The Dwellings of the Dead

Summer 1637 Third Age

Elrohir drew in a deep breath as he stood before the open door of the last cottage of the town. All of the homes thus far had been empty or held a wrapped body, many days dead. His sorrow had faded, replaced by a numbness that made his movements feel wooden and his senses dull. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that if their enemy should find them here, he would be an easy target. That realization awakened him and his eyes flicked over the village warily. He saw only a flash of golden hair as Glorfindel entered a stable behind a neighboring house.

He stepped into the house, calling in a low voice, “Mae Govannen!” A rustle of wind entered after him, and the door creaked on its hinges. He walked forward into the main room where the smell of death and decay assaulted his senses. The air was heavy and full of tension, like a storm about to explode, and the skin at the back of his neck prickled. He slowly withdrew his dagger from its sheath as he moved from the front room into the dimness of the next room.

There was a bed in the corner, dirty and unmade now, but the room showed signs that at one time it was well tended. In the shadows on the floor to the side of the bed there was a body. Elrohir stepped to it, and realized it was not wrapped in death. He bent over the body of an old man. He held his dagger before the man’s mouth and watched as the faintest mist appeared on the blade. His instinct took over instantly, his hands reaching to touch the old man and see in what way he might aid him, but he hesitated. Black sores beneath the man’s skin festered and his skin appeared bruised from the inside out. The man’s head turned slightly and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He could barely make a sound, and the moan that Elrohir did hear was a sound of torment. The man’s eyes opened, a look of frenzied fear in them. He was near death. Elrohir feared to touch him, for every inch of his body appeared diseased. Shame filled him as he briefly wondered if he feared the disease or causing the man more pain.

He concentrated on the man’s spirit, and found it in torment. This he could aid, and relief filled him that he could at least ease the man’s passing. He touched his mind to the man’s, finding deep within it the concerns that kept him bound to the world. He comforted the man, allowing his peace to flow into him. Surrender your life, and go to your fathers. There are none left here now but you. All have gone before you. They are waiting.

He felt the man’s spirit release its tenuous hold on the body, then leave it. He had not yet released his mind from that of the man’s spirit, and it hovered nearby. In that moment he sensed the presence of another draw near. This spirit was dark and angry, and a chill crawled up his spine. It pressed against his mind, seeking to come between him and the spirit of the Man. Elrohir struggled against it, then in a horrifying moment he realized that this evil spirit was seeking to invade him, not stop the spirit of the man from departing. He pushed the man’s spirit from him, felt it flee from the home, and then slammed shut the door to his mind.

The spirit attacking him did not relent, but doubled its assault. Elrohir clutched his dagger, but this was not a foe he could fight in a traditional manner. He girded his mind, protecting himself as he considered this opponent. The spirit was strong but wild, pouring forth all of its power against him while leaving nothing for its own defense. Elrohir forced his will upon it, pushing it away from himself. With a shriek Elrohir heard only in his heart, the spirit recoiled and fled from him. The thick tension eased and Elrohir drew in a deep shuddering breath.

“Ai, Elbereth!” he said softly as he sank to the ground beside the corpse. He clasped his hands together to stop their trembling. He waited in silence for a few minutes, but the spirit did not return.

When he was calm, he looked about the house for a clean sheet or blanket he could wrap the man’s corpse in. The bedding was all filthy, but a search of the trunk against the adjacent wall revealed clean sheets. He took one and laid it over the man, then quickly wrapped his body in it. Lifting it, he forced himself to walk, not run, as he took it out to the pyre where they had piled the other bodies.

Glorfindel had piled faggots of wood around them. Elrohir poured oil upon the wood and then lit a torch. It burned for a moment, the flames dancing before his eyes, and then he tossed it on to the pyre. The fire erupted, leaping high into the sky. As the corpses began to burn, Elrohir turned his face away. He walked west, to the simple gates that protected the village, and breathed in the clean air, untainted by death.

“Elrohir?”

A wind blew in from the gate, raising the dust. It mixed with the heat of the late afternoon sun, and made the horizon seem hazy and distorted. Elrohir wiped the sweat from his brow and blinked as sweat and dust stung his eyes. He did not turn at the sound of the voice. Instead, he bowed his head and closed his eyes to the death he had seen and the fear he had experienced. Had the malevolent spirit tormented those who had lived here?

