city had been like, and the younger guards had also drawn close, some having had family there, for they were seeing the city through the eyes of someone who had been young when she lived there and told stories from a perspective they could relate to.  Surrounded by her audience, even if they were on horseback, she was like a much-adored queen holding court.

“Erestor, will we camp tonight where you did that night you fled the city?” called Arwen.

Erestor looked at the position of the sun before answering. “If we move along a little faster, yes,” he replied.

The horses seemed to quicken their pace without instruction, and by early evening they did reach the Hollin Ridge.  As camp was set up, Elrond saw Arwen sit down next to Glorfindel.

“Are you very strong, Glorfindel?” she asked.

A bright smile crossed the warrior’s face.  “I suppose I am,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you carried Ada a very long way. I think you must be as strong as a horse,” replied Arwen, her face intent.

“Hmmm…” pondered Glorfindel.  “I suppose that would depend on the horse.” Picking her up, he settled her into his lap, and she leaned back against his chest contentedly. “Now you I could carry for a very long time, because you are as light as a butterfly.”

Arwen giggled. “Glorfindel, you are very silly.”

“I am not silly,” answered Glorfindel.  He lifted her arms so they were straight out from her sides.  “See your wings?  And is a butterfly not beautiful, like you?”

“Did you carry Ada the next day too?” she deftly changed the subject.

Elrond nearly laughed aloud.  This child was persistent! Not only persistent, but she could charm a Balrog, or at least, a Balrog-slayer.

“Adar, she should come with a warning attached,” complained Elladan.  “Did you see how easily she charmed him?”

“That is what he deserves for flirting with her,” replied Galadriel as she joined them.  She smiled at Elladan, and then tugged gently on one of his braids.  “You were just as charming.  It was difficult to refuse you anything as a child, and that has not lessened much since you have become such a fine adult.”

As Galadriel maneuvered Elladan away from them, Elrond was sure his son had just grown another inch. He turned to Celeborn. “The blame for all of this rests entirely with you.”

“How so?” asked Celeborn, the glint in his eye evidence he already knew the answer.

“You married her,” said Elrond, one eyebrow arching as Galadriel looked over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. He pointed at his wife, “bore that one, and mine has simply inherited the trait.”

Celeborn laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.  “Accept it, my son, and your life will remain blissful.”

Everyone had gathered near the fire for evening meal by then, and as cook served them Arwen announced, “Erestor and Glorfindel are going to continue the story!”

“We continued north, not sure where we were fleeing to, but what we were fleeing from was clear, for the enemy pursued us…” began Glorfindel.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Let me walk,” demanded Elrond irritably.

Sighing in frustration, Glorfindel released Elrond’s legs, but kept a firm grip on his shoulders and upper body. Elrond’s feet hit the ground, he grunted in pain, and Glorfindel gritted his teeth as the half-elf struggled to stand.  Slipping his arm lower around Elrond’s waist, Glorfindel helped him to stay upright and eased the pressure he knew he was putting on Elrond’s injured shoulder.  After a few moments, some color returned to Elrond’s face and he bore more of his weight on his own feet.

“Blasted stubborn half-elf,” muttered Glorfindel, as Elrond took a few steps.

“How far behind?” asked Elrond as he tried to turn his head, wincing at the pain.

“Erestor says we have nearly a day’s lead now. Sauron’s troops chased the elves and dwarves back to Moria, but then had to regroup and wait for their supplies to catch up,” replied Glorfindel.  He knew he was repeating things Elrond already knew, but he wasn’t sure how much Elrond remembered. “Celeborn has led one sortie back to take out a small group that was following.”

Elrond’s head jerked up at that. “He is well,” responded Glorfindel. “He is coordinating with Erestor, who has scouts ahead of us and watchers behind us.”

Elrond stopped, his eyes turned north again as he stared into the mountains. “We need to find a place we can make a permanent camp.”

Glorfindel could not help the height to which his eyebrows raised at that statement. “If Ost-in-Edhil could not be held, why do you think any camp we can make can be held?”

Elrond turned slowly to face him. “We cannot go south, for the enemy is there. We cannot return to Lindon, for the enemy is between us and the way west.  There is only so far North we can go before the territory becomes too inhospitable and too dangerous.  The Misty Mountains are a formidable structure to have at our backs, if we can find a niche that makes the back defensible. Tall cliffs to our back, a water source, and something between any enemy and us.  Hidden, it must be hidden.”

Elrond’s voice had faded as he spoke, and at first Glorfindel thought pain and exhaustion were overcoming him.  Instead, Elrond seemed lost in thought, as if he were seeing something the rest of them could not.  “Where is Erestor?”

“Scouting, but he will return this evening. He is not convinced you are well yet,” replied Glorfindel with a smile.

Elrond did not answer, but instead had turned to look south. He took a few steps, still a little wobbly, and Glorfindel moved near to stand at his side. Following Elrond’s gaze, Glorfindel realized immediately what he was looking at.

“We cannot leave the wagons; there are too many wounded,” said Glorfindel as swept one foot over the marks left by the wagon wheels.

Elrond nodded his agreement. “Then we must obliterate our trail, or leave alternate trails as well.” He gazed up at the mountains again. “A rock slide might be helpful.”

“We can do that,” spoke a young voice from behind them.

Glorfindel had heard the child’s approach, and now turned to face the young elf.  He was young, still years from his majority, but Glorfindel had seen the youngster working hard about the camp and on the trail. Behind him were two other children: one female child who looked to be around the same age and a slightly younger male.  They had helped serve food, clean up, tend the injured, fletch arrows, and sharpen blades. They looked at Glorfindel and Elrond in all seriousness, and Glorfindel could see the earnestness of their offer.

“What would you do?” asked Elrond.

The young elf pointed up to the ridge Elrond had been looking at.  “There are many loose rocks on this cliff.  We cleared many out of the way of the wagons this morning, so they are not stable.” He paused, thinking. “With long sticks pushing some of the big rocks, I think much more could fall.  We would be safe if we stood on that lip while we did it. If we were not able to do it, we would find the trail leader to obtain help.”

Elrond smiled at the young elves.  They were clearly quite serious.

“We set traps and ambushes all about the city,” said the elleth shyly. “We are too young to fight, but not too young to help.”

Glorfindel felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench as sorrow flooded over him. Children should never have to be this serious or spend the years of their youth learning such things.  Yet here they were, offering to do whatever they could to help. A sudden memory came to him, long forgotten since his rebirth, of his own father speaking such words about Glorfindel’s youth when he had crossed the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë with the exiled Noldor elves.

“What are your names?” asked Elrond kindly.

“I am Athranen, that is Eirien and her cousin Angren.  I speak for myself, for my parents have gone to the Halls of Mandos.” The young elf thrust his chin out defiantly, but Glorfindel noticed the tremble of his lip. “Eirien’s mother is tending the wounded. She will speak for Eirien and Angren.”

Glorfindel turned his gaze to the youngest of the three, who had remained silent thus far, and was met by sorrow filled eyes.  He reached a hand out and smoothed tussled hair back from the youth’s forehead. “I am sorry, Angren,” he said gently, recognizing that this child also was an orphan.

Angren leaned against Eirien but did not reply; yet he also did not withdraw from Glorfindel’s touch.

“I am Elrond, herald to King Gil-galad, and I accept your service on his behalf,” replied Elrond formally. All three children straightened, and even Angren’s eyes brightened. Elrond looked at Glorfindel for a moment, and Glorfindel nodded slightly. “You will report directly to Lord Glorfindel.  He is the chief captain of this force and will provide you with your orders.  I expect you to obey him.  You must bring your ideas to him, once you have soundly considered them, before implementing them.”

“Aye, Sir,” replied Athranen, bowing slightly. Eirien nodded and bowed too.

“Aye, Sir,” said Angren, but though his words were directed at Elrond, his eyes never left Glorfindel.

Glorfindel smiled again at the children, then motioned for them to wait for him. Taking Elrond by the arm, he maneuvered him to a nearby rock. Elrond sank down on it gratefully. While his body rested, though, his mind was already at work.  Withdrawing a small bound book and a pencil stub, he began sketching something.  Satisfied that Elrond would rest until he was ready to move forward again, Glorfindel turned his attention to the three youngsters.

“Athranen, I think your idea will work.  Find some branches and give it a try,” he encouraged them.

Glorfindel stood with arms crossed, watching the children go to work. He would normally aid such an endeavor, but he wanted to watch them. The three worked quietly together, sparing few words yet seemingly able to know what the others would do.  They used their strengths to their advantage – Angren, being smallest and lightest, climbed up higher on the ridge and directed where Eirien and Athranen should push.  Athranen was the strongest, and he tackled a large rock that would cause a good-sized slide if shifted.  The weight seemed too much for him, however, but just as Glorfindel was about to climb up to help, Athranen changed positions and motioned Eirien to him.  They worked together, and finally Glorfindel saw the large rock break loose and begin its tumble down the hillside.  Smaller rocks joined it, until a small avalanche was in progress.  The three children stood safe on their solid ridge, watching with satisfied smiles as rocks were strewn across the path below.

Then, like small deer, they disappeared beyond the area of the slide and climbed down on the other side, returning to stand in front of Glorfindel. “Well done,” he praised them.  “The three of you work well together.” The beamed under the praise, and Glorfindel let a moment of silence fall as he studied them. “I shall call you the maethor-nêl, for every troop needs a name. Now, continue on ahead and report back to me with any other possible traps, ambushes or roadblock possibilities you see.”

“Aye, captain!” said Angren and Athranen together, while Eirien nodded shyly, and the three ran off.  Glorfindel watched them go, leaving no tracks, but he did hear Angren repeat their name with pride: Warriors Three.

Elrond’s eyes were closed when Glorfindel returned to him. He touched the half-elf gently on the shoulder, using the opportunity to check the wound. Elrond did not react, though, deep in thought.  In the small stitched book before him was a detailed woodland scene, a massive cliff climbing above a small green area that was surrounded by rivers and waterfalls.  It met the requirements that Elrond had listed earlier. If such a position existed, Glorfindel decided, it would be defensible.

“This is where we are going,” said Elrond finally. He stretched his arm, flexing the bandage on his shoulder and back, then shook his head, as if ridding it of unwanted thoughts. He reached for Glorfindel’s arm, using the warrior for balance as he stood. He had sketched a second copy on a small piece of parchment, and this he now handed to Glorfindel. “Give this to Erestor.”

“What, no map?” teased Glorfindel, as he turned the paper over in his hands. When Elrond did not respond, he continued. “Is this an ideal, Elrond, or a vision?”

“I can see it,” replied Elrond, “but we must find it. It is well hidden and will protect us from the enemy. Yet we have need for haste. We must reach it soon or we will be overtaken.”

Glorfindel carefully folded the sketch and slid it into a pocket inside his tunic. “Come. Only the rear watch remains behind us.” Elrond resumed walking, but after nearly a half league he did not object when Glorfindel slipped an arm about his shoulder to help support him.

* * *

Erestor climbed as high into the tree as the branches had strength to hold him and foliage to conceal him.  Their camp lay below him, silent and dark. Despite his exhaustion, Elrond had worked for hours to provide relief to the wounded, easing their pain and helping them to sleep through the long watch of the night.  Now he slept, his own guardian keeping watch over him. Glorfindel keeps watch over more than just Elrond this night, though, he thought. 

As the camp had bedded down, a child had appeared in the shadows near where Elrond and Glorfindel had laid their bedrolls. He sat on his heels, waiting, until the two had returned and settled in for the night. Erestor was completing his own reconnaissance of the camp in preparation for the next day, his eye straying often to the elfling as he sat in the undergrowth. Glorfindel had been immediately aware of the child’s presence, Erestor knew.  The warrior had finally looked right at the elfling, then motioned for him to come sit at his side.  The child had come forward willingly, sitting down a few feet from the warrior, and he had looked at Glorfindel out of dark brown eyes so full of sorrow that Erestor had to look away. He had never seen that look prior to this war; now he feared it was the only look he would ever see again.

He had seen too many people die.  Children killed before their parents; parents forced to watch their children slaughtered before them.  He had learned that in grief, humans and elves looked alike. Their eyes carried the same sorrow. He supposed the same horrors filled their memories.

Glorfindel had offered the child a drink, and while few words had been spoken, the child had gradually closed the distance between them, finally drifting into sleep with his head resting against Glorfindel’s side.  Eirien’s mother came in search of her nephew, but she had not taken the child, instead returning with his blanket. Not long after, the older child, Athranen, had also materialized out of the night, silently lying down on his blanket next to his friend.  He lay stiffly until the same strong hand that had stroked the hair back from Angren’s face reached to him, and the soothing touch of that fatherly hand sent him into sleep as well.

Erestor had watched Eirien’s mother return to the wounded, where she would take what rest she could find between serving their needs.  Her eyes were lifeless; the only thing keeping her in this world was the love she bore for her daughter.  Her husband and son were dead and while the physical wounds she had earned in her own brave fight to help her daughter escape the city were healing, Erestor did not know if her fëa could be healed.

And so he had sought escape in the trees, alone with his thoughts.  While scouting and planning their route were his responsibility and this spot was a perfect lookout, he did not lie to himself.  He had to escape, for he could not bear to see the pain in the eyes of the children, and the tenderness Glorfindel was still able to display broke his heart. 

Erestor sat lost in thought until the early morning hours, when a call from one of his watchers caught his attention. He slid to the ground, his mind pulled from its melancholic thoughts as his body leapt into action.  Sounding the call of the preset signal that would notify the guards on duty to rouse the camp, he watched as movement began almost immediately.

“A party of orcs is approaching from the south,” whispered one of the rear watchers as Erestor approached.  “Several hundred.” Erestor nodded, then went in search of Elrond.

He noticed the children at work already, Angren yawning as he loaded bedrolls into a supply wagon, while Athranen began the work of eliminating any sign that anyone had camped there. In a matter of minutes, the caravan was moving.

“Erestor, you must head north,” said Elrond. “We must find that location soon.”

Erestor fingered the drawing in his pocket, then nodded.  “I will find it,” he promised. “I may not be back for several days.”

Elrond clasped his arm. “May Elbereth light your path and guide your steps.”

Erestor looked back only once, while seemingly adjusting a strap on his pack. Celeborn had gathered a small band of warriors about him, the group he would lead south to intercept the enemy.  Elrond would lead the warriors who protected the rear of the party.  Picturing the sketch he had memorized in his mind’s eye, he knew that although he was the least likely to see battle and commanded the smallest party, the success of his mission would likely determine whether they would survive the war.

* * *

Glorfindel paused under a copse of trees, hidden in the canopy of leaves. Celeborn’s patrol had been driven north, outnumbered by the orcs following them, but now as the sun rose, the battle shifted to their favor as the orcs were forced to seek shelter in the darkness of the cliffs. Glorfindel had sent the warriors who were guarding the caravan ahead, and as he watched the orcs breaking off, he waited for Celeborn to call his elves off too and continue the march north.  Each life was too precious to waste even one in unnecessary combat.  He finally heard the call, and the elves abandoned their chase of the orcs.

They ran through the increasingly rough terrain, the high ridges and low valleys, and soon caught up with the main part of the caravan.  The wagons were having an increasingly difficult time getting through the narrow passes and crossing the small but fast flowing streams that flowed down from the mountains.  Checking carefully for signs of any trail, Glorfindel was pleased with the work the three youngsters were doing.  He found he had to look very carefully in places to see evidence of where the group had passed.  Orcs would be less careful, tramping over what little evidence did exist.

The caravan was stopped at the edge of a deep ravine that could not be seen until one was upon it.  The climb down would be dangerous on foot or horseback, and impossible by wagon.  Glorfindel walked to where Elrond was speaking to one of Erestor’s scouts.

“Erestor has left us directions to go east into the mountains, where the ravine narrows and we may cross by building a bridge,” said Elrond.

Glorfindel stepped to the edge of the ravine, a slow smile spreading over his face as he considered how easily one might fall over the edge if not careful.  He saw a mane of silver hair out of the corner of his eye.  “Do you have any fleet footed warriors who can run a rope bridge?” he asked.

Celeborn grinned.  “I do. Myself, among others.  We need to get at least one person across with some rope.”

“We need to see what will take longer – building a bridge or traversing the ravine,” replied Glorfindel.  He felt good suddenly, glad for an opportunity to take offensive action and hurt their enemy sufficiently to give the caravan time to get ahead.

A group of warriors were leading the caravan, and within an hour they found the narrowing of the ravine that Erestor had marked on the map.  Mountain ridges came in at several angles around it, and water flowed off the sides of the cliffs in waterfalls.  The edge of the ravine was muddy and slippery from the water that flowed gently from the higher cliffs and into the deep chasm. The gap in the earth they had to cross was perhaps twelve feet.  Celeborn immediately went in search of grasses that could be mixed with the mud for traction.  As Elrond was giving orders to fell trees tall enough to span the opening, Glorfindel and Celeborn plotted their own tactics.  As Celeborn tramped the grass into the mud and tested his ability to jump from it, Glorfindel located several hundred feet of rope. 

Glorfindel motioned everyone back from the edge of the ravine, and grinned as Celeborn took a running leap, easily clearing the ravine and landing lightly on the other side.  Glorfindel threw the rope across, which Celeborn hung over his shoulder.  With a wave, he headed west again, to the spot they had selected to ambush the orcs. Glorfindel watched as several other warriors jumped over the ravine as well. They set up a rope pulley and began bringing supplies over.  A tug on his sleeve caught his attention, and he turned to see Athranen looking at him. The youth pointed up on one of the cliffs to where Eirien and Angren waited.

“We have an idea,” he said softly.

Content he was not needed elsewhere, Glorfindel nodded and followed the youth.  He climbed the steep cliff easily, noting that the children managed it also without loosening any rocks or disturbing any vegetation.  They began to trot ahead, eager to show him what they had found.  Following the trickling water, they came finally to a heavily wooded area and ducked beneath low hanging tree branches.  Glorfindel followed, emerging finally on the edge of a deep pool.

“A beaver’s dam,” said Athranen.

Glorfindel knew immediately what they planned, and began stripping off his outer clothing.  The three children followed him into the water, and the four began carefully probing along the dam.  “There are several weak spots,” said Glorfindel.  They have only recently completed this.  Look how much thicker the dam is on that side – they have been working here for some time.”

“And the trees on the banks are in the water,” agreed Athranen as he paddled back to the edge of the pool. 

After finishing the inspection, Glorfindel climbed out of the pool, grabbing his clothing and leading the way out of the tree canopy and into the sun.  As the children gathered around him, he said, “Your idea is a fine one, and you have done well finding this spot.  No action must be taken until our people are safely across, for the flow of water will prevent others from making the crossing.”

“Then who will break the dam?” asked Athranen, crushed.

“We have warriors preparing a rope bridge further down the ravine. They will break the dam and then cross on the rope bridge,” explained Glorfindel.  He saw the glint in Athranen’s eyes, and dashed his hopes by adding, “No, you three must cross on the log bridge when it is ready.  Your bravery is not in question, my maethor-nêl. But I would not have you racing on a rope over a deep ravine with orc arrows falling about you.”

They dressed in the warm sun, their bodies and under clothing drying quickly. As they rejoined the elves working on the bridge and the transport of goods across the ravine, Glorfindel noted that the bridge was nearly complete.  Eight logs of approximately the same diameter had been cut and trimmed of their branches, and were being lashed together. Smaller logs had been attached crosswise for support on both top and bottom. They would lower this over the gap, secure it on both sides with ropes tied to thick pins pounded into the side of the end logs, and then begin carefully leading the horses and wagons across.  The three children were already helping prepare for the crossing, so Glorfindel ran back along the edge of the ravine to check on Celeborn’s progress.

He found the rope bridge already in place, and watched in amusement as Celeborn and two of his warriors ran lightly back and forth across it.  Celeborn caught sight of him and stopped about twenty feet from the edge.  “Care to try it, Glorfindel?” he called.

Glorfindel shook his head, laughing.  “I would not get in the way of your fun!” he called back.

Ignoring the mildly insulting remark questioning his gracefulness, Glorfindel instead walked south. It was mid-afternoon, and the orcs would be moving by dusk. Climbing up on to a rock outcropping allowing him an unobstructed view of the lands to the south, he saw movement in the already dark shadows along the west side of the mountains. They were still two to three leagues away.  Glorfindel warbled the look-out call, then waited to hear what the rear watch reported.  Several moments later, a warning was sounded.  Those Glorfindel saw were not elves; they were orcs and they had left their hiding places after only a short rest when they found adequate shadow to travel in.

Glorfindel leapt down from the rocks and raced back to the narrows while Celeborn and his warriors began preparing their ambush, ensuring an adequate trail led the orcs to where they wished them to be.  The ravine trick might be less successful in light than dark, but there was not time to make another plan. As Glorfindel neared the narrows, he knew that the elves working on the log bridge had heard the warning, and though there were no outward signs of fear, their pace had increased.

Glorfindel lent his strength to the lowering of the lashed together logs over the ravine. The make-shift bridge  landed lightly on the opposite side, and the warriors had it secured a moment later.  The fearless warriors who had led the construction walked carefully across it, testing it for sturdiness.  Satisfied, they motioned for the crossing to begin. 

The wagons were nearly empty and already detached from their horses.  Elves pulled the wagons across one by one, then began leading the horses.  The wounded were carried across on canvass stretchers or in the arms of their family and friends.   Calls signaling the progress of the enemy occurred at frequent intervals, and Glorfindel found his senses heightened when he realized they were but a mile away.  The elves had been crossing quickly and efficiently for several hours and he estimated they needed much of the time remaining before the enemy arrived to finish crossing.  Glorfindel heard the tramping of orcs as they approached the narrows.  Not all had followed the easy path, for it was in the sunlight, but had instead stayed in the shadows.  They would be able to cross the ravine by jumping or building their own bridge.

Knowing there was little they could do except send the caravan forward and stay behind to try to kill the orcs as they jumped over, Glorfindel waited, his heart pounding, as the orcs closed in on them while the elves hastened across the bridge.  He thought briefly of the beaver’s dam, but the orcs were so close that by the time all had safely crossed, the enemy would be upon them and all warriors would be needed to fight. A black feathered arrow sailed past him, bouncing on the rock and then falling into the ravine.  He ducked down behind some rocks, and motioned for the elves on the other side to flip the bridge into the ravine.  The remaining guard would have to jump.

“Scout,” hissed the elf as another arrow flew over their heads, landing harmlessly on the stones beyond them. “The others are close behind.”

They heard a grunt and cry, and then the arrows stopped.  Glorfindel looked at his companions in surprise, for none of them had released an arrow yet.  Creeping around the rocks, Glorfindel climbed further up the cliff near the seeping water. To his shock, Angren stood before him, mostly hidden in the canopy of trees. He ran toward him.