He felt Glorfindel’s hand on his shoulder a moment later and he raised his head, looking out again at the horizon. Behind him, he could hear the crackle of flame and feel the heat of the pyre on his back. He turned and looked over the small houses once more. The remnants of the pyre and the fresh graves at the edge of town would tell the tale to any future travelers who passed this way.

“What of the animals?” he asked.

“Most were dead. The rest I killed. They burn with the others,” answered Glorfindel grimly.

Elrohir nodded, and then hardened his heart against the pain that threatened to choke all his breath from him. Never had he seen this kind of death. He had seen villages cut down by the sword, but in this place it was not a violent encounter that had taken their lives, but the decay of illness. They had died over a period of days to weeks, judging by the graves he had seen. Elrohir forced his gaze from the vision that flashed in his mind: all of Cardolan dead, those not killed by war ravaged by disease, until all the land smelled of decaying flesh and the spirits of Men fled before them.

“I hope Elladan and Erestor are finding the north has fared better,” he said softly.

Glorfindel turned his gaze northward. “This plague will be a double-edged sword to Angmar. As the Dúnedain are weakened, Angmar may find easy victory. But if this disease spreads north into Carn Dûm, Angmar will itself suffer.” He looked sideways at Elrohir. “We should depart this place. There is nothing more that we can do.”

They had left their horses on the outskirts of the village. They returned to them and were about to mount when Elrohir took a step back and touched Glorfindel’s arm. “We should bathe first.”

Glorfindel looked at him closely, and Elrohir saw a sudden flash of what appeared to be fear in his eyes.

“This illness killed both men and animals. I do not know how it passes from person to person, but I do not wish to transport it with us or bring harm to our horses,” he explained.

They scrubbed themselves clean in the cold waters of the nearby stream, and then followed the line of the forest north. They rode side by side in silence, the weight of what they had seen still heavy upon them both.

“Let us make camp here,” said Glorfindel finally, as the sun faded behind the trees. He dismounted and took his bow and quiver. “I will see to dinner.”

Elrohir watched Glorfindel as he walked north along the edge of the woods. To his right were the Barrow-Downs, where the Dúnedain of Cardolan had buried their kings. To his left was the dark line of the forest. High in the sky, vultures were circling to their south and to the east.

He dismounted and set his horse loose to roam with Glorfindel’s, and turned to set up camp. His back was to the forest when he felt the back of his neck prickle and a chill run through him. His heart quickened and fear returned. He turned around warily, his body and mind prepared for danger. He saw nothing, however, and the sensation passed. He blew out a long breath, relieving the tension inside within, and returned to the tasks at hand. He finished arranging an area for a cooking fire and decided he would next obtain wood for a fire.

Elrohir walked to the edge of the dense forest, already darkened by the canopy of leaves that shielded it from sun even at its zenith. The air felt heavy and thick, stifling at times, but as he stepped into the shade of their eastern edge and laid his hand upon the trunk of a thick oak, he could hear the song of the forest, feel the ancient memories of trees that had seen many ages of the world. He began to collect deadwood for their fire.

There was no path to follow, but he could see plenty of small branches and twigs that would serve their purpose without having to go more than a few feet into the forest. He had just grasped a large branch to pull it from the leaf mould when he heard the sound of creaking wood. The branch snapped in his hand. The creaking continued and he looked up in surprise to see a large beech sway, though no wind was present.

He looked at the wood in his hand. It was clearly dead. Ants had tunneled into wood, hollowing out its middle. They crawled over his hand and he brushed them off, dropping the wood as he did so. Cold air blew against his cheek and he stumbled forward, grasping the tree’s trunk to keep from falling.

The tree recoiled from him.

Elrohir felt a mixture of fear and curiosity. There was something strange about these trees. He wondered for a moment if his fear was from his earlier experience, since he could not imagine a tree seeking to cause him harm. Yet the air smelled dank and full of death suddenly, and a feeling of dread settled upon him. The beech tree swayed and seemed to reach to him with its branches. He watched intently as the leaves on a slender branch rustled, then the branch moved in a slow arc toward him, reaching with reedy fingers to twine into his hair. He stood frozen in wonder and fear as the leaves brushed his face, and then a long tendril wound its way around his neck. One finger slipped down the neck of his tunic and probed under his arm, while another wrapped a second time about his neck. The air grew thick and hot and he sensed the approach of something behind him. All curiosity fled, replaced by fear, fear greater than any tree could cause. He turned abruptly, and in doing so, stepped closer to the beech. Two strong limbs grabbed him, and those two with the one already wrapped about his neck pulled him back against the tree’s trunk.

Elrohir cried out involuntarily as his hands fought against the beech and his mind against the spirit that again assailed him. He turned the full strength of his mind against the spirit, as he had done before, and the spirit retreated. It did not leave, merely held itself back, a faint light shimmering like a pale moon through the canopy of leaves, and Elrohir recognized it as different than the one that had assailed him in the village. A stunning realization came upon him and he cried out, “You are an elf!”

It was an elf unlike any he had met before. A houseless one. Not only was it houseless, it was an evil elf – one in the service of darkness. Elrohir shuddered. The spirit faded from his sight and senses.

His shuddering reminded him of his other assailant, the beech. The tendrils of the tree tightened slightly around him, but he realized that the limbs were looser now that he was no longer struggling. He sagged against the trunk, and the beech loosened its limbs again. The tendrils about his neck unwound themselves, and one brushed his cheek in what felt like a caress.

“You are trying to comfort me,” he said softly.

The tree rustled its leaves, the sound a murmuring reply. Elrohir pressed his hand gently against the trunk. “You were trying to protect me.”

The beech released him and he straightened. He ran his hand along the tree’s trunk, feeling the rhythm of its life coursing beneath the bark, deep within the wood. The tree acknowledged him, then seemed to sink into sleep.

Elrohir scanned the forest around him, looking for that shimmering light, but it had not returned. He took a deep breath, then hurriedly gathered up the wood he had dropped. He wanted out of these woods. He turned around, expecting to step out into the field and realized that the forest surrounded him. He must have come further in than he thought. For a moment he was not sure which direction was east. He paused and gained his bearings, then pushed through the undergrowth and deadwood until he came out on to the fields where he had begun to set up camp.

“What took so long?” asked Glorfindel. He stood and walked to Elrohir, taking the wood from his arms. “You are covered in leaves and twigs.” He set the wood down and turned back to Elrohir. “Elrohir, what are these scratches on your neck? And why is your hair tangled and knotted?”

Elrohir looked up at the stars that had just blossomed in the night sky, then back at Glorfindel, whose face had grown grave. “Strange and unusual things are happening, Glorfindel,” he finally said. “I do not understand them.” His voice quavered and he swallowed hard.

“Let us make a fire and put our dinner on to cook, then you can tell me about it,” said Glorfindel kindly.

“I will go for water,” offered Elrohir, as he realized how thirsty he was. “Time passed quickly in the woods, and I have not yet filled the water skins.”

Glorfindel nodded, his face still openly concerned, but he said nothing as Elrohir gathered up the skins and walked to the stream.

Elrohir heard the trickle of water ahead of him, and he moved carefully down the steep bank to the shore. He balanced on a flat rock and bent down to fill the first water skin. He had just replaced the cork and bent down to fill the second when he felt the evil presence return. It flew into his face and though there was no physical contact, he fell backward, landing hard on the rocky bottom. Water flowed over him, filling his mouth and nose, but he quickly regained his feet, sputtering and coughing. He grabbed at the water skin before it was washed away, then looked around warily for the spirit.

It attacked immediately, swirling about his head, disorienting him, seeking for some vulnerability so it could attack his mind. He tried to move to the shore, but the assault on his senses threw off his balance, and he tumbled into the water again. He surfaced, gasping for air, and the assault on his mind resumed. He was nearly in a panic, resorting to striking at it with his hands and the waterskin he held, even though he knew that the blows would only tire him and yet pass right through his foe. The words of his teachers echoed in his mind then: You must fight smart, Elrohir. Sword against sword, but even then the wit and mind are what win the battle.

He forced his hands to his sides and stood still, willing his feet to stay under him. Directing all of his mental energy to the spirit, he commanded, “Leave me!”

The spirit backed away slightly, but it projected its hatred and anger toward him. It was not defeated. Elrohir knew he was vulnerable in the water, for the spirit was taking advantage of his physical limitations. He need to get on the bank. “What do you want?” he demanded.

The spirit laughed, the sound hideous to Elrohir’s soul. I want your body, elf. I will have it for my own, it answered soundlessly. It began to move closer, more menacing and horrible now that its intentions were known.