Fists clenched at his sides, he had to restrain himself from shaking the child.  Instead he pulled him deeper into the safety of the trees, then knelt beside him.  To his surprise, Angren’s eyes held no fear.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, forcing control into his voice.

Angren merely shook his head and pulled Glorfindel to the pool.  There he found Eirien and Athranen.  Athranen was standing atop the beaver dam, breaking it apart with an axe. Eirien stood guard with her bow drawn and an arrow nocked. She spared Glorfindel only a glance, then returned to scanning the area around the lake for danger.

Even as Glorfindel knew that he should order all three children from the area, he found the idea of obstructing the orcs path appealing.  He warbled a call to the other warriors, and they responded that they would be moving to guard him and the children.  Glorfindel plunged into the water, climbing up on the dam and quickly assessing the young elf’s progress.

“Good work,” he praised him.  Athranen had done major damage to the structure of that part of the dam. He held his hand out for the axe, and Athranen gave it to him.

“Eirien and I have been taking turns, but she is better on watch and I am stronger on the axe,” he admitted. 

Glorfindel took a mighty swing with the axe, bashing a large section of the dam free.  He had to jump to the side as water began flowing through the break.  Behind him Athranen and Angren had climbed back to land.  Glorindel stopped at the area where Angren had been sawing at the branches with one of the large saws that had been used to cut the logs.  Glorfindel put all of his strength behind another blow to the dam, and then jumped free as the structure gave way.  Water poured through the opening, the force tearing larger and larger sections from the dam.  But, as exciting as it was to watch, Glorfindel knew they had to leave before the orcs arrived in force.

“Come!” he called softly.  As Eirien joined them, he slid an arm about her shoulders and asked, “Did you kill that orc?”

She ducked her head, but he could see the curve of her lip and knew she was smiling. “I do not know if I killed him, but I did hit him and he quit shooting arrows at us.”

He squeezed her shoulder and then released her.  The two warriors he had left on guard were motioning to them, and they ran to join them. 

“Look,” said one, pointing back to the cliff.

Water was pouring in torrents off the cliff, loosening dirt and rock and debris and making the narrowed area impassable. “Mission accomplished,” said Glorfindel. “However, now we must all take the rope bridge. Come!”

They raced over the rocky terrain, arriving breathless near where Celeborn waited in ambush.   He waved them across, looking dubiously at Glorfindel as he did so.  Glorfindel quickly grabbed extra lengths of rope and threw them to each child.  They tied an end securely around their middles, and Glorfindel checked the knots.  “Have you crossed on a rope bridge?”

Athranen and Angren nodded, but Eirien said, “Not one that long.  None of us.”

Athranen went first, one of the rear guards following him with the rope in hand.  Eirien followed, moving so lightly and surely that Glorfindel was sure she was born to it.  A second warrior followed her.  Angren hesitated for a moment, and Glorfindel gripped the rope about his waist in hand. “I can carry you, but if you walk I promise not to let you fall.”

Angren nodded and began to walk.  He had gone only a few steps when Celeborn sounded a call to hurry.  Without thinking, Glorfindel tugged on the rope, pulling Angren off his feet and into his arms.  Holding the elfling in his arms, he dashed across the bridge.  Once across he continued to run, until they had caught up with the others over a small hill and out of sight of the enemy.

“I am sorry, Angren,” he apologized to the white-faced child.  “The enemy was approaching.” He released his hold on the child and tried to set him down, but to his surprise, Angren flung both arms about his neck and hung on tightly.

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the child, comforting him, even as he gestured to the others to move.  “We must catch up.”

They had walked through the evening and past sunfall, following the course Glorfindel had determined the caravan was following.  They were spread out over several miles now, and while it appeared the orcs had been stopped, Glorfindel knew it was temporary.  He kept them moving at a swift pace, slowing only when he noticed Eirien beginning to fall behind.  None of the children had spoken, instead concentrating only on keeping moving.  They were tired, though.  Too many nights of too little sleep were beginning to take their toll on still growing bodies.

Glorfindel heard Celeborn approaching from behind, and halted.  Celeborn’s group had been running to catch up but stopped now to tend to the injury of one warrior. 

“Did it work?” asked Athranen eagerly.

Celeborn ruffled his hair affectionately. “Yes, it did.  A good number of orcs followed and are now resting at the bottom of the ravine.  They will need to go down through the ravine to follow us, or spend time searching for another way across, as I understand you flooded the narrows.”

“They will be able to cross there in a day or two,” said Athranen evenly.  “We only bought time.”

“A day or two is a worthy reward. Although,” and Celeborn’s voice became stern, “the last I heard you did not have permission to do it.”

“Not exactly, Sir,” answered Athranen, his eyes now focused on the ground. “Lord Elrond said he wished it could be done, but there was not time and he could not spare warriors to do it. Glorfindel was not there to ask.”

Glorfindel knew his eyebrow had nearly risen off his forehead, and Athranen knew it as well.  The youngster’s shoulders slumped dejectedly, and he waited for judgment to fall upon him. Glorfindel let the silence settle around them as he contemplated what he wished to say. A muffled sob caught his attention, and even in the dark he could see tears streaming down Eirien’s face.

At that moment, Glorfindel knew that if ever he had a daughter, she would have him hopelessly wound around her finger.  In her tears, he saw fear and exhaustion and hopelessness.  They were children; they had disobeyed. What they had done was dangerous, yet also courageous.  They needed to be safe and to sleep and to be loved, not lectured. At least not now, the warrior in him amended.  If the orcs were held off, they would have time to learn all he wished to teach them.

Glorfindel knelt down, Angren asleep in one arm, and with the other he pulled Eirien to him. She collapsed against him, and held on to him as Angren had done, as if he were a lifeline.  Now looking up at Athranen, Glorfindel waited patiently until Athranen returned his gaze.  “Novice warriors make mistakes.  We will work on following orders and making command decisions in combat after we have had opportunity to rest and eat and debrief on this mission.”

Athranen’s lower lip trembled and he blinked hard several times, and Glorfindel knew the young elf was also at the end of his endurance.  It was Celeborn, though, who embraced the youngling, and Athranen relaxed. Glorfindel heard Celeborn whisper in Athranen’s ear, “Your father would be proud of you, young one.  You will be as fine a warrior as he was.”

Celeborn released him, then plucked Eirien from Glorfindel’s arms.  “I will carry you, princess. I used to carry my Celebrían this way, did you know that?” Eirien nodded against his shoulder. She did remember the Lord’s silver haired daughter. She nodded off as Celeborn resumed their journey.

Glorfindel shifted Angren in his arms, wrapped an arm about Athranen, squeezing his shoulders for a moment, and then they too resumed walking.  The caravan had kept moving, as ordered, for they feared the orcs would be right on their heels.  They caught up past the midnight hour, finding them in a very hidden vale that Glorfindel suspected they too would have missed if not for the signals that guided them. As they entered the camp, Eirien’s mother gave a soft cry and dashed forward. Taking her exhausted, sleeping daughter from Celeborn, she slid to the ground, rocking the child as shuddering sobs racked her body. Celeborn sat next to her, silent.

Athranen stumbled over a rock as weariness finally overcame him. Elrond guided him to a bedroll made ready, and pulled off his boots and covered him with a blanket as the elfling fell into deep, exhausted sleep.  Glorfindel laid Angren next to him. He turned once to look at Eirien’ mother, and Celeborn, who now held her hand in his own.

“She was frantic when she realized Eirien and Angren had not crossed the bridge. It is the most emotion anyone has seen out of her since the city fell. She had been holding on to life by only a tenuous thread, and now she has awakened.  She had distanced herself emotionally even from her daughter. Perhaps now she will choose to live again, for Eirien’s sake, but also for her own,” explained Elrond.

Glorfindel studied his charge thoughtfully. Círdan had told him many years before that Elrond was a thoughtful and compassionate elf, seeing the troubles of others and caring about them.  He knew without asking that Elrond had comforted the mother, had spoken to her and helped her see what she needed to see.

“Much good has come of their disobedience,” he said finally.  “The dam was broken and the narrows will be impassable for at least a day or two.”

“I am sure you will gently but firmly whip them into shape,” laughed Elrond. 

* * *

Erestor stood on the expanse of grass staring straight up what looked to be a sheer wall of rock. He knew it was not sheer, for he had explored it, finding a steep winding path that led up the mountain side, branching into many passes and trails. Turning he looked at the rivers and waterfalls that protected the sides of the lawn, and then out and up at the winding and dangerous path he had taken to reach this spot. He still did not know what had prompted him to come this way.  The landscape was very misleading, for it looked like gentle slopes and rolling hills, yet there were deep gorges and valleys and rifts that could not be seen from a distance. He had nearly fallen down a path that he had not seen for he had been looking elsewhere, but decided to see what lay in that valley.   The path was steep and dangerous, requiring a sound foot.  He had nearly turned back once but felt a prompting to continue.  When he had come to the final river, crossed only with difficulty, and climbed the steep bank, he had emerged on this grassy land and felt as if his breath had been stolen away.  He had pulled Elrond’s sketch from his pocket, amazed, for one would have thought that Elrond had stood in the same place Erestor now did to draw what he saw before him.

Clearly the Valar had directed their paths. 

Erestor stopped at the river, collecting as many white stones as he could carry in his pockets and pack.  These he used to mark the trail at points where it twisted and turned and led in other directions that could easily lead them astray.  Then, with light feet, he returned to find the caravan.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“You found it!” exclaimed Arwen, throwing her arms around Erestor’s neck and hugging him in her excitement.

“I was as surprised as you are,” laughed Erestor.  “Getting everyone there was no easy task, though.”

Elrond was watching each of his children, enjoying their reactions to the story they had just heard.   Elladan’s eyes were fixed on Athranen.  Many a glance had been cast in the direction of the elf from the time the three children had been introduced into the story, for nearly everyone present knew them.  Athranen was a captain of Imladris and Eirien his wife. Their son was a little older than the twins. Angren was not present; he was the captain in charge of Imladris in the absence of Glorfindel and Athranen. Elladan was seeing his captains in a new light.

Elrohir was watching Glorfindel and Erestor. He finally sat up from where he had been reclined against his grandfather. “Erestor, why do you think Glorfindel was different after the blow to his head?”

Erestor smiled. “Ask him. He was to ask if he could not figure it out.”

Elrohir turned to Glorfindel, who now had Arwen hanging over his shoulder. He was whispering in her ear and making her giggle, while ignoring those talking about him.  A smiled crossed Elrohir’s face.  “I think you are right, Erestor, but I do not think it had much to do with the blow to the head.”

Elrond thought of how those two orphaned elves had attached themselves to Glorfindel during their escape, and how he had mentored them into adult hood, standing with them as they came of age, became warriors, and married. As Imladris settled and children were born, it was to the giant golden haired warrior they flocked; him they wished to hear sing; him the young males emulated and from whom the young females learned how they should be treated by a courtly elf. 

“Ada, how did you get into the hidden valley?” asked Arwen.

Elrond shook his head.  “That is not a tale worth telling.  Suffice it to say that we got very wet at times, had to use pulleys to get supplies across the rivers, and take the wagons apart and carry the pieces over and rebuild them.  By winter we had built a structure big enough for all of us to sleep and eat, and gathered enough food to last until spring came. It was hard work, but each night we sang and danced under the stars, for we were also very thankful.”

“Adar,” said Elladan after silence had descended.  “You and Naneth fought in wars when you were very young; Athranen, Angren and Eirien were still children and look at all they did.  I am older than all of you were at that time and have never had to fight any danger or live through any hardship.”

Athranen stood up from where he had been sitting with his young warriors, who clearly felt much as Elladan did.  “I count you blessed, then, and think none the less of you because you have not had opportunity to show your honor in that way. Yet I rejoice too, for every battle we have fought has not been in vain if our children grow up in peace.”

“Evil ever returns, Elladan.  I know you wish for excitement and danger. Once they have found you, you will hope for peace. You will do your part when the time comes, and I know you will fight with honor. Yet, I do not wish that day to come any time soon” replied Elrond sadly.

“Actually,” said Celeborn as he pulled Elrohir back against him, propping his cast up with his own leg, “I think we have all had enough danger and excitement to last for a while.”

* * * *

A/N: The description of the approach to Imladris is taken from the chapter A Short Rest in The Hobbit.

The idea for adding the children comes from a story I read about the French Calvary School in Lys, France.  When Belgium surrendered in 1940 and the Germans invaded France near the coastal city of Dunkirk, 500 cadets – sixteen and seventeen year olds – held the German army back for two days, fighting with the arrogance and innocence of youth. The school was to be evacuated, but the cadets did not wish to leave, but to stay and fight for the honor of France.  There are many stories of the courage and honor of children in tragedy and war, showing the resiliency of youth.  Perhaps they don’t know that what they do is ‘impossible,’ so they do it anyway. As is also true, ‘families’ are often created out of shared circumstances.  Imladris seemed that way – a ‘house’ formed out of the remnants of Eregion and Elrond’s command.  Those two orphans were adopted into and became important pillars of the house.

Many thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 24: Imladris

“Adar, will you take this cast off?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond looked up at his son. Elrohir was sitting on a log, his casted leg stuck out in front of him, while braiding his hair. Fast fingers wove through the mane, but when they slowed to clip the braids, Elrond could see that fingernails were about half grown in on the fingers that had been missing them.  Nearly a week had gone by since Elrohir’s dramatic improvement; time enough for an elf’s broken limb to heal.  Elrond looked into the clear gray eyes of his son and saw acceptance of whatever answer his father would give. He smiled, for that alone told him how well Elrohir was doing.

“Tonight I will examine your leg,” he replied.

Elrohir smiled enthusiastically, then resumed whistling as he prepared himself for the day.  Leaning back against the tree he was sitting under, Elrond watched as the camp was broken. Already cook had cleaned up his supplies and the guards had dismantled the tents. The horses were being walked in preparation for the coming march, and laughter could be heard coming from the general vicinity of where Glorfindel was.   Celebrían held Arwen in her arms as she stood with her parents, looking south.  While he could not hear the words being spoken, seeing his wife with her parents reminded him of the first time he had seen Celebrían. 

“Adar?”

Elrond forced his gaze away from his wife and turned to his son again. Elrohir had a silly grin on his face. He lifted one brow quizzically when Elrohir did not continue

“You looked like Elladan does whenever he sees Lothriel,” replied Elrohir finally.

“Hmmm.” Elrond thought for a moment. “If seeing your mother makes me look like a lovesick lamb, and Lothriel makes your brother do it, who causes such a response in you?”

Elrohir laughed, but flushed pink right up to his ear tips. “No one, Adar.”

Elrond laughed as he stood, then tossed Elrohir his crutch.  They walked together to Alagos, where Erestor took the crutch and Elrond helped Elrohir mount and then leapt onto the horse himself.  As Elrohir settled back against him, he said, “Soon, Adar, you will have your horse back to yourself. I wonder if Alagos will be glad?”

In response, Alagos nuzzled the cast at his side and then neighed loudly.  Elrohir patted the horse’s neck affectionately.  “One more day, Alagos!”

Elrond was silent. While Elrohir’s enthusiasm was catchy, the memory of how close he had come to losing this child made him wish to never let him go.  Yet he had learned not to hold too tightly to that which he could not control. Elrohir was his own person; he and Celebrían and their house had given each child wings to fly.  Each time their flight led them home was a gift to be cherished, but he could not clip their wings.

“Look at the eagle, Adar,” said Elrohir, pointing to the large bird gliding lazily in the morning sky. “He has had a good night’s hunting and is returning to his eyrie. Someday I want to climb to one of their nests.”

“I suggest you ask their permission to visit,” replied Elrond seriously.  “The eagles do not suffer fools kindly.”

Elrohir laughed. “This fool will ask permission.  Have you ever met one of the eagles, Adar?”

Elrond watched as the eagle drifted further north into the mountains. “I have spoken to the Lord of the Eagles.  They are magnificent birds, emissaries to Manwë himself. Seldom do they involve themselves in the affairs of Middle-earth, but they will at the direction of the King of the Valar and sometimes of their own curiosity.”

“In the War of Wrath, they acted at Manwë’s direction,” stated Elrohir, recalling the stories and tales he had learned as a child.

“Yes, that was at Manwë’s direction.  But the great Eagles have come to the hidden valley, to see what the elves were building,” answered Elrond. “They were curious about us, for this was the closest we had lived to their lands and nests. They aided us, for which I will be forever grateful.”

“Aided you how?” asked Elrohir curiously. “I have never heard this tale.”

Elrond smiled at the memory. “Imladris was under siege for nearly four years, though the enemy did not know precisely where we were.  The Eagles seldom paid attention to goblins and orcs and trolls, for they do not hunt them, but I believe they enjoyed aiding us against them.”

Elrond glanced at Elrohir, who had twisted slightly so he could see his father’s face.  He laughed at the curiosity he could see emanating from Elrohir.  “The story will continue tonight, and you must wait until then, or your siblings would be most unhappy with us.”

They traveled in silence, Elrohir gradually relaxing more and more against Elrond as he drifted off in some daydream. Memory filled Elrond, as a century fell away and he held again a small and eager child, wide eyed at tales of days gone by.  A vivid imagination carried this son on the path of dreams to lands far away, and Elrohir would come to them with his own stories of Valinor and Beleriand, and of the lands far to the east where the elves first awoke.  Elrond thought of the many times he would listen to his sons as they lay in their beds at night, when Elrohir would regale Elladan with his dreams put into words, made up stories in which the twins were knights of great honor and strength, valiant and proud.  In the middle of the night, when Elrohir’s imagination caused him to awake fearful of those same enemies he had earlier battled, Elladan comforted him and chased away the nightmares by repeating the valiant and brave deeds Elrohir had told him about hours earlier.  So alike they were, and yet so different.

Elrond felt Vilya press into his side as Elrohir shifted against him and his thoughts drifted back to the age of their storytelling. They had fled, unaided by hope, hiding in a valley besieged by enemies that stood between them and the west.  They had withstood those who wished only to annihilate them, and spent centuries building Imladris into a remote outpost for the elves. When the opportunity came to defeat Sauron, Imladris had launched the armies of Men and Elves.  No kings had returned from that battlefield.  The One Ring was lost. Desire filled Elrond as he considered Vilya, and then his family and his house.  For so long they had lived without hope in the dark years of the Second Age. Knowing, as he thought he did, that evil would ere rise again in the Third, he would use Vilya to preserve and protect what tranquility and beauty they had forged, and more importantly, to protect his family and his house.  His hope.

He felt a nudge against his leg, and turned his head, his eyes focusing after a moment on the laughing warrior beside him.

“Really, my lord,” teased Glorfindel merrily, “if you are both going to daydream, I will assign a guard to watch over you.”  Alagos snorted in disdain at the words, for he had kept them perfectly in step with the party, and Elrond patted his neck affectionately. Elrohir had started against him at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice, and now Glorfindel turned his attention to the young elf. “And where were you, Elrohir?”

“In the Eagle’s eyrie,” replied Elrohir without stopping to check his words.  He blushed as Glorfindel laughed again, knowing he had just admitted carelessly daydreaming to his captain. Elrond felt him tense, waiting for the words to come, even in jest, that Glorfindel would look forward to teaching him some discipline when they were home again. But the words did not come.

“Perhaps I will take you on the next scouting trip into the far north, where the Eagles have their great platform nests.  We can see them from a distance, though an invitation to visit is possible,” mused Glorfindel.  He grinned as Elladan rode up next to them. “And we can probably even take Elladan along now that he is old enough not to try to jump from a nest and fly.”

Elladan laughed in remembrance. “We had just heard the tales of Uncle Elros and his jumping from the cliff to fly. I wanted to fly too!” He winked at Elrond. “I am still saving all the Eagle feathers I find in hopes of making my own wings one day.”

Elrond listened to the banter that followed, and thought of his life as a young adult in Gil-galad’s court in Lindon.   He had at first been amused by Ereinion and Círdan, especially after Elros had sailed with his people to Andor.  They had seemed to want to revert him to childhood, a childhood he had never had and therefore did not miss. Logically, he had known what they were doing. Gil-galad had explained it often enough: that after the carefree and innocent years of childhood came the years of exploration, where young elves explored their world, learning more deeply of nature, music, animals, lore or any subject that piqued their curiosity.  While Elrond’s childhood years were spent at war and helping prepare the Men for their new life, now he had opportunity to do those things. Elrond had smiled, a bit smugly he now thought, for in his own mind he did not need special time to explore his world; he could still be Gil-galad’s advisor and do all of that.  It was Círdan who had knocked him down a few pegs, in his gruffly loving way.  Gil-galad was not quite a century older than Elrond, and he had not had the opportunity he was trying to gift Elrond with, nor could he take it now, in his position as king.  Then Círdan had reminded him that he did not need to earn their love.

Those words had cut Elrond like a knife, laying bare his insecurities and his pride.  Seeing his insecurities had come easily to him. He barely remembered the time he had spent with Maedhros and Maglor, yet he could recall his fear of being harmed by them, of wanting to please Maglor in particular, that he and Elros might gain his favor.  Certainly he had done that with Gil-galad and Círdan, unconsciously trying to prove his worth to them so that they would never have cause to regret taking him in. In contrast, he had not recognized his pride for some time, but Círdan’s words had unlocked a part of his own mind that he had never looked at closely before.  Gil-galad was not rejecting him by lessening his duties and encouraging him to explore and learn, but offering him a gift that he could not give himself even as a king.  To accept what Gil-galad had offered seemed selfish to Elrond; yet when Círdan had explained it in those terms, he recognized the gift for what it was, and his pride as well.

He had come to know a little of how Gil-galad and Círdan had felt as he himself mentored Erestor.  Erestor had parents who had seen to his upbringing, but even after he came into the service of the king Elrond had seen that all opportunities were open to him.  Now as a father of young adults, Elrond felt keenly what Círdan had tried to explain to him long ago.  While need might demand that they be trained as warriors, this would not be all there was to their life.  If using Vilya could somehow help to protect Imladris, freeing his sons and other elves to explore their world and learn all they wished to learn, was that not a good thing? If the refuge of Imladris were safe, then the House could be as Celebrían dreamed – a place where any and all in need could come and find rest. He had once thought her dream lofty, but she explained that she was only expanding upon what he had already made.  A sudden vision of Gil-galad teasing him and telling him to marry Celebrían came to his mind, and he felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart skip a beat in memory. Blinking back the tear he felt at the corner of his eye, he realized Gil-galad had never given him bad advice. Thankfully, he had learned to heed it.

“Adar, you are clutching your side like you are in pain,” said Elladan, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts.  Elrond immediately released his grasp, and felt Vilya slip back to rest softly against his skin.  Elrond felt Glorfindel’s eyes upon him, but Elladan continued, sparing him from having to meet his keeper’s gaze. “Enough reflecting on whatever you are reflecting upon, Adar. Erestor has determined we will make camp early, for we will arrive home tomorrow.”