Elrohir nearly lost his balance. Horror filled him. He had heard tales as an elfling of houseless spirits seeking to regain a body by forcing an elf’s fëa from the body to which it had been born. He had thought them stories only, or perhaps a truth, but one from an ancient time.

He thought to the training he had received as a healer, of the skills his father had taught him to protect his mind and reserve his strength. He used that now, putting forth all the power of his mind outside himself while guarding his own soul behind the protections he had built and devised under Elrond’s tutelage. The spirit recoiled at the force of the attack, yet Elrohir knew it was a temporary reprieve. The spirit was undaunted, merely drawing back to seek a weakness in his defense.

Suddenly, a golden light bathed him and when he looked up, he saw a shining white figure. “Glorfindel!” he cried.

Glorfindel scooped him up from the water as if he were an elfling and set him on the bank. He heard words spoken, words of great authority and power, but understood little of them. The spirit fled, cowed, and Glorfindel faded to his normal radiance and bent over him.

“Elrohir! Speak to me,” he commanded.

“I am uninjured!” gasped Elrohir. He clung to the hand Glorfindel offered him. Glorfindel blew out a breath of relief and sat down upon the bank beside him. “It wanted my body,” he added in disbelief.

Glorfindel bowed his head for a moment, breathing heavily, then turned piercing eyes upon Elrohir. “Is this what you encountered in the forest?”

Elrohir nodded. “Possibly in the village as well, but I am less certain of that.”

Glorfindel seemed to grow in stature, and anger emanated from him. “We must return to camp. You are not to leave my presence, Elrohir, for any reason.” He stood and offered a hand to Elrohir, pulling him to his feet. “I want to hear everything you have experienced. Leave out no detail, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you.”

Elrohir fell into step beside him, the water skins still clutched in his hands. He realized suddenly that the night had grown silent. Not a cricket was chirping, or a frog making its deep throated call. That ominous silence was broken moments later by a mournful howl.

They entered their camp and Elrohir was surprised to see that there was no fire burning. Only a wisp of smoke remained. Glorfindel studied the blackness of night for a moment, then rekindled the fire and set their dinner to cooking.

Elrohir had begun to shiver in his wet clothing, despite the warmth of the night. He pulled dry clothes and a blanket from his pack and quickly changed, then wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He sat down beside Glorfindel, who handed him the flask of Miruvor. Elrohir tasted it gladly, feeling his father’s healing flow through him.

“Tell me everything,” said Glorfindel.

Glorfindel’s words were spoken with an undercurrent of the same power and authority that Elrohir had heard earlier, and Elrohir was reminded once more who this elf was. He began to tell his tale.

When he had finished and Glorfindel’s questions had ended, Elrohir was weary. He had drained himself in the battle with the spirit, more than he had first realized, and the day’s earlier sorrows still weighed upon him. He leaned back against a log, intending to rest for only a moment. He suddenly realized his eyes had drifted closed and he sat up abruptly.

“I must rest, if only for a few minutes, before my watch begins,” he yawned.

Glorfindel had been staring out at the night sky, deep in thought. He turned to Elrohir and his face softened. “I am sorry, elfling. Sleep and do not be afraid. I think I understand what it is we face, and it will not bother you again while I am near.”

Elrohir had no chance to speak, for Glorfindel’s hand came down lightly upon him and he fell into sleep.

* * * .

Many thanks to Daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter. My apologies for the delay; the last chapter will not take so long!

Chapter 2

Elladan walked to the northern perimeter of their small camp, a ridge of a rugged hill that gave way to dusty plains below. The wind had been blowing strong since they had left Imladris, thus the sudden lack of even the slightest breeze had captured his attention. The air felt heavy and full of tension, yet from the northwest there came no sign of a summer storm.

Dust covered the thin foliage of the trees. The land needed rain. He scanned the horizon again, hoping to see flashes of lightning or roiling clouds, but he saw only black sky. Even the stars seemed to have dimmed in the otherwise clear night.

His disquiet grew as the minutes passed. There was something not natural about the stillness. Seldom had he felt such a sense of dread as came over him now. There was something evil nearby.

He had just made up his mind to alert Erestor when he heard the soft chirp indicating the elf was approaching him. The call was loud to his ears in the sudden stillness of the night.

Erestor was next to him a moment later. To Elladan’s surprise, he did not speak out loud, but chose to speak in thought, something Erestor had seldom done with him before.

Evil is nearby. When first did you notice it?