Elrond laughed at the cheer that went up around him.  Many were looking forward to warm baths and then a night in the Hall of Fire, listening to music and singing.  Some, like Arwen and Elrohir, were looking forward to sleeping in their own beds.  Arwen had been so tired this morning and Elrond was looking forward to returning her to her normal routine as well. She loved sunset and starlight, and had never liked waking early in the morning except for special days.  The events of this trip, her injuries and he felt possibly a spurt of growth might all be contributing to one tired child. Elrohir wanted to be free of the cast, but Elrond felt sure that once it was removed and after one good night of sound sleep, he would be as healthy and normal as he had been prior to the trip.

Elrohir slid gracefully to the ground, pointedly ignoring Glorfindel’s hand held out to him for balance.  His crutches were nowhere in sight, however, and though the cast was thickly made to prevent injury in subsequent falls, it was not made for walking.  Elrohir hopped a few times, and Elrond felt a rising sense of trepidation as his son danced around on one foot.  Elladan must have as well, for he suddenly charged at his twin, grabbing and tossing Elrohir over his shoulder.  The casted leg stuck straight up in the air while his other leg bent and both hands flailed, playfully beating Elladan on the back.

“Adar, if you are going to remove this cast, you had better do it before this fool falls and breaks his other leg.  Where do you want him?” called Elladan as he thwacked Elrohir hard on his backside, earning himself a yelp in the ear. Elrohir settled down immediately though, and instead took advantage of his position to play with Elladan’s hair and flick his ears, both of which he knew would annoy his twin.

Elrond dismounted, waving Elladan to the camp. He heard the sound of flesh hitting something solid, followed by another yelp and Arwen’s giggling.  Elrohir began laughing, and Elrond followed the noise through the branches of a copse of trees to the spot selected for the camp.  Elladan still held Elrohir, though there was no reason beyond the simple need to torment him.  Arwen had spanked him and now Celebrían was tickling him.  She had one of his arms pinned and Arwen was tugging on the other, leaving Celebrían with one free hand that Elrond knew from experience was enough to make anyone on the receiving end beg for mercy.

“Naneth!” Elrohir finally cried, breathless from laughing.  “You win!”

“Of course I do,” agreed Celebrían, and she kissed his forehead as Elladan set him down.  “Now sit.”

Elrohir sank gratefully down on to the blanket someone had laid on the grass, then sprawled out on his back, letting the sun that was filtering in from the trees high above him soak into him as he caught his breath. But this time, while others began preparing the camp, all of the family gathered near as Elrond prepared his tools. Propping the cast on his own thigh, Elrond began the tedious job of removing the plaster.  As the cast split and he broke it away, Elrohir’s pale leg was revealed.  No wound had reappeared, and the skin appeared as intact as it did the night it mysteriously healed. The lower part of the cast was broken off and Elrohir wiggled his toes with delight.  Elrond bathed the skin with warm water, then massaged the muscles and manipulated the ankle and knee joints.  One eye was always on Elrohir, and not once did his child flinch or give any sign of pain, though he did squirm when Elrond ran his fingertip along the bottom of his foot.

Elrond stood, then held both hands out to Elrohir, who took them without question.  A huge smile crossed Elrohir’s face as Elrond pulled him to his feet.  Elrond could not help but remember the first time Elrohir had stood after being hurt, nearly falling as nausea and dizziness and pain had overwhelmed him. This time, his eyes shone and his cheeks flushed in delight as he took a few steps. Elrond let Elrohir withdraw his hands as he began to walk, the few steps on the blanket and back, and then to the edge of the camp and back, and then he hopped and jumped and twisted as he made his way back, and Elrond caught him as Elrohir flung himself into his arms.

“Thank you, Adar!” he cried. He kissed Elrond on both cheeks and then hugged him again.  Stepping back, Elrond could see that Elrohir’s eyes were alight with excitement. He took the shoes that his mother handed him and quickly slipped them on to his feet.  He began to walk, then run, away from the camp.  Elladan joined him, and Elrond knew that Elrohir would not be allowed to go further than he was able on his first day walking in nearly a month.

He watched as Elrohir ran like a deer, bounding in graceful leaps through the grassy area near their camp, whirling in circles and then racing forward again.  Always Elladan stayed just close enough to keep an eye on him, allowing his twin to frolic and enjoy his freedom. Suddenly, Elrohir raced to his twin and grabbed him by the hand. As when they were children, they grasped hands and whirled in a circle, leaning as far back as their arms allowed, their heads flung back in wild abandon and complete trust of the other.

Elrond felt a hand slip into his, and turned to see silver hair spilled along his shoulder.  He pulled Celebrían in front of him, wrapping both of his arms about her. She tilted her head back slightly, and as their cheeks touched he felt the warmth of her tears.  His own mingled with hers as they watched their sons play and chase like elflings again.

* * *

Elrohir ran breathless into the camp, leaping lightly over a log and then melting to the ground next to his mother.  He flopped his head and arm down on her thigh, then rolled to look up at her and his father.  His gaze was met by tender smiles, and he could see tears still glistening in eyes filled with joy.  He closed his eyes as his mother’s hand came to rest on his head, and he rolled back on to his side and sighed in pleasure as she combed out his tangled mane with her fingers.

“Are you happy, Elrohir?” she asked.

Elrohir could only nod. “How does your leg feel?” asked Elrond.

Elrohir smiled as he thought of how much restraint his father had to be using in not examining his leg. He laughed aloud, then rose to his hands and knees, crawling over Celebrían and squeezing his way in between them. Both moved to allow him space, and soon he was half sitting, his shoulders resting against his mother’s leg and his lower legs in his father’s lap.

“See for yourself, Adar,” he offered.

Elrond’s warm fingers played gently across his skin, feeling the area where the break had been and the muscles recently exercised, and Elrohir found himself treated to a rubdown like a favored stallion. He knew his spurt of exercise shouldn’t have been ended abruptly; and indeed, Elladan had made him walk for a while before sending him back to camp. He had wished to go with Elladan to help tend the horses, but his twin had said no and, knowing he was right and knowing he did not wish to argue with Glorfindel who would certainly take Elladan’s side, he had acquiesced.  Now under his father’s gentle healing touch upon his leg and his mother’s loving hand upon his head, he surrendered himself to the path of dreams.

* * *

“Our colt is sound asleep,” said Celebrían softly.

“He does remind one of a colt,” agreed Elrond as he continued to rub the overused muscles in his son’s calves. “Joy emanated from him like light from the sun this evening. It is important to Elrohir, I think, to return to Imladris riding upon his horse or walking upon his own feet.”

“No peredhil likes to be carried,” agreed Glorfindel as he joined them. 

Elrond glared at his captain, but Glorfindel’s cheery smile finally made him laugh.  He had hated being carried after he was injured.  Trust Glorfindel to remind him that he had been, and possibly still was, as stubborn and prideful as his youthful sons.

“Not so,” disagreed Erestor. He turned so his back was to Glorfindel, allowing Arwen to slide off him and on to Glorfindel.  He looked back to see her held in strong arms, her legs stuck straight out and toes pointed, and one arm raised, like a dancer caught by her partner. She giggled at her pose, and then slid down to sit on Glorfindel’s lap.

“Adar, did you see Elrohir and Elladan dance in the grass?” asked Arwen, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her sleeping brother. “Were they not beautiful?”

“I did and they were,” answered Elrond.

Arwen sat looking at Elrohir for a moment, then lifted shining eyes to her father. “Ada, I am so happy for Elrohir I think I might cry.” She turned and looked at Erestor solemnly.  “Erestor already did, and he said it is normal to cry about such things.”

Elrond looked at his advisor, who flushed slightly. “Erestor is very wise, Arwen.  He only gives good counsel, and that is good counsel for all of us.”

Glorfindel pulled Arwen back up against his chest and wrapped his arms loosely around her.  She rested her chin against his arm, and tears of joy did dampen his tunic while Glorfindel softly sang a song of joy over dancing in green grass beneath a setting sun and starry skies. His voice had drifted off when cook approached.

“And now we must have dinner!  Tomorrow eve’s meal will be cooked in a kitchen, bereft of the sweet air that flavors our meals cooked under open sky. Enjoy while you can!” he said cheerfully as he brought plates first to Galadriel and Celeborn.

“Hmm . . . perhaps so, but I am looking forward to a warm bath and my bed,” murmured Elrohir as he sat up, wakened by the laughter and smell of the dinner.  Elrohir blushed at the general laughter, but too many echoed the sentiment for any feelings of guilt at his discontent to tarry with him.  “But I will miss stories around the camp fire.”

“We have this night, at least, to hear about the founding of Imladris,” suggested Elladan.  He glanced at his mother. “Naneth, when did you see your Adar again?”

“After Sauron was driven from Eriador and Eregion, your daernaneth and I traveled north, hoping we could find the hidden valley. It was not easy!” she laughed at the memory.  “But we were not there through the hard years.”

“The years of the siege were trying at times,” agreed Elrond. “We had limited resources, yet an increasing population as all who fled from Sauron joined us….”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Fall 1697

Elrond followed the hiss of low elven voices to find Glorfindel and Erestor in debate.  The roar of a nearby waterfall drowned out their conversation, leaving only a scattering of words to be heard by those with keen elven hearing.  Neither looked up as he approached.

“The rationing plan will have to change; it is as simple that,” said Glorfindel firmly.

“If the answer were really that simple, it would already be done!” snapped Erestor tiredly.

“The answer is that simple; however, I admit the administration of it is complex,” sighed Glorfindel. His voice softened. “Erestor, I could hardly turn them away.”

“I know,” acquiesced Erestor. He stretched slightly, running his hand through his hair. “Mortals require more food than elves. If all of these human children are to grow properly, we must provide them with more to eat.” He paused. “Did you see the smallest of the family?”

“I carried her myself,” said Glorfindel sadly. “I could feel every bone. She weighed no more than a quiver of arrows. They have been nearly two months in the hills, that mother and her four little ones. I am still in wonder that they are alive.”

“I have not even asked about our warriors.  How do they fare? Do they need any provisions?” asked Erestor.

Glorfindel smiled. “In your despair at seeing more mouths to feed, you did not see the meat they sent back to camp.  These hills are alive with rabbit and deer.  While the guards cannot roam far, they are spending their time wisely. Soon winter will fall hard upon us, but until then they are locating nuts and berries and harvesting what they can carry.  They need more baskets to do this adequately. The mortal women were already skinning the animals and beginning the work on the hides.  That work is much a part of their daily existence.”

Erestor blinked hard, and Elrond stepped next to him, making his presence known and squeezing the elf on the shoulder.

“Already the women are down at the river’s edge, gathering reeds they can make into baskets.  Several are willing to go out and harvest, but I will only say yes to this request if the areas are well protected,” he said.

Glorfindel nodded, then turned to the construction.  “When will the framing be completed?”

Elrond laughed. “I have reminded our Noldor craftsmen that while they may enjoy sleeping on the snow, those with mortal blood will not tolerate such accommodations. Nor will I. By first snow we will have two structures finished and connected – one for sleeping and living and the other for the horses.”

“They cannot do anything without great thought taken for both function and beauty,” agreed Glorfindel.  “But already the nights grow cool and the tents do not provide adequate warmth for the children. I have stated this, but the prevailing attitude is that the comfort and well being of these humans is not their concern.”

Elrond felt heat rise in his face. “That will not be the prevailing attitude any longer,” he stated.  “I had not heard this, Glorfindel.”

“They are careful in your hearing, Elrond, though they do not count your heritage as those of what they consider lesser men.  These humans were their neighbors and they willingly used their bridge at Tharbad, and there was respect between them.  Tempers and hospitality wear thin, though, when supplies are short and the need of the newcomers is great.”

“They shall not be allowed to so quickly forget their own need,” replied Elrond, and anger welled in him as he considered how many soldiers of Lindon had died in Eregion.  The elves were these soldier’s relatives and their people, and Elrond suddenly realized that in some way, he considered these Men his people too, even if these were not descendents of Elros.

“Glorfindel is annoyed because they have accused him and his warriors of seeking out refugees as they scout and patrol for the enemy,” commented Erestor dryly.

“I am not annoyed at the accusation, for it is true,” said Glorfindel disdainfully. “I am annoyed that they would wish to see anyone starve, suffer privation or be killed at the hands of our common enemy rather than share their rations and shelter with them.”

As Glorfindel spoke, a shadow appeared in the sky to the west, and the cry of an eagle sounded as the large bird circled lazily above them.  Elrond watched fascinated, for several times now he had seen the eagles come this close. To his amazement, the eagle continued to drift slowly down, finally landing as near to them as his massive wingspan allowed.  He folded his wings in close against his body, and then turned his head so that he might look at them clearly.

Glorfindel walked to the Eagle, placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head slightly.  The Eagle acknowledged the bow by dipping his own head.

“My lord Eagle,” said Glorfindel. “You have our gratitude for your aid today.”

The Eagle nodded again, but his eye seemed fixed on Elrond.  Elrond swallowed the awe rising in him and walked forward, also covering his heart with a hand and bowing.

“This is my lord, Elrond son of Eärendil, son of Tuor and Idril, daughter of Turgon of Gondolin,” said Glorfindel. “Gwaisael, Lord of the Eagles, has assisted us twice today, locating the woman and her children, and leading us to the orcs who lay in wait for them.”

The Eagle stepped forward until he towered over Elrond, his sharp golden talons within a few feet of Elrond’s feet, and then he bent over to look closely at him. Elrond felt his breath catch at being so near to the magnificent bird.  The setting sun cast a ray of sun onto the golden head of the bird, seeming to reflect off each feather as the eagle slowly moved his head to peer at Elrond. His eyes were piercing, but Elrond met them steadily.

“Our fathers fought together in the Great War,” said Gwaisael finally. “He spoke of the bravery and daring of Eärendil in his ship of silver as he fought the dragons over Thangorodrim.”

“I watched that battle,” replied Elrond. “I know not which was your father, but it was the Eagles who turned the tide.  You have my gratitude also for aiding the elves today in battle and leading them to the lost family. We will care for them.”

The great Eagle turned to look at the structure under construction on the grassy plain, and then at the tents and camp where elves and humans were busy with meal preparations. “Have you enough to eat?”

Elrond looked to Erestor, who nodded. “With what our warriors hunted today, yes.”

“We shall watch over you, Elrond son of the star Eärendil, and take note of the presence of your enemies.  If you are in need, we will aid you if our hunting is profitable. Farewell, may your eyries receive you by winter’s start!”

Elrond bowed again. “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks!”

The Eagle stepped back a few paces, then turned once he could do so without his tail feathers knocking Elrond aside.  He began to run, then leapt into the air, the wind as his wings beat down so strong that had the three not been prepared it would have swept them from their feet. Gwaisail sailed out toward the river, then turned back into the northern mountains.

Elrond sensed Erestor at his side, and turning, he noticed the deep weariness in the elf’s eyes.  Despite orders to rest, the elf did not. Responsible for the overall organization of the peoples who comprised the camp, Erestor had planned their living arrangements, food supplies and basic sanitary needs.  He tried to ensure that Glorfindel’s warriors, holding back Sauron’s troops beyond the river, and the Noldor craftsmen working on their shelter had adequate supplies to do their work.  Conflict had arisen, as could be expected, between what each group felt was most important. Erestor was one of the few who could see the smaller units as part of a greater whole, and Elrond had complete confidence in him.

“Where is the new family?” asked Elrond.

“Come, I will take you to them,” replied Erestor as the Eagle disappeared from their sight.

As Erestor led them back to the camp, Elrond noticed just the slightest favoring of his right leg. None but a trained healer would perhaps notice such a thing, but he watched long enough to determine that indeed, the elf was using consistent caution. They followed Erestor into the clearing ringed by tents and into the healing tent.  There they found the mother sound asleep on a pallet, two small children spooned against her with only their tousled hair visible above the blanket covering them.  Her oldest child, a boy of around ten, was lying on a pallet next to her, and her youngest was in the arms of Ethiriel, Eirien’s mother.  Elrond moved past Erestor to kneel down beside her.

“She is so weak, my lord,” said Ethiriel softly. She shifted the child slightly so that Elrond could see her.

Elrond pulled back the blanket slightly. The infant’s eyes were closed and her breathing was slow but regular.  Laying his hand over her chest and abdomen, he could feel how weak her spirit was.

“Her mother’s milk has nearly gone dry, but one of the other nursing mothers among the humans was able to spare a little milk for her.  The other three children and their mother have eaten a light meal, but I do not know if the mother’s milk will return.”

Elrond smiled reassuringly at Ethiriel. “This child is small and weak, but with proper nourishment, I believe she will recover.  There are also remedies we can use to stimulate milk once her mother is properly nourished.”

Ethiriel smiled with relief, her shoulders relaxing as she hugged the infant to her. Elrond stroked the infant’s head for a moment, then moved to sit next to the mother and her other children. He touched the head of each, sensing the state of their bodies and spirits and imparting his own healing energy into them.  Already asleep, they merely fell into even deeper sleep that would last throughout the evening and night. Their bodies would relax and heal, and Elrond knew they would awaken hungry but refreshed.

Elrond then prepared another pallet, placed in the far corner from where the children slept.  “Erestor, allow me to examine your leg,” he directed.

“My leg is without injury,” replied Erestor, turning instead to the tent entrance.  Glorfindel had followed them in, and he now stepped between Erestor and the entrance. “Excuse me, Glorfindel.”

“I believe Elrond gave you an order,” said Glorfindel mildly.

Erestor flushed slightly, opened his mouth as if to speak, but wisely closed it and instead turned and walked to Elrond.  He sat down stiffly on the pallet, and fumbled with his boot as he attempted to remove it.  His face was masked, but Elrond could sense the pain Erestor was in. Brushing the elf’s hands aside, he removed the boot with as much care as he could.

Elrond was surprised to see the size of the wound as well as the lack of healing.  Elves healed so quickly that even those injured in the fight for the city were for the most part returned to normal.  Glorfindel appeared at his side with a basin of heated water, bandages and medicines, and as Elrond began to clean the area, Glorfindel pushed Erestor down on to the pallet.

“This is an arrow wound, poisoned,” said Elrond quietly. “When did you suffer it?”

“A week ago I encountered an orc scout. He managed to shoot an arrow into me before I dispatched him. I tended the wound, informed Glorfindel who changed the perimeter coverage to include that pass into the mountains, and returned to my other duties.  It has just not wanted to heal,” he admitted.

“It never occurred to you to seek aid?”

“The wound will heal in time and there is much to be done in the meantime,” snapped Erestor. “Every day brings more to feed, more disagreement about how to proceed and more chance of snow.”

Elrond was reminded of a rooster with ruffled feathers he had once seen as a child living in Balar, upset after Elros had pulled his tail. He finished tending the wound, bandaged it and propped the leg up on a few rolled blankets.

“Dinner will be brought to you here. I will look at the wound tomorrow and determine when you may rise,” he informed Erestor.

Erestor’s eyes widened and he sat up abruptly. “No, my lord! I need . . .”

“To rest. It will be difficult, but we will manage without you for a day or two. You are not to call in those whom you wish to give orders to either, as you will disturb the children.  Let the camp guards know he is not to leave this tent tonight, Glorfindel,” instructed Elrond.

Elrond nearly laughed at the dumbfounded look on Erestor’s face, but managed to contain himself and leave the tent. As he stepped back out into the open, he saw the cooks distributing meals. The elves were lined up, whereas the humans, primarily women and children, sat patiently waiting for whatever was left. He took a small boy by the hand and walked to the head of the line. The elves parted for him deferentially, but when he reached the cook he took the ladle in hand and filled a dish for the child.

“This is the portion for one his size. For the older human children, nursing mothers, and the elven younglings, this is the right amount,” he said, filling a second dish. “All other adults will share in what is left.” He set the dish in the little one’s hands, watching as the child carefully returned to his spot. He motioned for the other children to come, and called the human women by name.  “Feed them first. Tomorrow Erestor will be reviewing the lay out of the camp. As winter draws near, those least able to tolerate the cold will be provisioned nearer to the fires and with more blankets. We must speed enclosing our shelters soon, for I do not want our little ones to suffer from the cold.” He smiled at the women. “I see you have already completed the baskets for collecting berries. We will send them out in the morning with the patrol, and Glorfindel will inform you of any patches where you may safely harvest. I am looking forward to blueberries in the venison stew.”

Elrond returned the ladle to the cook, who quickly filled a bowl and held it out to him. “I will return after the others have been served,” he informed the cook. He took the sizeable portion, however, and put it into the hands of Angren. “Eat and sleep well, little one.”

Elrond met the eyes of the elves whom he suspected were behind the insensitive comments about the mortals as he walked past, then turned to look back at the food line.  A few of the elves had gathered up all of the children and mortals and were ensuring they were fed first.  The children were eating hungrily, intent on their food, savoring it, not even talking or looking around. As Elrond turned back, he saw the eyes of the Noldor smiths fixed on the hungrily eating children, and he realized they had likely always been eating themselves or were even finished before the children ate. The sight of the children eating would move the hardest of hearts, and Elrond knew the hearts of these elves were not hard, merely preoccupied.

“The fireplace is coming along well and looks pleasing as well,” he complimented one worker as he moved past.

“We will complete an area inside for the children soon, my lord,” promised the smith. “They will be warm and snug around that fireplace before the first snow.”

“Thank you,” replied Elrond, grasping hands with the elf as he moved past.

Elrond walked back to the spot on the hill where they had met the Eagle. He knew he would need to tell of the conversation at camp later that night, for adults and children alike had all been bursting to ask him what the Eagle had said.  Turning, he looked north to where the Eagle had flown, and then west.

“How long do you think we can hold this position?” he asked Glorfindel, who had followed him.

Glorfindel did not answer for a few moments, and Elrond knew any carefully considered answer from the warrior would be reliable. “The parties of orcs harassing us have decreased in both size and number,” he replied. “We have sent out scouts, and initial reports are that a great portion of Sauron’s army has entered Eriador and is approaching Lindon. Erestor’s line of scouts were under orders to retreat back to Lindon if they spotted the enemy; hopefully they have done that and King Gil-galad had warning.  If we were to face the full wrath of Sauron’s army here, I do not think we could hold even this valley after winter’s end.  By spring, they would be able to overwhelm us.  As long as the numbers do not increase, and we do not allow the enemy to surround us by coming over the mountains through passes unknown, we can hold indefinitely, though it may be a lean existence. We would have to hunt a wider range to find adequate food, and that will thin the ranks of our warriors.”

“The winter may be lean as it is,” replied Elrond.

Glorfindel smiled. “The mortal women have been digging roots and gathering acorns and other edible nuts. They speak of harsh winters after a summer of bad crops, and then point out this is not a summer of bad crop as there is still much to harvest.”

Elrond could not help but smile.  “Such optimism may help to feed our spirits through the winter as well.”

* * *

A/N: This chapter is split, as it has become way too long.  The rest of the siege of Imladris will continue in the next chapter, which is about 2/3 done.  Thanks to everyone for their patience!

Elrond's answer to the Eagle is borrowed from Gandalf in 'The Hobbit.'

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 25: Imladris II: Years of Siege

Early Spring 1698

“You have a son!” exclaimed Elrond as he placed the red, squealing infant into a towel held by Ethiriel.  She briskly rubbed the infant, stimulating him and drying him off all at once, while Elrond tended to the smiling, exhausted mother. Once she was comfortable on her pallet, Ethiriel placed the infant in her arms. “Congratulations.”

The woman held him to her breast, and tears streamed down her face when he finally latched on and began to suckle. “Thank you, my lord, thank you,” she wept.

“You did all the hard work,” laughed Elrond. He touched his palm to her cheek, looking her in the eye. “Your husband would be very proud of you, and very proud of the son you have birthed.”

She gripped his wrist tightly, leaning into his palm, unable to speak for a moment. “My son will carry his father’s name.”

“Then I may announce it?” asked Elrond.

She laughed. “I am sure they know now that I am through making noise and they heard his cry that he is here.  Yes, please, Master Elrond.”

Elrond stepped around the heavy curtains that had been hung to separate the birthing area from the common sleeping room.  Glorfindel had kept up the singing and several harps had been played, and it had gratified the young mother to have some sound other than that of her own labors, and soothed the rest of the room as well.  The singing stopped as Elrond emerged, though the strumming on the harp continued.

“A healthy baby boy. His name will be Aldric, after his father,” he announced. “Tollyn did wonderfully, and is resting comfortably now.”

A cheer rose in the Hall, with clapping and calls of good will that they knew Tollyn would hear. Elrond accepted a cup of hot cider, made with the apples they had picked from the wild the previous fall, then sat down near Celeborn, who lifted his glass in celebration.

“The first child born in Imladris,” commented Celeborn. “Let us hope he lives to grow old in peace.”

Elrond sipped the liquid as he considered that. These mortals seemed to have little control over when they conceived their children, and indeed two of the women who had been found by Elrond’s warriors early in winter had been with child when found.  The first had died with her child, and disappointment and melancholy had settled heavily upon the elves, unused to such things.  The mortals had recovered faster, and it seemed each of them had a relative or friend who had also died in childbirth or had a child stillborn. Death was an accepted part of their life and culture. Tollyn’s husband had died of his wounds two days before Tollyn had been found.  Their first child had died in her first year.  To have this child born alive was a living legacy to the husband and child she had lost, and all of Imladris rejoiced with her.

As Elrond turned to answer to Celeborn, he saw a glint of light sparkle off a tear in the elf’s eye. Celeborn blinked it away quickly. “What are you thinking of this night?”

Celeborn smiled. “The birth of my daughter, Elrond. New life is a precious, wonderful gift.”

“I have heard that your Celebrían is as beautiful as her mother and is growing into the wisdom of her father,” said Elrond.

Celeborn laughed. “I am biased, Elrond.  She is the most beautiful elleth to grace Middle-earth and certainly the most charming and wise as well. But you will have to judge for yourself.  I do not doubt that Galadriel will find us as soon as she can make her way north from Lorien, where I hope they are safe.”

Erestor sat down beside them, a piece of parchment in hand.  “This is a list of all of the horses in Imladris, their ages and what lineage is known.  There are two stallions fit to sire their own lines.”

Elrond bent his head over the paper, eager to see what Erestor had done with his notes. “We will begin breeding this summer,” he determined.  “Your estimates are very conservative, Erestor, but I think appropriate.  I do not know how permanent this refuge will be, and do not want to add too much burden to what we must feed, but this number of foals a year from this spring seems reasonable.”

Erestor looked around the room with a satisfied smile. They were through the hardest part of the winter, and had suffered the deaths of only two, the mother and her child at birth. There had been a few lean days where the adults had gone without food, but the children and nursing mothers had always had food, even if the amounts were reduced. 

A call audible only to elven ears was heard, and Elrond watched Glorfindel rise from his position among the children where he had been singing with them. Celeborn rose as well, throwing his heavy cloak over shoulders as he followed Glorfindel out into the cold. Elrond and Erestor waited, and soon another call sounded. Elrond’s brow furrowed in thought at the message: five adults and two children.  Humans and elves fleeing Sauron’s forces continued to make their way north as word spread that a stronghold had been made.  Elrond knew that once spring came, Sauron’s forces would make another push west to Lindon, and many who lived in the path would flee or be trampled along the way.  He expected Imladris to swell with those seeking refuge.

A commotion was heard at the door, and a man stumbled inside, Celeborn holding tightly to his arm.  He looked wildly about, but Celeborn pointed to the corner where the smaller children played. Casyn, the mother found with four half-starved children by the grace of the great eagles, rose.  An inarticulate cry issued from her and she ran to him.

“Father!” cried Laran, the oldest child at ten summers.  He ran to him, but stopped, a look of confusion on his face as he saw his father for the first time in many months. Elrond watched as he swallowed hard, then gently took his father’s arm and wrapped his own arm about his father’s waist.

Elrond looked at the man, wounds festering, his feet bleeding and his ears frostbitten, but tears of joy ran down the man’s face as his wife saw only the husband she loved, and she held him.  Pulling her hands gently away from her husband, Elrond led her and her son to an area they had set aside for the treatment of the wounded while Celeborn scooped the man easily into his arms. “Come, we will care for him here.”

Celeborn laid the man on a pallet, then left, rejoining the other newcomers outside.  Casyn was already preparing a basin of warm water and finding the soft cloths she knew would be needed, for she had aided Elrond with the injured and ill before. Laran knelt at his father’s shoulder, tears running silently down his face.

“We thought you were dead, father,” he sobbed. “I saw the orcs take you!”

“And I thought you dead, my son, for when I went in search of you I found not a trace,” the man spoke slowly, his breathing a little labored. “Godry and Veran rescued me, for they saw the smoke at Rhalid’s farm and suspected we would be next. They killed the orcs, and then we went to aid Tinen, for part of the orc band had gone to their farm.  No one survived at either place, but then we went in search of you, and you were not to be found.  I have been at Tharbad, which is only partially held.  Then one day word came of the miracle of a woman and four children rescued by the elves. I came as soon as I heard this news, in hopes it might be my wife and children.”

Elrond and Casyn had listened to the story as they removed the man’s ragged clothing and began cleaning his wounds. Casyn finally sat back on her heels. “But how have you come to have such injuries?”

He smiled grimly. “I met up with a family burnt out of their farm and two elves, and they wished to find the refuge of the elves, if possible. We had to come through the lines of the enemy. I was rear guard, and we were nearly through when a misstep caused a rockslide, which alerted the orcs to our presence.  My pack was lost, and one boot, and it was in the rockslide I injured my leg and chest.  We did escape, and several days later we were found by the elves. The strange thing was the massive eagle I had only heard tales of before: we saw him each day and the elves in our group said to follow him. I think they led us to you.”

Elrond finished cleaning and binding the infected scratches and abrasions, and then bandaged the man and covered his frostbite injuries loosely. Warm medicated tea was brought to ease the man’s pain and bring sleep upon him, and Elrond allowed the man’s younger children into the room to see him before he drifted off.

Returning to the common area, his heart filled with joy as he saw the newcomers welcomed. Two were elves who had made the decision to sail west, only to find the way into Eriador blocked. Already they were surrounded by elves wishing news of kin and other realms, and among them was Celeborn, for they had come through Lorien.  The family of humans was being cared for by Erestor, who had settled them among other families with children. The group had a dearth of fathers, and Elrond knew that this family, with a father, mother, a nearly grown son and daughter would be of great help.  But the greatest joy was in the reunion of the father with his wife and children, and Elrond was not surprised to hear their tale of separation, rescue and reunion already being made into song by those with that skill.

In the distance, he heard the cry of the great eagles.

* * *

Early Summer 1699

Glorfindel sat on a rock at the lower edge of one of the area’s many waterfalls, this one creating a deep pool filled with cold water that trickled off into a stream that gradually intensified its flow to form another smaller waterfall further downstream.  Already this site was a favorite of many of Imladris’s inhabitants. Many came to bathe in the refreshing waters, and now in the hot days of summer, the older children came to dive from the rocks and swim. Below the lower waterfall was a shallow pool where the mothers took their little ones to play in water only knee deep, and their cries of laughter and play helped Glorfindel to relax and organize his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he leaned back on the rock, letting the sun soak into him.

He heard Elrond’s approach long before the half-elf reached him, and he sat up to acknowledge the other’s presence.

“There are fewer battles, fewer scouts, and defending our perimeter has become more like a training expedition for elflings,” said Glorfindel mildly.

Elrond nodded as he sat down, but his eyes were drawn westward, as was often the case. “I wonder how Gil-galad fares in Lindon,” he finally said.

Glorfindel smiled grimly, for his thoughts had been led in the same direction. “Eriador is a large territory to cover. If Sauron believes that we are contained, then why not turn the full strength of his force to Lindon?  Destroying the King of the elves, the havens from which the elves sail west, and perhaps regaining what Celebrimbor sent there would all be mighty prizes.”

“You think it is time to turn some of Sauron’s attention to his rear?” asked Elrond.

“It is more difficult to win a battle when your enemy is both behind and in front of you,” stated Glorfindel.  He drew in a deep breath. “Turning his wrath back upon us may aid Lindon, and I do not believe it will destroy us. But if Lindon falls, Sauron will not forget we are here.” He paused, then slowly added, “Some here will not understand why you would put Imladris at risk, especially now when you have achieved some peace and stability for those who seek refuge here.”

Elrond’s eyes flashed, as Glorfindel knew they would. “The safety of the inhabitants of Imladris is a secondary goal; the primary has been and always will be to serve in the best interests of Gil-galad and his realm. We are an army and a stronghold in his defense first.”

“Then shall I prepare to lead a force out against Sauron?” asked Glorfindel. He watched as Elrond’s face lit at the prospect of taking on Sauron, yet he could also see the half-elf’s mind spinning through the necessities of maintaining the stronghold they had created. “I would take only a small force, for our method of attack would be ambush. You would need to keep a portion of the army here to defend the stronghold.” He could see his words take hold in Elrond’s mind, and knew Elrond would consent to him leading the force.

“Yes, and we will be prepared when you are chased back into the valley,” replied Elrond lightly.

Glorfindel laughed. “I never said I expected to win, merely that we would be a thorn in Sauron’s side.  He will chase us and we will do our best to keep him occupied without forfeiting our lives in exchange.”

As Elrond walked back to the growing structure that was the house of Imladris, Glorfindel took advantage of the quiet pool to bathe, for he suspected it would be many days before he would again have such luxury. He dove off the rock, exhilarated as the cold water shocked his body.  After bathing with the soaproot left there for such purposes, he swam to the rocky shore and climbed from the water.

“I brought you a towel,” said Athranen.

“Thank you,” replied Glorfindel, quickly toweling off and then dressing. “I hear we have you to thank for tonight’s meal.”

Athranen smiled. “I am improving with the bow, just as you said I would. Glorfindel,” he said, rushing into what he wished to say, “I want to go out with the patrols. I am becoming a very good shot, and I would stay near the rear.”

Glorfindel knew the young elf chafed under the restrictions placed on him, given tasks suitable for a child, when for months he, Angren and Eirien had helped in very adult ways.  Eirien seemed content in her role in their small society, but she was the oldest female child amid few female adults and she naturally fit into a more adult position.  Angren and Athranen had thrived under attention from Glorfindel and the warriors, and now took a greater role as hunters.  While Angren still seemed content with that, Athranen looked longingly after the warriors each time they rode out.

Placing his arm around the young elf’s shoulders, Glorfindel steered him back to the house. “Our situation is about to change, Athranen. You will hear it this eve with everyone else.  With this change I will need and expect more from you, but it will not be as a regular patrol member. We are not so desperate that we will put our children into battle lines just yet. You are too precious to us for that.”

Glorfindel selected his warriors and met with them first, allowing them time to prepare for the sortie he would lead them on.  They would travel light, and he was grateful that the cooks had adequate stores of waybread for them to carry. Leaving them to prepare, he returned to the greatroom where Elrond had assembled the house.

Elrond stood before the banner of Gil-galad, which had been hung on the wall near the fireplace.  While not dressed in the uniform of the herald of the King, he was dressed appropriate for his position. All eyes were intent on him.  Glorfindel could not help but compare the commanding figure standing before them with Turgon and the man Tuor and Eärendil, for truly he was of their stature.

“Even as we entered Eregion, we knew that Sauron’s forces had entered Eriador. The spring of last year was heralded by another push of the enemy closer to Lindon, where they hope to destroy our king and the havens.  Our spies tell us that Gil-galad has engaged and held the enemy, but they feared with a greater onslaught, they would be forced back to the sea.

“Many of you may have noticed that fewer and fewer of the enemy threaten our warriors and harass our borders. While this has led to an easing of our circumstance, and even an improvement of our situation, it is but a temporary reprieve.  The forces that have threatened us now have been turned against Gil-galad in Lindon. If Lindon falls, Sauron’s eye will then again turn to us, for he will not suffer us to live. We know that against the legions of Sauron’s forces, we cannot long stand.

“While Sauron’s forces were split between holding us here and advancing against Lindon, they were effective in defeating neither of us. We shall, then, use the same tactics. They have chosen not to engage us, that they might focus on Lindon.  Glorfindel will lead a sortie out to beleaguer our enemy at the rear.  Those of us who remain will strengthen our defenses, for it is likely we will find ourselves again besieged by fall.”

Glorfindel looked to Elrond only several times during his announcement, instead choosing to watch the expressions of those listening.  His tactic had been wise; he had subtly reminded everyone that despite the serenity of their summer, they were at war. The nods and intent concentration on the faces in the audience suggested that they believed in and agreed with what Elrond was saying.  Those under his command would never have doubted that this was the right course of action; but Glorfindel noted that Elrond’s inclusive attitude and concern for the children had also reminded everyone else that they were part of the fight.

Elrond had finished and was answering questions when Glorfindel saw Athranen making his way to him. He smiled at the youngster, hoping to reassure him, for his conflict was easy to read.

“Glorfindel, please let…” he began, but Glorfindel raised his hand to stop him.

“I take only experienced warriors from the King’s army,” he gently reminded the youth.  “I am counting on you here, Athranen. We go not with hopes of defeating Sauron’s army, only with hopes of turning some attention away from Lindon.  I plan to return here with the enemy upon my heels, and I need to know that I leave staunch defenders here in Imladris to protect the innocent, defend this as the king’s stronghold, and aid us so that we can stop the enemy beyond the Bruinen.  I have recommended to Elrond that you be named his junior lieutenant in defense of the grounds of Imladris.  I have outlined your responsibilities.”

Glorfindel handed the young elf the parchment, and watched as Athranen unrolled it and began reading.  He was to map the grounds, the passes into the mountains, the locations of the rivers and springs, and make recommendations for how to defend the grounds in the event the enemy made it across the final river and near the dwellings they had built. Glorfindel had seen what the young elf had done in Ost-in-Edhil, and was convinced he had the makings of a future commander.

“Well?” he asked, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth hard to contain.

“Yes!” cried Athranen.

“Yes, what?” asked Glorfindel sternly, raising one brow in question.

Athranen snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

Glorfindel smiled. “You are now a junior officer in the king’s army. You are expected to obey orders from any senior commander, and to use care with the civilians.  They and Imladris are now in your care.”

Athranen beamed, and Glorfindel could see the elf was trembling in excitement.  While he wished to embrace the youngster, he instead extended his hand in the warrior greeting.  Athranen took it firmly, his grip strong and sure.  As Glorfindel left the Great Hall, he noted that Elrond had beckoned his new lieutenant to his side and was already dictating orders.

Glorfindel left at dawn, with two thirds of the remnant of the force left from Lindon.  Imladris was left with the remaining defenders and the survivors of Ost-in-Edhil and the many humans that had joined them. Elrond saw them off with the traditional blessing, and they rode to war.

* * *

Fall 1699

“They are back!” announced Athranen after knocking on Elrond’s door and being called inside. “We saw the great eagles this morning, and now the warriors at the front have seen Glorfindel.  They are pursued, but at some distance!”

Elrond rose, and touching Athranen lightly on the shoulder, directed him out of his office and back down the hall to the front porch. Gwaeseil had appeared not long after Glorfindel had left, his curiosity piqued about where the war party had gone.  He had promised to look for them, and his flight this morning, circling something beyond their sight, had been correctly taken as a sign.

Elrond watched as the mounted warriors crossed the final river and climbed the steep bank, entering the grounds of Imladris.  They were all bronzed by hours under the sun, dirty and in need of baths and rest, but Elrond counted twice and all had made it back.  Glorfindel dismissed his elves and relinquished his horse to one of the young human boys before coming to stand before Elrond.

“Welcome back, Glorfindel,” greeted Elrond as they clasped hands. “I am glad to see that all of you have returned.”

“We practiced a different type of warfare, an assault and run strategy that annoyed, slowed and at times hurt the enemy, while allowing us to protect ourselves fairly well. It did what we had hoped though, for a good number of troops did follow us back here,” replied Glorfindel as he accepted a cool drink and then followed Elrond.  He stopped speaking for a moment as his eyes looked over the new additions to the house.

“The thing added in your absence that you may appreciate most is the plumbing. They are still working on the heating of water, but this winter we will not need to bathe in icy streams or carry buckets of water indoors to heat them.”

Glorfindel looked down at his travel stained clothing and laughed.  “I think we will bathe in the pool so as not to overwhelm their new systems!” He paused for a moment, as if sorting his thoughts to decide what to tell of the months they had spent in battle, then resumed walking in the direction of the pool. “We did not encounter many of the enemy as we traveled south. There were some roving bands of orcs looting and burning, and those we dispatched when we could.  Rumor came that Tharbad had fallen, so we headed there next.  Most of the Men who held the town and bridge had been forced to flee or were killed when large brigades of Orcs and evil Men passed that way in early spring.  Many of Tharbad’s men had returned by the time we reached the city, and we spent some time helping them to strengthen the town and repair the damage. We then crossed into Eriador, and found the enemy taking the shortest road to Lindon. We caught up to them easily, for our horses were swift and we traveled light. We harassed them day and night, making them believe that we were of much greater size than we were.  A large force was sent after us, and they are now several days’ march behind us.  We left an easy trail until we reached the mighty rivers, but they will have as much difficulty finding Imladris as they did before.  I expect that the majority of our time will be spent defensively this fall and into the winter.”

“We are prepared,” responded Elrond.

“This also was delivered,” said Glorfindel solemnly, and he withdrew from his tunic pocket a sealed message. “Erestor’s scouts are still spying out enemy movements and reporting back to Gil-galad.  One of our scouts had run into one of them about a year ago, and they were relieved to know that we were alive and holding on here, but this was the first chance for a message to be sent.  I have the military dispatches, but this was addressed specifically to you.”

Elrond took the message and carefully broke the king’s seal. He began reading, then stopped and folded the parchment before returning his attention to Glorfindel.  Glorfindel’s eyes twinkled as he laughed, “Read the letter while I bathe.  I am sure to be disturbing your senses as I am now!”

Someone had placed towels, fresh clothing and soap at the pool, and as Glorfindel gladly stripped and dove into the cool water, Elrond settled himself on to a nearby rock to read the letter.  He read it through slowly once, and then again. Hope settled on him anew, for as he had suspected, Gil-galad had not been idle in these years of siege.

“Good news?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond looked up at the much cleaner and better smelling warrior, but had to draw in a deep breath to steady his voice before he could answer. “Gil-galad says that twice Sauron has pushed to the line of the River Lhun and twice they have pushed him back, but he fears they cannot withstand a third assault.  Already they are assisted at the Havens by Men from Númenor, and Tar-Minastir has promised to send more aid. Gil-galad expects ships of the Númenorian Navy to arrive yet this year. Of note, he says there were no conditions on the aid, but Gil-galad still does not trust the king’s son, Admiral Ciryatur.  He closes bidding us to stand strong against our enemy.”

“It is well that we drew the enemy back to us, then,” remarked Glorfindel lightly. “Had the reinforcements we drew off reached the forces gathered there, their combined ranks may have overwhelmed Lindon, as we feared.”

“If Númenor does not come, then we have only purchased time,” replied Elrond softly.  He did not repeat Gil-galad’s words, but with Glorfindel there was no need: he had seen the utter devastation of Eriador and Eregion. They could not hold out forever, nor could Gil-galad. Gil-galad had written other words as well, words that would never be read by any other. Words of his pride and love for Elrond, as a father to a son, a farewell in case they did not see each other this side of Mandos’s Halls.

“Come, I will show you the notes and give you a full briefing of all we learned and saw,” said Glorfindel. “By tomorrow afternoon, we will be engaged in battle.”

* * *

Winter 1699-1700

Elrond felt the blast of cold air and heard the heavier feet of Men and lighter step of elves as they carried in yet another wounded warrior.   He could tell based upon the speed of their walk and the heaviness of their step if they carried the injured person, aided them to walk, or were merely coming in for meals or a break from the winter cold.   He looked up from the warrior he was tending, but returned his attention to the deep sword wound that had slashed open the elf’s belly when he saw the women clearing a place for the newest patient.

The area set aside for the wounded had grown dramatically over the fall and into the winter months, and at times it seemed as if every warrior had spent some time on the pallets and cots there.  He finished dressing the wound of the elf and turned him over to the care of those who were assisting him.  They would bathe him and make him comfortable, and Elrond was confident the wound would heal. Turning, he walked to where the newest patient had been placed.

“Master Elrond, please come see to Glorfindel,” said Athranen as he looked up and saw him approaching. 

Elrond kept his face impassive and calm despite the leap of his heart at hearing that his friend was injured.  The young elves and human children were all drawn to the golden warrior, and the look of fear on Athranen’s face spoke volumes of what the elf meant to him.  As he stepped to the cot, he saw that the young elf held Glorfindel’s hand, but clearly Glorfindel was the one doing the comforting.

“The wound is not serious, Elrond,” Glorfindel informed him.

Elrond pulled the folded cloth from Glorfindel’s thigh, noting the deep gash that bled heavily, yet did not endanger the leg.  Another cut to his chest was long and shallow, angry and red, but not life threatening.  “These wounds are hours old,” commented Elrond as he began his examination.