Perhaps an hour ago, replied Elladan. Whatever it is, it has grown in strength or is nearer to us now than it was before.

Even as they communicated, the presence of evil grew around them. Elladan jumped when a hand came to rest on his arm, but it was followed by a firm grip and Erestor’s thought: It is a spirit without physical raiment.

Elladan realized he had been concentrating so heavily upon sight and what he could not see, that he had nearly missed what was coming upon them. He focused his mind on the spirit instead. It radiated its hatred to them as it swirled about them in madness, then it suddenly stopped. It drew close to them, curious.

One of the Eldar, but Moriquendi and weak, it mocked Erestor. Elladan felt the spirit draw closer to him, so close that he felt as if it might pass through his body. But what of you? Of the weakest and of the Eldar, but also more?

Elladan made no reply, and if Erestor made one in thought or spoken word, he did not hear it, for he had snapped the door to his mind closed as the spirit probed at him

Such mixed blood can come from only one, from Lúthien who took from our Lord the Silmaril, long ago. Yet you are weakened by the blood of Men. The spirit made a horrible noise at the word ‘Men’. Men who fought against our captain; Men who we hate.

The spirit pushed at Elladan’s mind, taunting him. A prize you would be, kin of Elrond, the spirit continued with gleeful malice. Do not think our captain has forgotten him.

The spirit left them as suddenly as it had come upon them, this time in a rush of wind. Elladan sagged against the boulder beside him, though he still felt Erestor’s hand on his arm.

“It knew who you were,” said Erestor, breaking the silence.

“What was it?” asked Elladan in a low voice.

Erestor frowned. “Not a houseless one, of that I feel sure. Nor one of the Ulairi, I think. If the spirit recognized the blood of Lúthien, then it had to be a servant of Morgoth.”

Elladan was pondering Erestor’s words when the spirit returned. It whirled about him in a stream of sound and light, disorienting him. The sky had been black, but now it was red and hazy, and a shrill scream pierced the silence. The sound was so intense that he covered his ears in pain, finally dropping to his knees when the intensity grew so great he felt his head would burst.

Despite the agony, he knew the spirit was trying to do worse than cause him pain. He had heard tales of houseless elves taking over the body of another elf, but never of a higher spirit attempting to do so. Glorfindel once said that such an act would limit the spirit’s abilities and it did not seem to him as if that is what it was doing.

“Ai, Elbereth!” he cried. “Elbereth! Gilthoniel!”

In a flash, the spirit was gone. As quiet descended upon him, Elladan removed his hands from his ears and realized that Erestor knelt beside him. He sat up, still dizzy from the sensory overload, and waited for the world to cease spinning.

“It fears the name of Elbereth,” murmured Erestor. “Well done, Elladan, in remembering that.”

Elladan did not respond. He did not know who had put those words in his head; they had simply appeared in his mind and he had repeated them.

“I do not know if that will be enough in the future. Neither of us can stand long against such a spirit. We must depart before it returns,” continued Erestor.

Elladan straightened. “I do not think it wanted my body, as tales of the houseless ones tell, but what other harm can it do without physical form?”

Erestor looked at him thoughtfully. “In truth, I do not know. I know only tales and legends of old. I do not wish, however, to face Elrond and tell him of any harm that befell his son because I failed to heed a threat with proper caution.”

Elladan bristled. “How long, Erestor, before you look upon me as a warrior of Imladris and not as Elrond’s son? If you had another elf with you, would you be fleeing from danger?”

“You will always be Elrond’s son,” replied Erestor dryly. “Were another elf with me, I doubt the spirit would have taken notice of us. It is because of who you are that it was interested.” He paused for a moment then added, “We will return to Imladris.”

Elladan did not even attempt to hide his reaction. “Return home to hide?”

“We are not a patrol sent out to do battle,” reminded Erestor. “We are scouts, sent to gather information. We have a responsibility to return to Elrond, give him this information and seek his counsel before proceeding.”

“I would rather we did more gathering of information before returning home,” argued Elladan. “How is Elrond to judge this threat based on what we now know?”

“I did not say that we would not return. Elrond can choose to send us back out alone or with help. He may also wish to send word to Glorfindel and Elrohir.”

“We would have a more complete assessment of the threat and the land if we joined with Glorfindel and Elrohir.” Elladan watched as Erestor considered his words, then continued, “If this spirit chose me for who I am, then would it not consider my brother a worthy prize as well?”