Glorfindel relaxed under his touch, and Elrond could feel Glorfindel’s complete trust and confidence in him through their skin contact.  With their minds open to each other, they could communicate without words, but their conversation was comforting to others. Elrond could sense the tension in Athranen as he waited for Glorfindel’s doom to be pronounced, and he lifted his head and met the child’s eyes. “The wounds are not life threatening. Glorfindel will recover quickly.”

Athranen sighed in relief, then quickly masked his reaction as he fell into his role as junior officer. “I will return to making arrows, Captain,” he said formally, and Elrond could not help but notice that even standing at attention the young elf was far more relaxed than he had been moments before.

After he had left, Glorfindel continued to speak as Elrond tended him. “Erestor has scouted south and into the mountains. He sends word of movement of new troops that he thinks will arrive with Spring.”

Elrond paused for a moment, then resumed cleaning the gash on Glorfindel’s leg.  Glorfindel’s words carried a message he had not missed: they could not withstand much more. If more enemy troops arrived before aid came from Lindon and Númenor, then it was only a matter of time before their warriors were chased back over the Bruinen and their enemy found them.

“I have spoken to the craftsmen of Ost-in-Edhil.  All of the males will begin assisting you in the defense of Imladris.  All can handle weapons at need and have taken you as their captain. The women and older children I will instruct in defensive fighting,” said Elrond, speaking even as his fingers deftly stitched the skin together on either side of the gash.  “Casyn has asked me to instruct her and the other mothers in ending their children’s lives as quickly and painlessly as possible, that they might have knowledge and tools should the need arise.”

Elrond felt Glorfindel tense beneath his hand. “Elrond, that is a thought I can barely force myself to consider.”

“You are mighty in war, Glorfindel.  You cannot imagine defeat, but these young mothers can. They would rather their children die by a hand holding the knife in love than be tortured and mutilated in horrible death before their eyes by servants of Sauron,” he replied evenly.  “I will teach them, even as I teach them to call upon the Valar should need come upon them.”

The thought of these children he had grown to love being harmed by anyone was enough to shadow Glorfindel’s usually radiant face. “I must rest, but then we will continue to develop our strategy.  Even the strongest enemy has a weak point, something that can be exploited, and we will find it.  Imladris will hold,” he finished.

Elrond finished bandaging the leg as Glorfindel lapsed into silence, and he tended the chest wound without words as the need for rest overcame this hardiest of elves. His eyes became unfocused beneath half lowered lids, and Elrond paused to concentrate his healing power into his friend. He felt the muscles beneath his hands relax, and finishing his task, he covered Glorfindel with a blanket and left him to sleep.

A quick walk about the area set aside for the wounded revealed that all were being well tended or were resting quietly, and Elrond slipped off to his study. There he opened the maps that he and Erestor had been detailing, showing all the passes into the mountains, the streams and their sources, and every geographic feature they could mark – caves, large rock formations, and identifiable trees.   Imladris was not easy to locate, and it was likely the only way the enemy would find them would be by following those trying to reach the haven.  Even now, Erestor and his scouts were mapping the ways to Imladris and away from it – to caves in the mountains or through passes that would take them east to the Anduin and the forest of Greenwood.  They would defend Imladris as long as possible, but they would also be prepared to flee at a moment’s notice.   Elrond let his eyes drift westward on the map to Lindon, and wondered if the city still stood.

* * *

Late Spring 1700

Elrond heard the call of the guard from the infirmary.  He continued tending the man on the pallet before him, carefully removing the barbed arrow from the man’s shoulder. He had had to cut the wound larger to remove the arrow without the barbs causing further damage, and the man’s hands were gripping the sheet tightly and his face was grey and sweat covered.  Exhausted himself, Elrond had tried to ease the man’s pain, but he had been unable to provide the comfort he normally would.  Herbal mixtures to ease the discomfort had been mixed and given, but Elrond knew that for a human they merely took the edge off the pain.  He completed the work as quickly and efficiently as he could, and when he slathered the salve on to the wound, he heard the man sigh in relief and relax. “I am sorry for your discomfort,” he said quietly, and now that he was free of the task, he gave a little more of himself to ease the man’s pain.

He heard the guard enter the Hall and looked up as the elf beckoned to him. The elf was a seasoned warrior, yet his normal mask had fallen and his eyes held a deep sadness. 

“A message from Erestor,” said the guard. “There are platoons of orcs one week south of here.”

Elrond nodded and took the sketch Erestor always sent showing placement and numbers. Dismissed, the guard left with what appeared to be the weight of the ages upon his shoulders.  Elrond studied the sketch Erestor had sent, and laid it next to the one they had received from scouts operating west beyond the river.  They had also reported troops moving eastward, and Elrond could not help but wonder if Lindon had fallen.  Based on their time estimates, the two forces should arrive within just a few days of each other. Elrond closed his eyes and covered his face with both hands, lightly massaging his temples and the ache that was forming there. Gil-galad had not sent help in time.

* * *

Erestor rode as if Sauron himself were in pursuit, though in truth, it was the desire to get word to Elrond and all of Imladris as quickly as possible that spurred him on.   Never had he seen so great an army gathered in one place, and the sight was overwhelming. He pushed his horse hard, but the stallion had seen the same sight that Erestor had, and seemed willing to give every ounce of his strength to bring the news back to their commander.  As he reached the top of a ridge, a look-out point from which he could see for miles, he looked west.  There, to his amazement, was another great army. He could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest, and after a moment’s rest he nudged his horse back into a run.

He reached Imladris at dusk.  An orc platoon that had been harrying Imladris warriors each night was just appearing, and Erestor had to bypass the battle that was beginning, to make it behind the elves’ front line and then pick his way along searching for the clues of the path to Imladris.  All of the warriors used care to ensure they left no signs of passage and concealed the path, which was nearly impossible to find even without their efforts.

Fording the river, he dismounted and led his horse up the steep bank and narrow path that led to the grounds of Imladris. He had heard the whistles signaling his arrival, and Celeborn, Glorfindel and Elrond were awaiting him on the front porch of the house. Erestor could not help but smile as he saw flowers growing in a bed by the porch, as well as cut and placed in containers at the entrance to the house.  His smile faded, however, when he looked into the shadowed faces of his friends.

He turned the care of the horse over to one of the young stable boys, patting the animal and whispering his thanks as he sent him to a well deserved meal and rest. Clasping hands with each of those waiting for him, he followed them inside.

“You have ridden hard to bear whatever news you have learned, but it can wait a few more minutes while you take refreshment,” said Elrond.

Erestor looked at the three closely, and saw the deep weariness within them. They expected the news to be terrible, and therefore waiting was only a slight delay to confirm their fears. “Have something sent for me.  Is there any wine left?”

Erestor was amused to see Elrond’s brow rise at his request, but the half-elf nodded. “I have reserved what is left for the wounded, but a bottle can be spared.”

“Good, for we will all need it when you hear the news,” replied Erestor stolidly.

He saw the table in Elrond’s study spread with maps and outlines of strategies for both defense and escape, and with a sweep of his hand he pushed them to the side and spread his own map out before them. 

“There is a massive army located here,” he said, pointing to the southern portions of the river Greyflood. “There is also a force moving east along here,” he continued, showing a nearly straight line from Lindon to Imladris. He looked up into the faces of the elves around him, and saw despair, and knew they were not noticing the markings on his map. Suddenly, Glorfindel’s face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.  “Those are ships you have drawn! Ships, coming up the Greyflood? Is that possible?”

Celeborn began to laugh.  “It is possible!  They have come before, and cleared the channel to their liking and left a small harbor here, named Vinyalondë. Númenor has come!”

Erestor smiled.  “They have more than come.  King Tar-Minastir landed at the Havens and with Gil-galad, they have routed Sauron’s forces and sent them scurrying back southeast along this road.  The reinforcements I sent word of had just reached Tharbad, and were joined by those retreating from Eriador, and the men of Tharbad fled in fear when the ships first appeared, thinking more enemy had come upon them.  Admiral Tar-Ciryatur, the King’s son, chased Sauron’s army east and battled them here in Calenardhon and then harried them all the way to Dagorlad.  What few survived have fled here,” he pointed to the dark lands east of the Anduin, “to Mordor.”

“Gil-galad leads a force of Elves and Men eastward,” explained Erestor, turning their attention to the west. “The army the scouts saw coming was being chased, and is about to be crushed between us and the king.”

Elrond was speechless, Celeborn sat back on his chair, laughing with relief, but Glorfindel leapt to his feet.  “Indeed they will be crushed between us! By your leave, Elrond, I will lead our troops out to meet them.”

Elrond was starting to say that he would join him, when a guard rapped on the door and called ‘wounded arriving!’  To Erestor’s surprise, there was no hesitation on Elrond’s face. He waved Glorfindel on as he rose to his feet and followed him to the door.  He stopped there, and turned to face Erestor. “Your news could not be more welcome, Erestor, nor your rest more deserved.  Eat and then sleep, for tomorrow, perhaps, you will see the victory.”

Erestor nodded, then watched as the three retreated.  Already he could hear Glorfindel and Celeborn planning their strategy, and looking down he realized they had taken his map. He heard movement at the entry of the door, and Casyn appeared.

“Welcome home, Erestor.  A bath has been prepared for you and a tray sent to your room.  Our food supplies are low, but there is bread and cheese and meat for you,” she said quietly.

Erestor saw the shadow upon her face, and knew that the news must be conveyed to everyone soon, for the despair was palpable. Rising, he took her hand in his and kissed the rough skin of her knuckles gently. “Thank you, Casyn, and in return I bear to you first of the house the good news. I will come to share it with all of you in the Great Hall once I have bathed: Sauron is defeated and in retreat to the east, chased by mariners who sailed up the Greyflood south of Tharbad.  Gil-galad, king of the elves, and a force of Men from the island of Númenor have routed them through Eriador and are chasing another army eastward from those lands.  Glorfindel and Celeborn ride out to meet them.  The army between them will meet their defeat crushed between the forces of elves and men. Have hope, Casyn, for your children will live and you will see a time of peace.”

Tears had filled her eyes as he spoke, and she pulled up her apron to dry them. Suddenly, she flung her arms about his neck and hugged him for a moment, then ran from the room.

After eating and bathing, Erestor went to the Great Hall.  The greater portion of it was still an infirmary, and outside of the curtains that separated the areas, the children and other house residents were about their evening activities. No uninjured warriors were present, and Erestor knew that Glorfindel and Celeborn would be preparing them for the assault they would lead in the morning. After checking on Elrond and ensuring that all was in control with the wounded, he gathered the others around him, holding Tollyn’s two year old son after the toddler had squealed in joy and flung himself at Erestor’s knees upon seeing him, and delivered the good news. Amidst the tears and laughter, thanks were given for help that had arrived after all hope had been lost.

* * *

The battle began in earnest the next evening, and continued for several days and nights.  Elrond had ceased counting the number of wounded brought to him, moving from injured warrior to injured warrior with nary a break.  Tollyn, Casyn, and Ethiriel were all assisting him, along with young Eirien and others of the older children.  As much as it pained Elrond to see the children helping clean up blood and gore-covered bandages, their help was needed and he stepped aside as Casyn’s older daughter poured more sand on the blood–slick floor around him.  Athranen, Angren and Casyn’s oldest son and another boy were carrying in the wounded on stretchers.  Word had come with one of the injured warriors that the fighting was heavy, for Sauron’s forces were desperate to escape the large army pursuing them.  Glorfindel and Celeborn may have engaged too soon, thought Elrond, though in these times they were lacking the intelligence to do more than what seemed right at the time.

As morning drew near on the fourth day after the fighting started, Elrond bound the last wound and carried the Man to a pallet where he might rest.  Casyn and her oldest daughter were slumped against the wall, the child sound asleep in her sleeping mother’s arms. Both had traces of blood on them from their work.  Looking around, Elrond saw that many of the house had literally dropped where they had been standing.  He poured himself a small cup of miruvor and drank it slowly, feeling his strength replenish slightly from the restorative.  As his mind cleared, he noticed the uniform of the man he had just tended, and realized he had not even looked the warrior in the face, for his wound had been to the back of his shoulder.  He rose and walked to the Man, and gently turned him on his side. His face was pale and his hair black, and he was very tall and powerful appearing, and it hit Elrond that this was a man of Númenor.   He had known many during his time in Lindon, for the Men of Númenor often visited or came as ambassadors of their King, but he had grown used to the look of the Men who lived in this part of Middle-earth – shorter lived and of lesser stature, though he knew they were distant kin of the Men who had founded Númenor. He felt a smile cross his face at what this injured man represented: the forces of Gil-galad and Tar-Minastir had reached the army led by Glorfindel and Celeborn. The battle must be over, or would be soon.

Elrond picked up the exhausted women and children one by one and placed them on pallets, then lay down himself near the entrance, where he would be sure to hear any new arrivals.  The Path of Dreams was quickly found and he drifted off.

The smell of breakfast awakened him several hours later, and he rose even as the exhausted humans and elves and warriors still slept.  The cooks were preparing what could only be described as a feast, though he learned most of it was for evening meal.

“Erestor has sent word and supplies for a feast this evening!” the cook whispered excitedly as he handed Elrond a breakfast plate.  “Supplies we have not seen the like of since we left Lindon!”

Elrond sat and ate, realizing as soon as he had smelled the food how hungry he was.  “You have hardly eaten these last few days,” scolded the cook.  He smiled though, as he heaped another helping on to Elrond’s plate.

Elrond finished and took the opportunity to wash up and change clothing, placing another sleeveless smock over his tunic and trousers in preparation for another day of treating the wounded.  He returned to the Great Hall as others were beginning to stir, and began assisting the injured.  Soon, all of his aides had eaten and changed, and once the wounded were all fed and cared for as well, they prepared the room for the next onslaught.

By mid-day, no more wounded had arrived and Elrond finally walked out of the house.  From the front porch he could see the banners of the king in the distance, and tears filled his eyes.   Nearly a half hour later, Gil-galad himself strode across the lawn to the house. Erestor, Glorfindel and Celeborn had all escorted him and his captains, and among them Elrond saw captains from Númenor as well. He walked forward and bowed to his knee before his king.

“Rise, Elrond,” said Gil-galad, and Elrond could hear joy in his voice. He rose, and then Gil-galad grasped his arm and then embraced him.

Elrond thought of the many years he had spent in the company of this elf he considered father and king, of the strength of his arms and the strength of his character, and in his joy found himself nearly at a loss for words. He pulled back and met the dark grey eyes of the High King of the Noldor. “Welcome to Imladris, eastern outpost and refuge of your realm and army,” he greeted him.

Many of the inhabitants of the house had poured out of the doors, eager to see the king that none of the humans and only some of the elves had ever met.  Elrond watched as Gil-galad went from person to person, family to family, greeting them and thanking them for their service.  Gil-galad knew many of his own soldiers by name, those who had left Imladris and marched to the aid of Eregion.  Some of the elves of Eregion had lived in Lindon, and these thanked Gil-galad for sending them Elrond.  The humans could not easily meet his gaze, and so Gil-galad used care in greeting them. As was customary with his charm, soon every youngling was crowded around him much as they flocked to Glorfindel.

Elrond led him indoors, showing him the house and what the craftsmen of Ost-in-Edhil had accomplished.  Imladris was no mere house, but the beginning of a work of art, with beauty on par with function in importance.  Gil-galad toured the infirmary, visiting with the injured and assuring them that their sacrifices had not been in vain, but had helped secure victory in Eregion and Eriador. Finally, they settled in Elrond’s study with a bottle of wine provided by Gil-galad.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and the smooth taste of the fine wine.

“The best you have had in several years, no doubt,” said Gil-galad with a smile.

Elrond only nodded, for he was still gathering his thoughts. Finally he said, “Your arrival could not have been more timely. We heard rumor that armies were approaching from the south and west, and feared Lindon and the Havens had fallen.  Joy replaced our despair and hope filled our hearts when we learned that Númenor had come, and that you led the force east.”

“I am only sorry it took so long,” replied Gil-galad soberly. “When we had gone nearly two years without word, we began to fear you had all perished. Círdan and I considered that we would encourage all the remaining elves to sail, if we could get word to Lorinand and Greenwood, for we knew that we too could not withstand Sauron’s might alone. Númenor was beset with difficulties, yet Tar-Minastir’s word was good, and even over these last two years he had sent forces and supplies to the Havens.”

Gil-galad paused and looked around the room, finally settling his gaze on Elrond. “We will need to gather council here, and determine how we wish to use Imladris and who should govern it.” He paused. “I will tell you what I see, however, Elrond.  I see my herald no more, but in his place a lord in his own right, one who has forged a realm from the wilderness and gathered to him all that would come, Men and Elves, and all of them look to him as Lord.” He raised his hand as Elrond moved to speak. “My wish will be for you to remain here as my Vice-Regent, for though I am loathe to part from you, I foresee that your place is here.”

Elrond sat back in his chair, silent, watching Gil-galad.  The king had never been able to sit still for a whole meeting, and even now he walked about, speaking with tongue and hands as he laid out his reasons.

“What about Celeborn and Galadriel?” he finally asked.

“They shall have their say,” answered Gil-galad without pause.  “But I do not think they will object. Galadriel is sure to arrive soon, and we will hear her word on the matter.”

Elrond considered this, as he had not allowed himself to do in the past.  He had focused only on survival, and made sure in his heart that he never took greater honor than what his position in service to the King required.  Yet, he found that his heart now resided here, and he also foresaw that his future was tied to Imladris.   He smiled.

“A room has been prepared for you,” he said, interrupting his own musings. “This evening we will feast, thanks to the provisions you sent ahead.”

Elrond rose to escort the king to a private room, one of just a few that were completed, and again Gil-galad looked him over with a flicker of emotion on his face – and Elrond saw there paternal pride and love and something he could only describe as loyalty. 

“Well done, Elrond. I meant it when I said that there was no one I trusted more to lead in my stead, and you have fulfilled every expectation I could have had. Yet when you left, I felt as a father might feel sending his son to almost certain death.  When I arrived, my plans had you returning to Lindon with me.  Now, however, I find that you have outgrown even the ideals I had set for you on this mission: you are the lord of Imladris. I find it is instead time to let you go.”

Elrond felt the warm arms wrap around him as his eyes again filled with tears.  While Gil-galad had always been affectionate with him, never before had Elrond felt this strong a paternal pride.  “I can only promise to continue as I have done, as you have taught me, in fealty and allegiance to you as my king…and as one who has been as a father to me.”

On that early summer’s night, a fire lit the night sky of Imladris, and gathered about it and the waterfalls and the streams and in the fields and lawns, up to the front porch and all the way to the river, the elves and men of Lindon and Eregion and Númenor feasted and sang and danced together.  As the stars appeared, Glorfindel drew forth his harp and gathered the children around him, and he sang of Elbereth and how through the stars she watched over each one of them.

High in their mountain eyries, Gwaeseil and his eagles watched over the son of the star that fought Morgoth with their fathers, and sent word of the victory to their Lord, Manwë.

* * * * *

To be continued in the Second Age for one more chapter…..

Thank you to all who are reading and an extra special thanks to all who have reviewed or sent me an email of encouragement.  I truly appreciate it - and it helps keep me motivated when this story overwhelms me!

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 26:  The Last Homely House

Nearly a month had passed since Gil-galad and his combined forces of Men and Elves had arrived in Imladris.  While the warriors of Imladris were resting after their exhausting winter of siege, the warriors of Lindon were scouring the lands and flushing out any survivors of Sauron’s army.  Elrond reviewed the report that Gil-galad had dropped on his desk: it appeared that very few had survived.

He rose and walked to the balcony that had been recently completed. He wondered if he would ever grow used to the view, and decided he would ensure he did not.  The waterfalls seemed to sing as they cascaded to the streams below, and the acoustics of the cliff walls created a harmony that played in an echoed unison.  The overall effect was one of serenity, a feeling that time stood still and the cares of life passed by outside of their valley.  Now that the worries and hardships of war were passing into memory and he knew that the king wished him here, he found his heart turned to this land.

Elrond knew that Gil-galad had spoken to Celeborn and Glorfindel, the leaders of the Mírdain, and others of the population of Imladris about Elrond remaining to lead Imladris.   Glorfindel had told him that in Gil-galad he saw a natural skill, similar to that of his father Fingon, uncle Turgon and grandfather Fingolfin, to speak to and lead people where he wished them to go.   In this case, Glorfindel had admitted, it seemed that Gil-galad had merely learned that others wanted what he did as well. Still, Elrond would wait until the Council met formally. Galadriel should have a say in the matter, and though Celeborn had already spoken his piece, no decision would be made until it could be properly debated.

Already the inhabitants of Imladris were deciding their own futures.  Most of the humans would stay through the coming spring before moving on to build homesteads and start their lives anew.  In addition to the swelling population of warriors from Lindon and Númenor, many of the race of Men who had been chased from their lands in Eregion and Eriador had come to find Imladris, seeking news of their kin.  Elrond looked out over the grounds and beyond them to the river, and it seemed as if there were camps as far as his eyes could see.

Giggling caught his attention, and he turned as pattering feet flew across the floor.  He caught the armful of child just as the small boy flung himself into his arms.

“Hello, Aldric,” he greeted the toddler.  Aldric buried his face in Elrond’s tunic, pulling apart the closures as if trying to crawl inside.  “Are you hiding?”

More giggles issued against his chest, causing a slightly wet, tickling sensation, and then the small head popped up and nodded in agreement.  “Mama is looking for me,” he announced.

“And why would you be hiding from your mama?”

“Nap time,” said Aldric, grinning.  “No naps!”

“I would agree you do not look tired,” teased Elrond. He could hear Tollyn’s voice in the hall, but he did not recognize the male voice in conversation with her.   He cuddled Aldric to his chest, and despite both of their assertions that he was not and did not appear tired, his eyelids drooped immediately and he snuggled against Elrond’s chest. Walking into the hallway, he saw Tollyn in conversation with a young man who had arrived a few weeks earlier, searching for his own wife.  He had learned she had died, as he had feared, several years earlier.  While he had seemed devastated by the news, Elrond recognized the look in the man’s eyes as he looked now upon Tollyn.   They were earnestly speaking of the future.

“I will go and begin rebuilding.  My brother and his family will live nearby, and there are others considering moving there as well.   I would like you to be by my side, Tollyn.  I can promise to love and protect you, and together we would raise more sons, strong boys like your Aldric, and daughters too, and have a prosperous farm,” said the man.

Tollyn listened with wide eyes. “The elves have said I can stay here with Aldric, as I am without family.” She paused, her gaze lowered; then she lifted her face to his. “But I would like to live with my own people, and have other children and my own home.  Casyn says you are a good man, that you treated your wife well, and you would do right by Aldric.”