“I judge that of all of us, Glorfindel could stand against this threat with the greatest hope of winning. Yet perhaps there is also strength in numbers if we join with them.” He paused, thinking. “I also would not wish to have the spirit follow us back to Imladris, and lead it straight to Elrond. I fear the hidden valley would not stay hidden for long.”

“There are many forces that keep Imladris hidden, and my father is stronger than all of us,” replied Elladan knowingly.

Erestor raised a brow at him but did not answer, and they returned to camp.

They departed just after sunrise. Elladan felt relieved that they were going to travel south to join Glorfindel and Elrohir, yet he at first had a hard time identifying why he felt so strongly. It wasn’t just a desire to continue scouting, or curiosity to discover what this spirit might be about. Something was driving him.

He and Elrohir were seldom this far apart. They had been part of the patrols that guarded Imladris for many centuries and often were not together, but seldom on a long venture had they been separated. He reached deep within himself, to his bond with his brother, and sensed that Elrohir was well, but weary. He had seen Elrohir physically exhausted before, and yet not sensed this type of weariness.

He attempted to communicate with Elrohir, but got no response. He had the greater skill in reaching with his mind, so this did not surprise him. Elrohir had cultivated other skills, using the strength of his mind to heal others, thus depleting his strength and limiting its reach. Despite this knowledge, however, his foreboding increased and without conscious thought, he nudged his horse into a quicker pace.

They had intended to travel north to Fornost, where the Arthedain dwelt, but now they worked their way back south along the Weather Hills to the East-West road. By Erestor’s reckoning, Glorfindel and Elrohir would be moving north along the river. He hoped to meet them on the South Downs.

Near evening of the second day, they came to a small outpost of the Arthedain. Located as a guard tower along the edge of the Weather Hills, it afforded the men a long view of the road both east and west. Elladan knew the families of the guards lived in the small fortresses made of brick. The entrance to the fortress was between two large stones, making it difficult to besiege, and yet escape routes ran into the wild lands that only those men knew well. If one did not know the outpost was there, it would be only by long chance that any would happen upon it.

Today the entrance was blocked. Elladan looked up, scanning the abutments for sign of any guard. He whistled a call of the Arthedain, identifying himself as friend. After a moment, a man came to the edge of the rock.

“Mae govannen!” called Elladan. “We are from Imladris.”

The man waved a small flag of black and red at him. “There is no illness here, and we would not have any brought upon us. Go back whence you came, friends!”

Elladan turned to look at Erestor.

“The illness was far south at last word, in Gondor. Grievous indeed would it be, if it has come so far north,” murmured Erestor.

The man disappeared before they could answer.

Elladan contemplated the man’s words. Once he opened his mouth to call to the man again, but he shut it after a moment. Perhaps there was no more to say, at least here.

“Do we go north, to see if Argeleb’s people need our aid, or continue south?” he voiced his concern.

Erestor did not hesitate even a moment. “South, to Glorfindel and Elrohir,” he answered curtly.

* * *

Elrohir woke with the sunrise the next morning. He had slept so deeply that it took him a moment to remember where he was. He looked around and the previous day’s events came back to him when he saw Glorfindel still sitting next to him.

“You did not wake me for my watch,” he chastised.

“You needed to rest and I needed to think,” replied Glorfindel.

Elrohir rose and folded the blankets, then took his comb and turned to walk to the stream. Glorfindel fell into step beside him. “Will it return, even in daylight?”

“The spirit chose you because you were alone, not because it was dark,” replied Glorfindel grimly.

“You did not encounter anything in the village or while hunting, though,” mused Elrohir.

A strange look came over Glorfindel’s face.

“Or perhaps you did,” he amended.

“This is what I thought about during the night,” admitted Glorfindel. “No spirit accosted me as they did you, and what I sensed was not the same as what happened at the stream.”

“I recall tales told in the Hall of Fire of the houseless ones that dwelt away in the east, where the Moriquendi once lived and died at Morgoth’s hands. They had already rejected the call of the Valar, and so their spirits remained after their bodies perished. In those tales was rumor that some of those spirits turned to evil, but when we questioned the storyteller, it was rumor only,” said Elrohir.