“I would, Tollyn.  He shall be as the son that died in the womb of my wife, as my own firstborn.  You would make me a fine wife, and bear my children, and in time we would grow to love each other.”

Tollyn turned her head at that moment, and her eyes met Elrond’s as he walked slowly to them. Her face flushed red as she realized he had likely overheard her words.

“Aldric has fallen into sleep, despite all his wishes to the contrary,” said Elrond quietly. “I will walk with him a while outside with your leave, for I find a certain contentment in holding a sleeping child.”

Tollyn nodded in a combination of embarrassment and relief, and Elrond continued down the hall and out the front door.  Once outside, he wandered the path that led to the waterfall and pools, avoiding the delighted shrieks of the human youngsters playing in the shallow pool they so loved, and heading further up and into the deeper trees where quiet prevailed.   There was something intensely soothing about holding a sleeping child, and he found his thoughts drawn to the life this mortal boy faced.  As hard as it was for Elrond to comprehend Tollyn marrying this man she had just met, he reminded himself of how fleeting were the years of these mortals, with life spans far less than those of the Men of Númenor.  In the customs of these people, they did remarry, quite often very soon after the death of a spouse, for a widower needed a mother for his children and a wife to keep his home, and a widow needed a father for her children and a strong man to run the farm. Not all widows and widowers remarried, but most did, and Elrond knew that Tollyn would miss the life she had known, and she would miss the physical comfort of having a husband.  He smiled, for the elves indeed found the humans less restrained in their bodily desires and they did need to marry. Caressing the mop of brown hair lying over his arm, he decided the man would likely be a good father to this child.

“You look entirely natural in that position,” came an amused voice.

Elrond looked up to see Gil-galad seated on the rocks high above the waterfall. The king grinned and jumped to a rock many feet below him, and then leapt to the ground. He looked upon the child, tickling its foot and then laughing as the child squirmed in his sleep.   “The first child born in Imladris, I hear.”

“He was indeed,” answered Elrond. “His birth brought joy to Elves and Men alike, and even in that tough winter, we celebrated his arrival.”

“Hmm…” said Gil-galad, looking thoughtfully at them both.

“My lord!” called Athranen from the path below them.  “The Lady Galadriel has arrived!”

“Just as expected,” laughed Gil-galad.  After Athranen had run off, Gil-galad turned to Elrond and whispered, “Do you think she has reorganized Lorinand and is providing counsel to King Amdir?”

Elrond laughed, and though he did not answer, he thought Gil-galad likely right.  She had run Balar during the War of Wrath, and begun planning the settlement of Lindon and mapping the lands at the war’s end.  He had no doubt that all the elves of Lorinand now loved her, for that happened wherever she went, and if she had demurred to Amdir to his satisfaction, he likely would have let her run his kingdom in return.

They rose and began walking back to Imladris, with Gil-galad called ahead by his own advisors, and Elrond walking slowly so as to not jar the child in his arms. 

Galadriel was indeed just arriving, walking into the courtyard with a number of other elves following her, when Elrond heard a cry of delight and then saw a female elf fly past Galadriel, silver hair streaming out behind her, and fling herself into Celeborn’s arms.

Celeborn lifted her from her feet, swinging her around, in a display so careless of who might be watching that Elrond knew that the beautiful elleth could only be his daughter.  He watched as Celeborn set Celebrían down, his hands moving to touch each side of her face as he looked into her eyes, then run down the silver ribbon of hair to her shoulders, and then down her arms to take her hands in his own.  He raised those hands to his lips and kissed them, and then Celebrían wrapped her arms about him again and held him tight.

Abruptly, Elrond found, to his own embarrassment, that he wanted to hold Celebrían in his arms, he wanted to feel her pressed up close against him, and he wanted to run his fingers through her shining strands of hair.   He felt his body respond as he thought of her and quickly squelched those desires. He could not help but laugh at himself as he considered that just a short while earlier he had been considering that mortals needed to marry so that they had an outlet for their desires.  Perhaps this is my mortal blood, he thought, bemused. 

He could not turn his eyes away from the reunion happening before him.  He watched as Galadriel approached her husband much more sedately than her daughter had, and publicly she and Celeborn merely held hands. Elrond knew that the bond between them was powerful and words were not needed to communicate their thoughts and feelings. Celebrían, on the other hand, remained attached to her father’s side, her arm wrapped through his.  Her smile lit her face, and she was radiant. Though he had read of instances with the Eldar of love at first, he had never thought to experience it himself.  Although Beren beheld Lúthien and was enchanted by her at first sight.  And Elu-Thingol loved Melian from the first time he saw her, but I have heard she used her powers on him. Tuor loved Idril, perhaps not from first sight, but not long after.  Perhaps it is an inherited trait.

“Elrond!” Forcing his eyes away from Celebrían, Elrond turned to meet his king’s gaze.

“Would you like to meet Celebrían, or do you plan to just stare at her?” questioned Gil-galad, grinning.

Elrond felt his face flush, despite his best attempts to stop it.  Even in his chagrin, he found himself intrigued that he could not mask that emotion. Before he could answer, though, he saw Gil-galad step forward to greet the reunited family. Celeborn and Galadriel greeted him, then introduced Celebrían. Gil-galad raised Celebrían’s hand to his lips, kissing it, then holding her hand in his own.  To Elrond’s continued amazement, he felt a stab of jealousy, another emotion seldom experienced and one that he also had a difficult time suppressing.  A small cry interrupted his thought, and he realized he had tightened the grip on the toddler in his arms and awakened the child.

He soothed Aldric while Gil-galad spoke with Celebrían and Galadriel, and Elrond overhead the pleasantries exchanged about their trip north from Lorinand. He heard they had passed through Moria again and spoken with the dwarves, but they had not gone into the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil.  Elrond listened as he shifted Aldric to his shoulder, where the child nuzzled into his neck and wrapped his chubby hands around Elrond’s hair.

“Celebrían, this is Elrond Eärendilion.” Elrond heard himself introduced as he tried to extricate his hair.   He immediately stilled his hands, but found himself unable to properly bow and greet the lady before him.  To his chagrin, Gil-galad was grinning, Celeborn appeared amused and Galadriel raised a brow at his predicament.

“Lady Celebrían, welcome to Imladris,” he managed, and he bowed slightly, the child in his arms giggling at the movement.

Celebrían laughed at the child’s joy and stepped forward to stroke the little boy’s hair. “And who are you, little one?”

Aldric tipped his head back to see her, releasing a handful of Elrond’s hair in favor of touching Celebrían’s face.  This she allowed; then she encompassed his hand in her own and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

Elrond felt his heart leap and his mind reel at her closeness, and it took all his effort to answer. “This scamp is Aldric, the first child born in Imladris. His mother is within, and he is meant to be napping.”

“Are you disobeying your adar?” teased Celebrían as she pulled Aldric’s hand to her and shook it gently, making him laugh again.

Elrond was sure his heart stopped, and he had to pause as he quickly considered his response. “Unfortunately, his father was a casuality of war, thus he has belonged to all of us during his time here. And much beloved he has been,” he added as he tickled the child, increasing his giggles.

From the corner of his eye, Elrond saw the look of approval on Galadriel’s face. Celebrían had blushed slightly and Elrond had felt her withdraw from him, but as he continued to speak as if no mistake had been made, she relaxed and though it was perhaps only his wish that it be so, she appeared to look at him differently now that she no longer thought the child was his.  Their eyes met a moment later, and he did not mask the interest he knew his gaze held, for she was young and not experienced at hiding her own feelings.  He found her eyes held the same interest.

“Master Elrond, thank you for watching Aldric,” said Tollyn breathlessly as she ducked nearly behind Elrond to greet him and retrieve her son.  “My lady,” she whispered, bowing to Celebrían, but her eyes lifted beneath her lashes as she could not help but look at the beautiful elf before her. 

“Mama!” cried Aldric.  He flung himself at her, wrapping his arms about her neck and hugging her tightly.  “Bye, Elrond!” He waved as his mother led him away, and Tollyn looked back over her shoulder once, still awed at being in Celebrían’s presence.

Elrond straightened his tunic, brushing lightly at the drool spots that wet his chest where the child had nestled against him.  He felt a jolt of energy as Celebrían’s hand brushed against his as she fixed the braid on his right shoulder that Aldric had mussed.  He held his breath as she deftly fixed it, then patted it down lightly against him.

“It was kind of you to watch the little boy,” said Celebrían, a light flush creeping up her cheeks as she pulled her hands away and stepped back from him.

“Suilad, Elrond,” greeted Galadriel, stepping to her daughter’s side.  “I am glad to find you well and so many of our people safe here with you.”

“Lady Galadriel,” replied Elrond, and this time he was able to bow properly.  After a brief discussion of those who had survived, he asked, “May I show you to your room, or would you like a short tour of Imladris first?”

Galadriel smiled, her eyes boring deeply into him, and Elrond girded himself but allowed her probe of his thoughts. She then turned to her daughter. “Celebrían, I prefer to rest and refresh first.  You may, however, tour the grounds with Elrond now if you so desire.”

Celebrían brightened at the prospect. “Thank you, Naneth.” She turned to Elrond. “I would like to see Imladris, Master Elrond.”

With Celebrían at his side, Elrond led Galadriel with Celeborn at her side to the rooms he had appointed for Celeborn earlier.  He waited in the hallway as Celebrían refreshed herself, and a few minutes later she appeared at the door, her father at her arm.  As Celeborn turned his daughter over to him, Elrond caught the look of bemusement on the elf’s face. As he took Celebrían’s hand in his own, he saw Celeborn lean back against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest, and watch while they walked away.

He laughed at himself as he realized he had fallen in love with the most beautiful and charming elleth he had ever met, and she happened to be the daughter of two of the most powerful elves in Middle-earth.  That she appeared interested in him as well made him feel nearly giddy with desire.

* * *

“Sauron is defeated, but not dead.  His has in his keeping the One Ring as well as some of the rings made by the elves.  He will rebuild his armies and seek to destroy us again.  It is only a matter of time,” concluded Gil-galad.

Gil-galad sat down, looking at each person seated around the table and tallying the consensus of their agreement.  Elrond could easily see there was no disagreement, even among the Númenorian representatives present.  The Men of Númenor were proud of the relief they had brought to the peoples of Middle-earth, yet unafraid of any future retaliation against them by Sauron. 

“Sauron may be able to build armies and fight a ground war, but he has no ability to build ships and cross the seas,” the Númenorian captain had replied.

“Imladris is strategically placed and well hidden, and I wish to maintain it as a stronghold here in Eregion.  I will need to choose a Vice-Regent to serve here,” added Gil-galad after he found his prior conclusions uncontested.

“Imladris has been led by Elrond since he founded it, and I believe he is the best person to lead it into the future,” said Celeborn.

“Many of the survivors of Ost-in-Edhil plan to stay in Imladris,” said Galadriel calmly.  “Those were our people.”

“For the past three years they have lived under his leadership,” replied Celeborn. “They are content to continue this way.”

Galadriel nodded, then turned her gaze upon Elrond again.  “I have foreseen that the futures of Elrond and Imladris are woven together.  I also believe that Elrond should lead Imladris.”

All eyes settled upon him, and Elrond said, “I too have foreseen that my future lies in Imladris.  If my king desires that I remain here, then I do so gladly.”

Gil-galad smiled. “I name Elrond as my Vice-Regent to Eregion, then.” He turned to Celeborn and Galadriel.  “What are your plans?  Will you return to Lindon?”

Galadriel nodded. “That is our decision, at least for now. We would like our daughter to have the advantages that Lindon can offer.”

Elrond felt his heart jump at the mention of Celebrían, then fall as he considered that she would soon be leaving. Yet, he knew the time was not right for him to seek permission to court her.  His time was not his own, and he too knew that they would again face Sauron in war.  He had enjoyed the time they spent together, usually under the distant but watchful eye of her parents or Glorfindel, which neither of them had found constraining. Elrond was used to Glorfindel’s constant presence, and Celebrían to her parents, and they usually forgot they were among others.

He found Celebrían full of joy and as merry as any elf could be.  She would sing at times, other times they would talk, but she was equally content to sit in the quiet stillness and watch a sunset or lie beneath the stars as they appeared in the night sky.  The first time they had seen Eärendil together, she had wrapped her arm through his and sung a ballad of Gil-estel she had learned as a child.   Elrond had blinked back tears at the beauty of her voice.

Elrond suddenly realized that the meeting had adjourned and nearly everyone had left the room.  Gil-galad and Glorfindel were watching him with looks of amusement that he was growing used to, for they had caught him with his thoughts elsewhere entirely too often lately.

“Celebrían will be leaving for Lindon soon,” said Gil-galad.

“She will enjoy life in Lindon,” replied Elrond quietly. “That experience will be unlike any she has had before. She will blossom there.”

“You do not intend to speak to her?” asked Gil-galad gently.

Elrond looked away. “No. Celebrían is very young and the time in Lindon will bring her pleasures that life growing up under the threat of Sauron could not.   My place is now here, for you are right that Sauron will rise again.  Our fight with him is not over.”

Gil-galad furrowed his brow.  “Elrond, it is clear to me that you love Celebrían.  Why did you let me name you Vice-Regent now and assign you to Imladris when you knew that Celebrían would leave for Lindon?   I could have arranged for you to return there as well, at least for a while.”

Elrond felt anger rising within him and it took him a moment to contain his feelings.  “We spoke of the need to maintain a stronghold in Imladris before I met Celebrían.  You indicated you wanted me here, and I foresaw then that my future was in Imladris as well.  Did you think that I would so easily shift and change, shirk my duty and responsibility?  If I am meant to be with Celebrían, then she will one day return and in a time of peace I will seek to bind with her.”

“No, Elrond, I have never known you to shirk your duty or responsibility,” replied Gil-galad sternly. “If anything, they rule your life to the exclusion of all else.  However, I would not consider you spending some time in Lindon, now or in the future, a shirking of your duty.”

Elrond felt heat rise in his face and he lowered his gaze. “I look forward to visiting Lindon, Gil-galad.

Gil-galad laughed and held his hand out to Elrond. As he pulled Elrond to his feet, he spoke to Glorfindel. “Part of your job, Glorfindel, is to prevent this level of seriousness. He needs more joy in his life.”

Glorfindel only smiled.

* * *

“Naneth, when will we be leaving for Lindon?” asked Celebrían.

“We will return with the king and his army,” answered Galadriel. She smiled at her daughter. “You will enjoy Lindon, Celebrían.  The sea is beautiful to behold, as are the Havens and the ships of Círdan.  Many of the buildings are brick, as are the streets of the city.  There are beautiful fountains and gardens, a grand library and music amphitheater.”

Celebrían glanced out the window of their sitting room, where the sound of running water was ever present.  The forest was deep green and set against the nearly golden, sunlit cliffs of the Misty Mountains.  She loved the gardens here, even if they were young, and already a library had been started, though it had few books at this time.  Deer roamed the grounds, along with fox and squirrels, and there were otters in the streams.

“Naneth, Elrond has not spoken to me,” she said in a troubled voice.

Galadriel sat down beside her on the window seat. “He has not spoken to you about his feelings for you?”

Celebrían shook her head. “I am sure he loves me, as I am sure he knows I love him.  But he does not speak of it.”

Galadriel put her arm around her and pulled her close, and Celebrían leaned into her and waited for her mother to answer, for she was sure she would receive an explanation.

“I will tell you something about Elrond that I think you should understand, Celebrían. I have known him since he was a small child full of quiet determination to know all that he could know, and to please Gil-galad and Círdan, who raised him.  His sense of duty is very strong. Right now, his duty is to Imladris and to the king.  You know that Sauron was not defeated, and as before, he will rise again to build his armies and attempt to conquer Middle-earth. I do not think that Elrond will express his feelings for you until a time has come when that threat does not exist.”

Celebrían heard the small cry of frustration escape her before she could contain it, and her mother’s raised brow confirmed she had heard it too.  “Naneth, there could be peace now for a hundred years or many hundreds of years.  I do not wish to wait that long!”

“What is a hundred years to an elf, Celebrían?” asked Galadriel, and Celebrían was glad to hear some amusement in her voice.  “You will come to Lindon with us, and experience all the wonderful things that the city can offer you.  There you will meet many new Elves, perhaps other suitors that you will wish to entertain.”

“I do not want other suitors,” snapped Celebrían.

Galadriel laughed. “Well, you will know that for sure once you meet other elves. Nonetheless, you will have opportunities.  Elrond will be here, Celebrían.  He is steadfast. If he loves you today, and I believe that he does, then he will be here for you when the time is right for you to be together.” She paused, looking into Celebrían’s eyes for a moment. “I also suggest you think on what it would mean to be married to one who is bound also to his duty.  That duty may need to come before you. Could you be happy with that?”

“Yes, Naneth,” whispered Celebrían. “I learned about duty from you and Adar, and I have not forgotten what it means to be responsible for our people.  Nor have I forgotten that you would have stayed but left to keep me safe.”

Galadriel stroked her hair.  “You may be called to keep your children safe while your husband fights one day too, Celebrían. In all of your life you have lived under the curse of the Noldor, a curse that will not end as long as we reside in Middle-earth. Sauron will rise to power again, and we will fight him again.  If you wish to stand by Elrond’s side, then you must make his duty your duty too.”

Celebrían brushed away the tear sliding down her cheek. “I have never asked you, and you have not said if Elrond has, but would you approve of him for my husband, should he ever decide to speak his feelings?”

Galadriel laughed again. “Yes, we would approve, child.”

“I should go to Lindon,” said Celebrían suddenly. “I would wish to be a good wife to Elrond, Naneth, should he ever ask. In Lindon I will learn more, that I might converse with him.  Adar says that Elrond is a Master of Lore, and I know so little.”

“Elrond knew little when he was your age,” said Galadriel, smiling.  She paused for a long while, then spoke again, “Elrond does not need for you to know as much as he does, Celebrían.  What Elrond needs is for his wife to love him. He has suffered many losses in his life, a life still young by the reckoning of the Eldar, and I foresee more losses to come in his future.”

Celebrían sat up straight, holding tight to her mother’s hand.  “Do you see me in that future, Naneth?”

Galadriel smiled, sadly it seemed.  “I do foresee some of your future, daughter, but it is not for me to predict.”

“I love Imladris, Naneth.  I would like to see it become a refuge for anyone, of any race of Middle-earth, who came seeking a place of safety or rest or rejuvenation.  A haven in Eregion for the Elves, but also for Men in need, or Dwarves, or others that I cannot foresee.”

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and Celebrían jumped to her feet. “I was to meet Elrond to walk in the garden!”

She opened the door to see Glorfindel, who smiled at her with a radiance she had seldom seen before. “Lady Celebrían, Elrond begs your forgiveness, as he was called to tend an injury and will be late joining you.  May I escort you to the garden in his stead, and he will join you there in a short while?”

“Yes, Glorfindel,” she answered.  With a wave to her mother, she left the house more light-hearted than she had been in the several days since learning they would be leaving soon. They entered the garden in companionable silence.

“I must remember to send rose cuttings or bring them next time I come this way,” she said absently as she bent to sniff a wild daisy. “There is adequate light here and with some protection they would survive the winters, I think.”

Glorfindel smiled as she talked, thinking aloud about what kind of garden she would make.  He nodded every so often, attentive to her words but saying little. “Glorfindel, you are very quiet today,” she said finally.

“I am enjoying seeing the rose in front of me blossom,” he answered.

Celebrían looked at the ground, but quickly realized he was speaking of her and blushed.  Glorfindel laughed, then placed a fatherly kiss upon the top of her head.  “Celebrían, you are a ray of sunshine.  You have brightened Elrond’s life, and I am thankful for that.”

Celebrían turned to look him in the face, but if anything, he radiated his sincerity.  She looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer, for she wished to ask questions of him, about Elrond, that she knew she should not ask.  For a moment she considered how she might phrase the questions to make them appear more innocent, but quickly discarded that thought. She felt his hand at her cheek a moment later, lifting her face to meet his.  She realized that looking upon Glorfindel, at that moment, was different than looking upon any other Elf she knew.  He was transparent, innocent yet wise, and she knew she would not play any game with this elf, ever.

“I love him, Glorfindel, and I think he loves me.  Yet, he does not speak to me and my naneth does not believe he will, not now, when he knows that Sauron will again rise. I will go to Lindon with my parents, and learn and grow and mature. But I will be waiting, all the same.”

Her words, too forward, were met only with a look of tenderness.  “I do not have the gift of foresight that your naneth has, or even Elrond.  But, someday, there will be a rose garden here, tended by your hand, and in it you will wander with your husband and your children – your own refuge within the grounds of Imladris, the place where Elrond will be only a husband and an adar.  I, for one, will enjoy calling you the Lady of Imladris,” he finished, and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Celebrían impulsively threw her arms about his neck and hugged him.  He hugged her back, then set her back on her feet and turned her around, and there stood Elrond.   “Elrond!” she called, and with a final smile at Glorfindel, she nearly danced forward to meet him. “I was telling Glorfindel how beautiful a rose garden would be on this spot.  I will be sure to send or bring some cuttings next time we visit.”

Elrond’s eyes were fixed on Glorfindel, and something passed between them that she did not understand.  Elrond soon relaxed though, and turned his attention to her, and Glorfindel faded into the background as they walked in the garden and time stood still.

* * *

The supply wagons were packed and assembled on the far side of the river, and the army returning to Lindon had already begun to move slowly west.  Only Gil-galad, Celeborn, Galadriel and Celebrían remained of those who would leave.

“Erestor, you are sure you do not wish to return to Lindon for the winter?  We will be sending supplies and many soldiers who go home now will be returning here with their families in the spring,” said Gil-galad.

Erestor shook his head.  “No, sir.”

Gil-galad embraced him and Glorfindel, then nodded for Elrond to walk with him. “Perhaps he will recover better here, surrounded by the water and trees.  Watch out for him, Elrond.  I expect you to come to Lindon, perhaps next fall,” said Gil-galad sternly.

Elrond laughed.  “I will come then. It is still my home, and I wish to wander the library and determine what I want to bring back with me,” he replied.

Gil-galad laughed and patted his tunic pocket.  “I have your list of books and scrolls for the scribes to copy, and the long list of goods we will send back in the spring.” He pulled Elrond to him.  “Be well, my son.”

Gil-galad waited while Celeborn and Galadriel said their farewells, and Elrond knew he would miss the wise influence that Celeborn had had on Imladris.  He had been involved in every stage of her planning and founding, yet always deferred to Elrond.  He had told Elrond that their time of leadership of Eregion was over. Elrond could only wish he would someday have that grace and dignity to let go of something he had poured himself into.

Everyone watched when Elrond took Celebrían by the hand and led her away to say his farewell privately.   He drank her in, memorizing the curve of her face, her smile and the brightness of her eyes. He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, then lowered his head so their foreheads touched, and they rested against each other for a moment.  “Farewell, Celebrían. May our paths cross again soon.”

“Farewell, Elrond,” she replied.  Elrond could see her struggling, wishing to say more but not knowing what to say, and he placed his finger over her lips.  Her heart spoke clearly, and his own heart answered, and no words were spoken because they were not needed.

He watched her walk back to join her parents and Gil-galad, and they left the courtyard, made the crossing over the stream and headed up the hill, soon disappearing from sight in the rolling hills that hid Imladris so effectively.

He turned and walked back to the house, and it seemed as if the sun hid as he realized how much he would miss her, despite only knowing her a short time.  He turned and went instead to the garden.  The sun suddenly shone brightly again, and it was as if Celebrían’s spirit was still present here.  He sat on the garden bench until night fell.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Night had fallen by the time the story was complete, and it was Elladan’s groan that broke the ensuing silence.

“Adar, I know you said you did not say anything, but I kept expecting you to, right up until Naneth left!  But you really did not!” he exclaimed.

Laughter filled the camp, and Elrond laughed with them.  “Fortunately, your naneth knew.  Apparently, a number of people had told her what they thought I felt.” With that, he glared at Glorfindel, who merely laughed.

“You were transparent, Elrond. Everyone knew you were in love,” replied Glorfindel.

“It is odd to imagine you so young, naneth,” said Elrohir. “You have always been so confident and self assured, and it seemed that you had some doubts.”

“Oh, Elrohir,” laughed Celebrían, “I was normally very sure of myself.  But when it came to your adar, well, I had never been in love before.  Your adar was older and more experienced in the world, and I was so young and ignorant. But I loved him with all of my heart and soul, and your daernaneth was right, that is what was important.”

Arwen was still held in Glorfindel’s lap, and she turned to look up at him now, her small fingers idly playing with his braids. “You were very nice to my naneth, Glorfindel.   I think she is as beautiful as a rose, too.”

“Of course she is, sweetheart,” answered Glorfindel. “As you are as well, for you are like your naneth.”

“I wish we had some of his charm!” laughed Elladan, as Arwen beamed.

“I am glad to know how Imladris came to be,” said Elrohir slowly.  “I knew that it was founded in war, but it is different to know how much sacrifice was made to create it, how long you survived not knowing when the wrath of Sauron would come upon you, and how you kept on going, even when you thought all hope was gone.”

Elrond bent to kiss the dark head of this son still nestled between him and Celebrían.  “Hope is often found in unexpected places.”

Celebrían rose and plucked her sleepy daughter from Glorfindel’s lap, to prepare her for bed, and Glorfindel took out his harp.  The sounds were sweet and joyful, and the stars seemed to shine more brightly upon them.

“Adar, are the stars brighter near Imladris, or am I imagining that?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond paused to look up into the sky as Eärendil flew overhead.

“The stars are brighter over Imladris,” confirmed Celeborn.

* * *

They crossed the final bridge, entering the grounds of Imladris to the cheers and singing of the household. It appeared as if everyone had turned out to greet them, and as they dismounted in the courtyard, Liriel ran forward with a squeal to greet Arwen.  Elrond smiled as the two small elleth hugged and danced in the courtyard, then raced into the house. Erestor was busy organizing and giving orders, asking about the progress of the new Last Bridge and the status of preparations for the summer solstice celebration, which would be in two nights. Glorfindel and Athranen were speaking to Angren and checking on the patrols and security of the grounds.  Elrond took Celebrían by the arm, and led her off to the garden.  They entered the tranquility of their private family garden, finally stopping at the spot where a bench had been carved and placed to overlook the main beds of the rose garden.  He cut a fully opened rose with his knife, stripping it of its thorns, and then turning, he tucked it into Celebrían’s hair above her right ear.

“This is the exact spot where Glorfindel told you that he could see us here together, and this is the first rose bush that you sent that next spring with those returning to live here. This is home, Celebrían.  I love you.”

“I love you too, Elrond,” she replied, pulling him to her and kissing him gently.  “Even if you did wait fifteen hundred years to tell me.”

Elrond smothered her words with his mouth, and they both quickly forgot the years they had waited to be together.

* * * * *

The End

There will be a rather long epilogue or two to help bridge the way into the Third Age. This is everyone’s chance to tell me what else they would like to see in addition to the aftermath of the Last Alliance and Gil-galad’s death (which will be in the epilogue). I have been asked for Elrond and Celebrían’s courtship and marriage, and someone asked for the birth of the twins.  I have been asked for ‘More Glorfindel’ and that one is a mandate. Please let me know!  After this, there is a little Legolas story begging to be told, and then I’ll start HLIII, taking place the summer of the events of The Hobbit.

 Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, encouraged and prodded me in this story.  All of you make this worthwhile.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Epilogue: The Third Age

Elrond entered Arwen’s room, dark except for the moonlight streaming in the open windows, and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. She was sleeping, her eyes half closed, and her chest slowly rising and falling. Picking up her hand, he studied the fingers, again perfect, despite being badly broken before.  In her other arm she tightly held her doll, given to her by her brothers, lost in the stream, and returned to her on the banks of the river that had nearly claimed her life.  He smoothed back her hair, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead.  Before having children, he had wondered at Elu-Thingol locking Lúthien in a tower. Once they were conceived, though, he had understood perfectly the desire to keep them safe from all harm, and his daughter most of all.

He rose and walked to the balcony that overlooked the waterfalls and the rose garden below.  He saw the flash of silver of Celebrían’s hair as she tended her roses, a task she had always performed herself, a task she found relaxing and rewarding. Her voice drifted up to him, and he could not help but smile and hum with her, and it seemed as if the roses turned to the sound of her voice and lifted their petals to drink in her song.  He recalled how Glorfindel had aided her at times, and told her how Yavanna had sang to the Two Trees and they had grown in response.  Celebrían had always hummed and sung while she worked, but now she sang to the plants.  She looked up suddenly and saw him on the balcony, and she smiled at him. He reached out to her with his thought, filling her with his love and he felt her in his mind, encircling his fëa and lifting his heart. She had complemented his own skills in reaching Elrohir when their son had drifted from them, and while he had always known she would do whatever she could to aid their children, he was also intrigued by the power they, with Elladan, had been able to extend together.  We should explore that together, she whispered in his mind.  Then she suggested a few other things that made his heart pound a little faster and his anticipation for the night rise.

Leaving Arwen’s room, he stopped at the suite that Elrohir and Elladan shared.  They had arrived home in high spirits, visiting with their friends and the warriors they patrolled with.  Elrohir had retired when Arwen had been put to bed, and Elrond could see that his son was tired.  He raised his hand to knock on the door, but stopped, not wishing to wake Elrohir if he was sleeping.  He pushed it open quietly and moved silently to Elrohir’s room.

To his surprise, he found Elladan sitting at Elrohir’s beside. A sketchpad in hand, Elladan was drawing with a charcoal pencil. He looked up and smiled as Elrond entered, and Elrond moved to see what Elladan was drawing.  It was a sketch of the bridge falling, beams splintering and falling to the river below, the wagon striking the water, and Elrohir leaping in after it.  Momentarily speechless, he could only stare at the scene that Elladan had brought to life.

“I am sorry, Adar,” said Elladan quietly.

Elrond caught Elladan’s hand as he reached to flip the pad closed, and instead took the drawing in hand.  Leaning against the chair, he studied the sketch, thinking of the memories that those who witnessed it must work through. Elladan often painted or sketched, and it seemed to Elrond a perfect way for his son to work through his memories.

“This is a fine sketch, Elladan,” he finally said. “I feel as if I were there, though I am glad I was not.” He looked up at his son, then reached to embrace him.  “Have I told you how proud I am of how you handled yourself and took care of your brother and sister?”

Elrond felt the slight hiccup in his son’s chest and heard the deep intake of air; then Elladan whispered, “Yes, Adar, you did.  But I am glad to hear it again.”

He pulled back and waited for Elladan to continue.  “I do not understand, Adar.  We’ve had nearly a week of good travel, and Elrohir was so full of joy yesterday. Then tonight, it was like he just collapsed.”

Both of them looked at the soundly sleeping Elrohir, comfortably sprawled on the bed amidst soft pillows and silky sheets. His eyes were closed, which Elrond knew bothered Elladan greatly, for he saw it as a measure of Elrohir’s well being.

“This is normal, Elladan.  We have all been stressed, and our bodies adjusted to deal with that. Then suddenly we came home, and everything was as we left it. Life has continued here as if nothing happened; yet our lives have been changed by all we experienced.  We wanted nothing more than to return here, and the normalness of it does overwhelm us.  Our bodies now must adjust to that instead, and it is another big change. Elrohir is truly resting now. I would not be surprised if he sleeps heavily for a few days.”

Elrond had watched Elladan’s reaction to the explanation and saw the comfort he gained. “Your naneth is out tending her roses.  Elrohir and Arwen are soundly sleeping. You are sketching. I am hovering over all of you. We all are adjusting in our own way and we will feel as we usually do in a short while. Keep sketching, Elladan.”

Elladan settled back into his chair, and Elrond moved to sit at Elrohir’s side. He smoothed the blankets away from Elrohir’s face and rested his hand against his son’s cheek.  He noted the healing finger nail beds, and could not resist the urge to examine the area where the leg was broken.  Content that Elrohir was merely tired, he rested both hands on Elrohir and concentrated on pouring his own healing strength into his son.  A smile crossed Elrohir’s face and then he sighed and relaxed into even deeper sleep.

With a final caress of Elladan's head, Elrond left his sons’ room.  As he walked into the corridor, he felt the slight thrumming of Vilya at his side. Drawn by a compulsion he did not understand, he paused, touching the pouch still beneath his tunic, and then pulled it free. He opened the velvet bag and slid the ring on to his palm. Light seemed to twinkle from within the sapphire, reflecting on the gold band near the stone.  It seemed to Elrond as if the ring were glowing in its own light.

A noise in the hallway caught his attention and he closed his hand about the ring, then slipped his hand into his robe.  Vilya’s vibrations coursed through him, increasing in force and speed and then diminishing, as if trying to attune themselves to Elrond’s own rhythms.  Filled with wonder, he turned and strode down the hall and out of the house, following the path to the high waterfall. He quickly climbed the rocks, remembering as he did so coming upon Gil-galad at this spot so many years before.

He felt a smile tugging on his lips as he recalled telling his children of his and Celebrían’s meeting the night before.  Gil-galad had, in every letter they exchanged, managed to bring up Celebrían as a topic of conversation. She had blossomed in his court, as Elrond had known she would, and Gil-galad would tell him how her many suitors finally abandoned their courtship of her, for she always would tell them that her heart had already been given to another. Glorfindel had faithfully tended the roses Celebrían sent, reminding Elrond at every turn that she would return one day and expect to see her roses. Yet Glorfindel had not let him tend her flowers, either. In retrospect, Glorfindel had been wise.  Had Elrond been the one to tend the garden, it would have been his.  Instead, Glorfindel had stewarded the garden for Celebrían, fully intending to give it over to her when she finally came.

They had both been so sure, Elrond remembered.  He had been less so, though not less sure of his love for Celebrían.  He had known that Sauron would rise again and a battle unlike any since the War of Wrath would be fought against him, and Elrond was not sure that his future with Celebrían would be in Middle-earth.  Darkness had settled heavily on Middle-earth in those years after Númenor had helped them defeat Sauron.  Tar-Ciryatur had, within only a few years of his success in chasing Sauron to Mordor, returned to Middle-earth and begun building settlements.  No longer just friends to the Men of Middle-earth, the Númenorians now held themselves as Lords, exacting heavy tribute and tariffs instead. They became known as the Dark Númenorians, and though they troubled the elves little in the next centuries, few elf friends remained. Númenorian ships could be seen in the south seas, but seldom did they come to visit the Havens at Lindon.

Imladris had grown though, thought Elrond as he surveyed the grounds from his position high atop the waterfall rocks.  Many of the soldiers who had lived there during the years of siege returned with their families, providing a place of solitude and quiet far different than Gil-galad’s realm in Lindon.   Gil-galad found Imladris too quiet for his liking, remembered Elrond. He came on occasion, rested and relaxed as one might on holiday, but he would grow restless and soon return to Lindon.  Elrond had to admit that he had wondered if Celebrían would also grow to like the culture of Lindon, and find the tranquility of Imladris too quiet for her liking as well.

And yet, when he had traveled to Lindon, he found himself searching for her from the moment he entered the city gates.  At such times, little could gain and keep his attention. Then, when he finally would see her, little could remove his attention from her, though he did not often speak to her.  Glorfindel teased him endlessly, and as time went on, Elrond was sure that not only was Gil-galad in conspiracy with the golden warrior, Celebrían was as well. Glorfindel treated her like a queen, and the two were often seen reviewing sketches and making plans, though they would become silent and cover their work if Elrond approached.   Jealousy had arisen in him time and time again, and he found himself having to follow the same advice that he had given Arwen.  He had finally submitted himself to Glorfindel, admitted his jealousy of the time he spent with Celebrían, and prepared himself to be rebuked.   Instead, Glorfindel’s expression had softened and he had apologized, reassuring Elrond his only intent for Celebrían was for her to be Elrond’s wife one day.  Elrond had sputtered, reminding Glorfindel ‘do not raise her hopes about when that might be! We know not what perils lie before us as Men gain dominance in Middle-earth and Sauron gathers his strength!’  Glorfindel had merely smiled and answered that Celebrían was not easily misled.

Gil-galad would pair them at every opportunity, which Elrond had not minded in the least, then discuss the joys of elflings and how comfortable Elrond had appeared with a babe in his arms.  Not even glares from his cousin Galadriel would cause Gil-galad to cease his matchmaking.  Celeborn, however, said little, though Elrond had concluded that the bemused look on the elf’s face was becoming permanent.

And Celebrían had indeed grown into a lady, comfortable at court, comfortable with visitors from other realms, educated in the politics and economics of the realm, and yet unaffected by all of it.  He had seen her meet with representatives of Númenor, attend tense discussions of their intentions in Middle-earth, and then braid her hair and shed her formal clothing to play with the elflings in the fountain in the center of town.  His love for her grew each time he saw her, each time he thought of her, and when he would make ready to return to Imladris he would practice his betrothal request, silver ring clenched tightly in his hand.  Yet the time would never seem right and he felt no peace to ask her, and so they would part, words unspoken, and the patient love in Celebrían’s eyes would nearly break his heart. Somewhere in his chest of mementoes was that scrap of parchment with his written and rewritten request for Celebrían to marry him.

Peace had endured in the westlands for many long years, years in which the elves were content, and even the Men far from the coasts were largely unaffected by the doings of the men of Númenor, good and evil, in the south.  Rumor came of Men long-lived, their bodies fading to invisibility, yet remaining cloaked and alive, and they were called the Ulairi, and the Elves learned with horror that these were the Men to whom Sauron had given the Nine.  Then Umbar was built in the far south, a trading city for those faithful to the kings of Númenor and his imperialist designs and plans to become King of the Earth.  But Pelargir became the port of the faithful Númenorians, and the first haven of those who were still called elf-friends.  Elrond recalled how the relations between the Elves and Númenor had waxed and waned in the Second Age, at times less when a king rose to power with views and policies that seldom concerned more than the island nation, and at times more, when a king who sought to reaffirm and strengthen old alliances ruled.  Elrond heard of how dark the days had grown, with only the brief rule of Tar-Palantir as a ray of light in that ever-darkening world.  When he had died, his rule should have been passed to his daughter Miriel, but instead her cousin Ar-Pharazon had forced her to wed him and taken the kingship for himself.

He recalled meeting in Lindon with Gil-galad, Círdan, Glorfindel, Celeborn, Galadriel and others, as they learned that Sauron had submitted himself to Ar-Pharazon and been taken to Númenor as prisoner.  Galadriel had predicted then that Sauron would soon usurp the rule of the king, and the doom of Númenor was at hand.  Indeed it was, for Ar-Pharazon had been manipulated by Sauron to attack Valinor, and in doing so he had brought the doom of Númenor down upon all.  Elrond’s thoughts drifted back to Elros, and his excitement at the beginning of the Second Age over the gift of land they had been promised, of Andor, and the recognition of the blessing upon them by the Valar.  That such evil could come from his twin’s line was beyond comprehension.  Elrond was suddenly glad for Elros, glad that he was now beyond the circles of the world and did not have to see what doom his descendents had brought upon themselves.

Word came to Círdan to prepare, that Númenor would be destroyed, thrown down and swallowed by the sea with all of her people. Middle-earth was not unaffected, with great waves slamming into her shores, altering the coastlines and the courses of rivers. Círdan had moved his ships up the Lhune as far as was possible, yet still many were damaged or lost, his havens were badly damaged and a considerable portion of the low-lying city destroyed. While the elves had lamented this destruction, they were unsettled by the other news that Ulmo had provided to Círdan: The Straight Road was now hidden, bent, and only with the guidance of the Valar would any ships now make the passage west.  Mortal flesh would not withstand the journey unaided.  Círdan would need to time such voyages carefully, and only with Ulmo’s aid would they find the way.

The elves had been gratified when they saw the nine ships sailing from the west, and they learned that some of the house of Amandil had survived the destruction of Númenor.  Elendil had been full of grief over the loss of his father, for they had not heard if he had reached Valinor or what his fate had been.  Yet the brave Elendili had settled into Middle-earth, building the kingdom of Arnor inland in Northern Eriador and the kingdom of Gondor in the south. 

Though Sauron had been in Númenor at its fall, he again survived and his spirit returned to Middle-earth.  He had been weakened, but his ring was still with him and his kingdom in Middle-earth undiminished.   Also undiminished was his anger at the Númenorians, in particular Elendil, who had survived its fall, and it did not take him long to strike.  When Sauron had attacked the great cities of Gondor, Elendil had taken counsel with Gil-galad in Lindon, and the plans for the Last Alliance were born.  For both kindreds knew that if Sauron was not defeated now, his strength would grow and his dominion over Middle-earth would increase until he ruled all.

And so Elendil and Gil-galad had gathered their huge forces and marched east to Imladris, and once again Imladris had become a military encampment.  Their forces had stayed there for more than two years, while word was sent to Oropher in the Greenwood and Amdir in Lorinand, and to Elendil’s sons in the south.  The dwarves in Moria also came, though some of their estranged kindred fought upon Sauron’s side. From all over Middle-earth came contingents of soldiers, gathering together in the south or along the route that Gil-galad and Elendil would follow south, joining their ranks to his.  And Elrond had gone too – again the Herald of Gil-galad.

Elrond fingered Vilya, twisting the band in his hand and feeling the ring respond to his caress.   He recalled the day Gil-galad had entrusted it to him.  For seven long years they had laid siege to Barad-dûr, challenging Sauron in his own stronghold.  King Oropher had died early in the war, in the first assault upon Sauron; and his son, Thranduil, had replaced him, proving less reckless and more willing to participate under Gil-galad’s command.  Amdir had died also, and in the sixth year of battle, Anarion, Elendil’s younger son had also fallen.  But it was in the seventh year, late one evening, when Gil-galad had called Círdan and Elrond to his tent.  Spread out across his table were his final strategies and plans, worked out by the commanders earlier in the evening.  They had all gone to their tents and to rest, for the assault the next day was to be their strongest push yet.  Their warriors were tired of battle, deprived of adequate food and sleep, and longing for home.   Elrond had just collapsed on to his cot when a camp guard summoned him back to the King’s tent.  When Glorfindel had risen to follow him, the guard had stood in his way, indicating that the king wished to speak to Elrond alone.  Elrond recalled how Glorfindel’s eyes had narrowed and his muscles tensed, but he had finally stood aside as Elrond went forward.  Elrond could have hardly rebuked him; the warrior fought valiantly under Gil-galad, but Elrond was his first and foremost responsibility, and not even Gil-galad could supplant that.  Elrond’s life was owed several times over to Glorfindel.

He had entered Gil-galad’s tent to find the king seated in his customary seat at the table, a small wooden box before him.  Círdan had stood next to him, his face grim.  Gil-galad had beckoned Elrond to join them, and waited until both Círdan and Elrond were seated before speaking.  He had finally opened the box, and drawn forth two pouches, laying one before each of them.

“Long have these been in my keeping, yet on this night I am compelled that they should be so no longer.  Before you, Círdan, is Narya, the Ring of Fire.  Before you, Elrond, is Vilya, the Ring of Air.  I entrust these to you, to hide them until such time when they may be wielded safely, or until their power is diminished and they become nothing more than a trinket.  Remember now that they are under the dominion of the One.  Do not bear them; keep them hidden,” said Gil-galad quietly.

Elrond felt Círdan shift next to him, and he looked up at his mentor.  Círdan’s eyes were bright, and he seemed tense, a muscle in his jaw twitching.  He held Gil-galad’s gaze with his own, and Elrond looked from one to the other, suspicion growing in his mind as to the source of the battle playing out between them. Gil-galad looked away first, turning instead to Elrond.

“A piece of advice for you, Elrond, my son, if you will listen:  when this is over, go home to Imladris and marry Celebrían.  Make her your lady and serve the realm together, as you have these long years. There is happiness there for you, if you will accept it.”

“Gil-galad,” began Elrond, hesitating slightly, “it appears as if some foresight has come to you, some foreknowledge of what lies before us.”

Gil-galad looked upon him, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and his voice broke as he spoke.  “A long day is before us. Sleep, Elrond.  Speak to Glorfindel, for he will wish to know.”

Recognizing his dismissal, Elrond rose and began to slowly walk from the tent.  He stopped at the tent opening, turning to look once more upon Gil-galad.  The king’s head was bowed, his long black hair falling loosely about his face. He looked vulnerable sitting in casual leggings and tunic, without armor or spear, without his head held high and his booming voice calling orders upon the field.  He watched only a moment longer, enough to see Círdan reach out and take Gil-galad’s hands in his own.  Leaving the tent, he felt a deepening dread settle upon him, a feeling of doom, of darkness cloaking him and hiding the sun from his eyes.

“Elrond?” Glorfindel’s voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts as he entered the tent.

Elrond still clutched the pouch in his hands, and Glorfindel had only to look upon the bag to know what was contained within.  “Why does he give you this?” he demanded.

“I do not know what has come upon him,” answered Elrond slowly. He turned the pouch over in his hand, feeling the wrapping within, but not the ring itself.  “I fear some foreknowledge of his defeat, or capture, or….death…has led him to this, but he would not speak further of it.”

Glorfindel had left the tent immediately, and Elrond later learned he had spoken to Círdan and Gil-galad.  Glorfindel had not repeated the words spoken, and strangely, Elrond did not wish to know them.  Instead, he had lain upon his cot until dawn had come, and his mind had led him upon a path of memory filled with the fair face of his king and foster father.

They had begun their assault early in the day, making a mighty push past Sauron’s forces until finally, only Sauron stood before them.  He was dressed all in black, a powerful imposing figure, and it was hard to imagine him in his fair form as Annatar. Since the destruction of Númenor and the body he had worn there, he had been unable to take any fair form, for great had grown the deceit and malice in his heart.  Many had fallen on their ascent up the mountainside, until finally Elendil and Gil-galad stood side by side before Sauron.  With a roar that shook the mountainside, Sauron had raised his arm, the One Ring bright upon his finger.  In that moment, Elendil and Gil-galad had charged at him, Narsil and Aeglos shining as beacons in the darkness and gloom of Orodruin.  Elrond remembered the scene as if it were playing out before him again, memories surfacing that he had ruthlessly squelched within him since returning home to Imladris.  Elendil had struck first, his sword striking the thick armor of Sauron’s breastplate.  The king of men had shouted his pain as Sauron landed a great blow to his back, felling him and knocking him to his knees.  Narsil broke beneath him as he fell, and Sauron kicked the broken sword to the side. Gil-galad had immediately driven Aeglos into the underarm of Sauron’s upraised arm, into the slight area where no armor could be worn without limiting the movement of the arm.  Sauron had roared in pain, yanking Aeglos free and throwing it down the mountainside.  His wrath then fell upon Gil-galad, and they wrestled, Elendil joining in as he regained his feet.  Several times, Isildur, Elrond and Círdan tried to approach the battle, and each time they were driven back by bolts of fire that issued from Sauron.   Finally, Gil-galad and Elendil upended the mighty Lord, and Sauron fell, landing heavily upon Gil-galad.

In that moment, Isildur rushed forward and grabbing the hilt of Narsil, he sliced the hand off Sauron’s outstretched arm, with which he had tried to balance himself when he fell.

Sauron made a sound unlike anything that Elrond had ever heard before, or since, and his body suddenly went limp, and Elrond knew that his spirit had fled.  His body, bereft of a spirit and imbued with the mighty powers of a Maia, consumed itself, until naught was left but the armor he had worn.

Elrond had heard cries and shouts, and only now did he become aware that some of them were coming from him.  A loud keening was emanating from Círdan, who had reached the fallen.  Such heat was generated from them that he had to use his sword sheath to move the remains of Sauron aside. Beneath the dark lord, little remained of Elendil, and even less of Gil-galad. Círdan and Elrond both dropped to their knees next to the now smoldering ruin, and Elrond remembered little of those few moments in his grief. When he next looked up, he saw Isildur clutching the One Ring in his hand, the metal still hot from contact with Sauron, while staring in shock at his fallen father.

“Destroy it, Isildur!” shouted Elrond suddenly.  “Where it was made, in Orodruin!”

Through tears of grief, Elrond rose to his feet and stepped around the bodies to Isildur, holding out his hand to pull Isildur to his feet.  “We must do this now!”

Isildur had followed him to the cracks of doom, leaving Círdan with bowed head over the remains of Gil-galad. Yet, once near the fire, Isildur had looked upon Elrond, his face pale and his eyes wide.  “I cannot,” he finally replied.  He looked lovingly upon the ring.  “This I will have as weregild for my father’s death, and my brother’s. Was it not I that dealt the enemy his death blow?”

“Sauron is not dead, and for so long as the ring survives, he will survive!  His power will again grow, for his power is tied to the ring!  Destroy it, Isildur, I beg you!”

Isildur looked at the ring again, holding it aloft over the fire and it seemed he willed his fingers to let go of the metal ring, his hand trembling; then his whole arm began to shake, until he finally could not withstand the trial and dropped his arm to his side.  “I cannot,” he replied, and he tucked the ring into his pocket and walked slowly from the fire.

Elrond fell to his knees again, his anguish too much to bear, his king’s death in vain, and he screamed his agony to the mountain. Gil-galad, foster father, friend and king: dead to this world, and in the Halls of Mandos.

He felt arms wrap around him, pulling his head to the white beard that had so intrigued him as a child.  Gasping for breath, he looked up to see anguish equal to his own in Círdan’s eyes.  Where he had lost a father, Círdan had lost a son. Círdan pulled him to his feet, and with an arm about his shoulders, led him back to where the kings had fallen.  There, Isildur had gathered up the shards of Narsil, and his father’s helm and breastplate, then begun his descent down the mountain. He would not look Elrond or Círdan in the face.

Elrond knelt beside Gil-galad, recognizable only by his armor.  His spirit had long since fled, and what of his body had not been consumed with Sauron’s was slowly turning to ash, as sometimes happened when the fiery spirit of an elf departed. Elrond reached several times to touch the armor, still hot, then finally clenched his hands against his sides.  There was no body to tend, to take to burial, to mourn.

Suddenly Glorfindel was at his side, and Elrond abruptly realized he had not seen his protector in some time.  A flash of anger sparked in him, but it died as quickly as it came: Glorfindel’s presence would not have saved Gil-galad.  The three descended the mountain, noting that Sauron’s orcs and agents had fled when his spirit had departed, and only some of the fighting men remained. Celeborn and Thranduil were driving these back to the marshes, where so many bodies, of Elves and Men and Orcs already lay, there to find their final resting places.

It wasn’t until they reached camp that Elrond, in his deep grief, realized that Glorfindel was limping and very pale.  It was Círdan who pushed the elf on to his cot and began to remove his armor, revealing an ugly wound to the abdomen and another cut than ran along his leg.  The armor across the abdomen had acted to staunch the blood and hold the deep wound rigid.

Pushing his grief aside, Elrond began to tend the wound. “How did you end up with such wounds beneath your armor?” he snapped, the seriousness of the wounds nearly overwhelming him.  He could not lose another friend on this day.

“Close combat, knocked aside,” answered Glorfindel unsteadily, the pain causing a sheen of sweat on his face and chest, his face gray.

“Elrond!” said Círdan tersely.  Elrond felt Círdan’s hand come down over his own trembling fingers, and he snapped his head up sharply. Looking to Glorfindel, Círdan hissed, “Get a hold of yourself.”

Elrond felt as if he had been slapped, or had cold water splashed in his face.  He had concentrated on the wound and forgotten the patient. His hands shook and he considered for a moment sending for another healer.  “You would trust no other,” Círdan informed him dryly.

Taking a deep breath, Elrond concentrated his thoughts and healing energy on Glorfindel, lessening his pain and calming his spirit.  He felt his own calm return, his own strength, and with that came the knowledge that he would survive without Gil-galad. When he had completed his work, he took a cloth and cleaned the dirt and blood from Glorfindel, the soothing motions helping him as much as making Glorfindel comfortable.   When done, he cleaned the grime from himself and changed into fresh clothing.

Círdan sat at the table, turning the pouch in his hands over and over. Elrond sat down across from him, sipping from the goblet of wine that Círdan had poured for him. “Did Gil-galad foresee his death?” he asked quietly.

Círdan looked up at him.  “He foresaw something, though I am not sure he knew exactly what. He left us both letters, as well as these rings, so clearly he felt his death was a possibility.”

Elrond took the letter that Círdan slid across the table to him. He fingered the seal, but did not break it.  He was not ready to read what was within

“It is time to go home,” said Círdan, and he suddenly looked old to Elrond’s eyes. “Celeborn said Sauron’s armies have dispersed like smoke in the air.” Círdan paused, blinking back tears of grief that again threatened his eyes. “Wars will be until the end, but I do not think I shall stray far from the sea until I pass into the west.”

Elrond clasped the calloused hands in his own, drawing comfort from one who had taught him as a child, and giving what comfort he could to one who had loved Ereinion as much as he had.  Together they sat as dusk fell and darkness settled heavily about them in their grief.  Yet outside, rejoicing could be heard as Men and Elves and Dwarves celebrated their victory

Now, years later in Imladris, Elrond blinked back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, emotion that overwhelmed him whenever he allowed his thoughts to dwell upon Gil-galad.  The world had changed.  The leaders of the great Second Age realms had all fallen.  In the Greenwood, Thranduil would lead his father’s people. In Lorinand, Amroth had been named King when Amdir fell.  Isildur had taken up his father’s crown at the feet of Barad-dur, leading his people back to their realms in Arnor and Gondor.  Yet Gil-galad left no son to take up his rule.  He left you, Elrond reminded himself, a son in heart as well as distant kin.  Yet he had no desire to be king of a fading people, for the Wise knew that the time of the elves was ending.  The Noldor were a dwindling people; so many having died or sailed as the new age had begun.  Their last king would remain Gil-galad, bright star of the Elves of Middle-earth. Círdan was lord of the havens, as he had been since the Valar first led the Elves on The Great Journey.  Yet Rivendell will have no small part to play in this age or the birth of the next, Elrond reminded himself.  He had foreseen this, as had Galadriel, Círdan and others.  There shall be my home until I too pass into the West.

He lifted his head and looked out upon the grounds of Imladris, and the house where his people resided.  Instead of seeing the scene as it was on this night, he saw again the twinkling lights that had greeted him when the returning army of the Elves had passed the final mountain pass and laid eyes upon her.  For seven years he had been away, and the sight of Imladris would have been welcome regardless, but if anything, the land and house had grown in beauty. He had at first smiled, thinking Galadriel had undertaken to order Imladris as she had other homes before.  But the touches were of a simpler beauty than he had come to expect from Galadriel, more homey and welcoming.  When they had entered the courtyard, he had seen Celebrían on the porch waiting to greet them.  His heart had skipped a beat as their eyes met, and he knew the longing in his heart was easily read through his gaze upon her.  She had then caught sight of her father, and she flew to meet him in a manner reminiscent of how Elrond had first seen her over a thousand years earlier. More constrained now, and more graceful, yet the love and joy upon seeing Celeborn alive and whole had been as moving as the time prior.

But she came to him next, and she wrapped her arms about him and pressed him close, and he felt some of the despair that had darkened his heart since Gil-galad’s fall lift.  Next to her bright spirit he felt dark and shadowed, the grief in his heart still fresh and its wound still deep.  She pulled back and gazed at him for a long moment; then she raised her hand and smoothed his hair back from his face. In her touch he felt such tenderness that he thought his heart might break.  While he drew comfort from her, he also felt his grief rise within him until it felt as if he were choking on it.  Abruptly, he pulled away from her.  Celebrían flinched at his reaction, lowering her hand, but she did not back away from him. Instead, she twisted her arm through his, taking his hand in her own, and he felt her thumb gently rub against the inside of his wrist and the edge of his hand.  Able to contain his emotions, he relaxed under that light pressure, and soon felt her touch warm and soothe him again.

Elrond smiled at the memory; how well Celebrían had adjusted to his pain, altering how she gave him comfort but not withdrawing from him.  Having loved her from afar for many long years, he felt that love change at that moment, suddenly seeing the depth of the elf she had become.  She had not faltered against his pain, but surrounded and enveloped him, supporting him without smothering him.   He had seen her repeat this ability many times in the running of Imladris and the raising of their children, and it had taught him something about letting go, about letting other make their own choices and decisions, letting them be who they were while loving them wholeheartedly.  He remembered once thinking this must be what mothers did; therefore his lack of a mother had not prepared him for this, but he had to remind himself that Celebrían had these qualities before becoming his wife and bearing his children.

Yet it had taken him a long time to allow Celebrían fully into his heart, and even longer before he afforded her the same grace she had so willingly given him. 

Elrond remembered entering his chambers in Imladris, staring at the furnishings as if he were an alien in a foreign land. Yet they had not changed. He had felt numb, deadened inside, and despite the war’s end, he felt a deep melancholy settle upon him. Círdan had led the remnant of Gil-galad’s forces back to Lindon after only a few days rest.  Like Elrond, Círdan was also numb, and he had admitted to Elrond that no other death had penetrated his heart with anguish as Ereinion’s had done. Returning to the Havens would be a blessing, he had said, for the sea would soothe and calm him, yet he did not know how he could bear to look upon Lindon’s palace and fountain and squares, and know that Ereinion Gil-galad would never return there.  Elrond had felt fortunate at that moment that he would not need to live daily with that visual reminder of loss.

Celeborn and Galadriel had stayed in Imladris, choosing not to return to Lindon where they had resided for many years. Whereas Círdan and Elrond had parted with an unspoken agreement that none should take up the throne of Gil-galad, Galadriel had come to him several weeks later.

“You are the heir of Gil-galad, and last surviving male of the line of Finwë here in Middle-earth,” she had said. “The kingship of the Noldor is yours for the taking, Elrond Peredhil, by birthright as well as Gil-galad’s design.   Will you take up the throne?”

Elrond had not moved during Galadriel’s question, yet he looked within her with the same seeking with which she had perused his intentions at different times in his life, the most recent having been his intentions toward her daughter.  For though the kingship of the Noldor did not pass to female heirs, she was the last surviving grandchild of Finwë, and more than capable of ascending as Queen of their people.  Yet, he saw no such desire in her, nor did he see any clear motive for her question.

“I will not,” he finally answered.

“Power is before you and yet you will not take it?” she questioned again. “The blood of all the kindreds of Elves and the Three Houses of the Edain flow in you; many titles you might claim, and yet the one before you, you will set aside so easily?”

Elrond rose, recalling the words that Gil-galad had spoken to him regarding Galadriel’s desires to leave Aman and seek Middle-earth, to seek her own fortunes and lands to rule. He looked out over the balcony, allowing the soothing music of the cascading water to refresh him.

“The age of Men is coming,” he finally replied, “even as the time of the elves in Middle-earth begins to fade. Our people have no need for a king.  Yet, I foresee that our time here has not ended.  My home and future are in Imladris, and only here will I lead them. Círdan will rule the havens until the last ship sails.”

Galadriel walked forward to join him at the balcony, and for a long moment they did not speak.   “Círdan has the Ring of Fire, and the Ring of Air resides now with you,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Elrond did not respond, nor did she seem to expect him to.

“The One is in the hands of Isildur, and yet it is too powerful for him to wield.  To bear it upon his finger would cause him great pain, and so he only carries it now.  As its power diminishes, he will place the ring upon his finger, and the Race of Men will rise to heights unforeseen even as the dignity of Númenor becomes a mere memory.  Our new enemy will not lie with Sauron or the East, but with those whom we have called friend, with those whom we have fought with and aided, as they have fought with and aided us.  Isildur will destroy himself and all that Elendil dreamed of for their realms in Middle-earth. They will become too strong for us to fight, and too powerful for us to ignore. The Elves will become subject to them, or else flee from their tyranny to the West.”

Elrond had felt his stomach clench at her words, and he could feel the muscles of his arms ache in contraction as he squeezed his own hands tightly behind him.  Counsel had been taken before they parted from the Men, with Círdan and Celeborn and Glorfindel, and these very fears had been discussed.  Attempts at conversing with Isildur had been rebuffed. Still unable to meet their eyes, the young king had assured them he would rule as wisely as his father had. His ignorance of the power of the One to enslave him and turn his good intent to evil was obvious to them, but Isildur did not recognize his own ignorance when it was shown to him.  “Already he is under its spell,” Celeborn had said sadly.

“I did not force Isildur at Orodruin,” he said slowly, unable to find regret at his lack of action despite his extreme regret at the outcome.  “Nor will my taking the title of king alter his actions.  He has gone to the south, to Gondor, and even among his own men we have found those with the same concern, who watch his actions for us.  No foresight have I been given to guide my thoughts on this.”

“Nor I,” admitted Galadriel.  “The One still holds dominion over the Three; not even now dare we use them.” She paused for a moment, watching an eagle circle lazily overhead. “I also do not wish title or crown, Elrond Peredhil.  Gil-galad shall be our last king, and those of the Wise who remain will rule as a Council in the matters of the Elves.”

Elrond had inwardly smiled, for among the High Elves left in Middle-earth, she was the most powerful.  Adding her voice to those of the males who took counsel together at Dagorlad sealed their decision.  Thranduil and Amroth had been informed of their decision, yet Thranduil had masked any emotion or thought at the idea of a Council and merely nodded his understanding.

Only three years later Ohtar had appeared, injured and bedraggled, one of only three of Isildur’s party to escape the orc attack at the Gladden Fields.  Carrying the emblems of Isildur’s house, he had reported that none had found the One Ring on Isildur when his body had been recovered.  Lost in the Anduin, as it remained to this day. 

Isildur’s wife had taken the other emblems, along with her surviving child, young Valandil, who was just leaving childhood, and left to return to their home at Annúminas.  For over two hundred years, they had received no word or foresight of the One, and both he and Galadriel had noticed a slight change in the rings they possessed.   The most noticeable effect had taken place during their rescue trip, when the rings had come alive.  Yet both had noticed less obvious changes prior to this.

Elrond looked up, again letting his eyes roam over his house.  In time, his grief had become manageable.  Celebrían had waited patiently through that trial as well, and finally, with the blessing of her parents and Círdan, they had married and been blessed with children.  Glorfindel and Erestor had remained with him, as his chief advisors but also as close members of his family and house.  For Glorfindel it had been an assigned mission from the Valar, yet his love and loyalty were not items to be purchased.  And Erestor, who had found healing for his broken heart and splintered soul in Imladris, had chosen to stay where he was at peace.  Now, inside the house, his children were sleeping, or in Elladan’s case, watching over one who was.  Celebrían was in the gardens, and other elves were spread throughout.   He had seen what Galadriel had done with Nenya; the healing effect on Elrohir had been miraculous. He looked down at the ring he held in the palm of his hand.  It suddenly gleamed, as if noticing his attention had turned to it.  Turning it over and over in his hand, he felt it begin to thrum, again trying to match its own song to his.  He thought of the good he might do for his people, for his family, for those who came to Imladris in need.  Gil-galad had told him this time would come, when the rings could be used for the good of the Elves.  For this reason, he had not destroyed the two entrusted to him by Celebrimbor.

Elrond took a deep breath, then placed the ring on his finger.

To his surprise, the beautiful gleaming ring disappeared from sight, yet Elrond knew it was still there.  Secret it would remain, for none but he would be aware of its presence.  Yet, present it was.  He could feel its weight, but he felt the presence of the ring as well.  Now with its rhythms matched to his own, he felt a sense of power never before experienced. The stars seemed brighter, the perfume of the flowers at his feet more intense.  The song of the waters cascading from the falls suddenly seemed to have a greater depth of range, and, even in the dark, the colors about him were imbued of many more hues than his eye had before detected.   All of his senses were heightened, his vision and hearing more acute, and he felt as if he could reach his arms about all of Imladris at that moment.

Just as he was considering how he might first wield this new power, he heard the sound of an elf approaching.  Celebrían came into view on the path below him, and she looked up at him with a smile.

“I have found you, my husband,” she laughed softly, and he could not help but remember the promises she had whispered to him earlier in her husky voice.

Elrond jumped from his position, landing on a flat rock some feet below him, and Celebrían climbed up to meet him.  He took her hands in his own, but felt her wince slightly at the same time as he felt the thorn in her finger.

“You are injured, my wife!” he answered, and then he leaned forward to kiss her. Her lips yielded beneath his, and his body hardened as she pressed soft breasts against him. He could feel every contour of her body, the scent of roses still lingering about her and accentuating the fragrance he associated with her.  All of it seemed of a greater intensity than normal, and he found his sexual desire for her suddenly heightened as well. Recognizing this as an effect of the ring, he pulled back from her and sat down on the rock, then reached up to pull her down into his lap.

She wiggled slightly, deliberately stimulating him more, and he nearly groaned aloud.  “Behave, Celebrían,” he scolded playfully, then added, “At least until I have removed this thorn from your finger.”

She stilled after one more defiant wiggle of her hips, and Elrond drew in a shaky breath to regain his self-control.  He saw the long sliver imbedded deep along the knuckle of her first finger, even the tip buried beneath the skin, and knew he would need his tools to remove it properly. He gently ran the tip of his finger over the light brown mark, pushing only slightly to see if the tip would appear, but to his amazement, the whole sliver emerged. A drop of blood followed, and he scooped water from the pool lapping at the side of the rock, washing it away.  He again lightly touched the area, confirming that it was gone, and he watched as a slight glow emitted from his finger and the opening healed and closed itself.

He was trembling with the realization of what Vilya had just done, the potential for its powers growing in his mind, when he was drawn back to the present in a delightful manner. “Thank you, Elrond,” purred Celebrían as she twisted to face him, tilting her hips forward and into a position that took his breath away. Her nimble fingers were already at work on his clothing when she added, “You have brought me great relief, and I think it only fair that I provide you relief from your…uncomfortable state.”  Elrond’s sense of pleasure increased until sound and vision were forgotten, and stars exploded in the night sky.

Some time later, when he had recovered enough to stand, he scooped his exhausted wife up in his arms, and carried her back through the garden to the private entrance of their chambers.   He deposited her gently on their bed, removing her disheveled clothing and then his own.  He felt Vilya on his finger, and considered removing it, thinking he should experiment wielding it in small doses.   He decided to put that logical decision off until morning when he felt Celebrían in his mind, her fëa seeking his, and realized that his pleasure was not the only one heightened.  Grinning, he crawled into bed and pulled Celebrían to him.

* * *

Glorfindel watched Elrond carry Celebrían into their chambers, and he felt a weariness and heaviness descend upon his own spirit.  He had suspected that Elrond would experiment with the ring, and in his heart he knew this had happened.  He had been on his way to the waterfall when he saw Celebrían reach Elrond first, and he could see that Elrond was already stimulated before Celebrían reached him.  His initial stimulation had not been sexual, but sensual, as all his senses were heightened.  What had followed had been only a natural progression of events.  While Glorfindel felt only joy for Elrond and Celebrían for the physical expression of their love, he knew that Vilya was awake and in use, and the stage was set, for good or ill, for its continued use into the future.

He settled into the garden that he had helped start for Celebrían so many years earlier, and though he knew it unnecessary, he kept watch over them from afar.  While he had watched over first Elrond, then his growing family, tonight he added Vilya to the list.  It was now part of Elrond, something that gave him the ability to do good but also had the potential to harm or destroy him.  Glorfindel must protect it, but also be willing to part Elrond from it and destroy it, if needed.   His heart heavy, he lifted his eyes to the stars as Eärendil passed overhead.  I swore my fealty to you, to protect your son, and I will, he reiterated his promise.  As was usual, Eärendil brightened over Imladris, making all the other stars appear brighter than normal, and peace settled about Glorfindel’s heart. He began to sing softly, words of promise and love, and throughout Imladris, elves gave thanks that their lord and his family had returned home to them.

The End

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Thanks to all who have been following this story, and an extra special thanks to those who have left reviews or sent emails. They were of great encouragement.  There will be a little Legolas story and perhaps a look at Elrond and Celebrían in the time of their courtship, marriage and birth of their sons, before we dive into HLIII.  Thanks everyone!