“In rumors and tales is often truth, though none telling the stories know it to be so,” replied Glorfindel. “In Beleriand, I also heard such tales. Of the exiled Noldor, some of those guilty of the kin-slaying refused Namo’s summons upon bodily death and remained in Middle-earth. Gil-galad and Elrond heard reports in Lindon of houseless ones in the northern reaches of the Ered Luin. The dwarves were aware of spirits in the hills, but there were no reports of them being evil.”

“Have you known of any elf evicted from its body, supplanted by one of these evil ones?” asked Elrohir.

“No,” replied Glorfindel shortly. “I would prefer that you not be the first, either.”

“That would be my preference as well,” murmured Elrohir.

They broke their camp and continued north. An uneventful morning passed, and early afternoon found them at another tiny village. A stray dog barked at them, but they found no other signs of life. The houses were abandoned and had been seemingly plundered. If the inhabitants had died, they found no recent graves as evidence.

They had explored most of the houses together or at least in sight of one another. Elrohir stepped between two outbuildings and found a shaded garden which someone had once used to do carvings. The shavings on the ground were not fresh, but Elrohir was surprised to see them along with tools that were scattered on a rough wooden table. Whoever had worked here had left in haste.

He turned to leave and saw a spirit hovering in the space between the buildings. He was first amazed that he could see evidence of the spirit, but as it approached him, fear returned.

“Glorfindel!” he called.

He was confident he could fight off an attack, yet he remembered the orders of a captain who had told him to stay in his sight. He watched the spirit as it drew closer to him, and noted the growing feeling of malice. A twinge of fear coursed through him. What if he had merely been fortunate thus far? What if Glorfindel was fighting his own battle?

Glorfindel appeared in front of him, his face changing from that of concerned captain to that of mighty warrior. His inner light grew until he shone. At one word from him, the spirit fled. When Glorfindel reached him, his light had barely faded, and Elrohir could not help but reach out and touch him.

“It was the same spirit,” said Glorfindel. “This also settles a question that has been in my mind. It is stalking you. It came after you as soon as we were out of sight of each other.”

“I do not understand,” said Elrohir. “Why me? Why not you?” He waved his hand over the scene behind him. “Did the spirits drive the Men who lived here from their homes?”

Glorfindel did not answer. He ushered Elrohir from the garden and back out into the clearing where their horses waited. “We are going to head north and find Elladan and Erestor, then return to Imladris. I think we need more than a few scouts to explore this mystery.”

Elrohir mounted. Despite his fears over what he had experienced, he was also curious. Yet he had a mounting concern for his twin and Erestor. Were they encountering the same desolation and disease as Elrohir and Glorfindel were? Had they met any of the houseless ones?

Elrohir mulled the previous day’s events over in his mind as they continued north. He had told Glorfindel all the details of each encounter with the spirits. Glorfindel had not answered his questions, nor had he told Elrohir the details of what he had experienced. He had seemed deep in thought, distant in a way that Elrohir was not familiar with.

He nudged his horse to catch up with the elf, who was now a length ahead of him.

“Glorfindel, you have not yet told me what you found near the downs yesterday.”

Glorfindel did not immediately answer, and Elrohir wondered if he was so deep in thought that he had not heard the question. He waited, though, for he had learned patience, and elves tended to think before speaking.

“I did not find anything,” began Glorfindel quietly. “Nothing in the realm of the physical anyway…”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel walked briskly for several hundred yards, glad to stretch his muscles after hours on the horse and shake the horrors of what they had just seen from his mind. To his north he could see the rolling hills of the downs. Rabbits were usually plentiful in the green fields, and he had his bow strung with an arrow in the other hand, waiting.

He had just shot and strung the first hare when he sensed the presence of another. He turned and scanned the horizon, initially seeing nothing. Then his gaze settled on a shadow. He remained motionless, patiently watching it. After a few long moments the shadow moved west.

Memory flooded Glorfindel’s mind. He had been a small child when the Two Trees were destroyed, yet he remembered vividly when darkness came. The darkness had been more than night, it had been a shadow of deep malice and fear, and he recalled that even his parents had been afraid. Later he had heard his brother and his friends repeating the tales told in Formenos and Alqualondë of Morgoth in his wrath becoming as a dark shadow that rolled through the hills and up the coastline. He had feared darkness and shadows for a time after that, fears shared by many of the children of Aman.

He watched as the shadow followed the curve of the hills, stopping finally at the door of the barrow of a buried king of Cardolan. While only a pale reflection of the shadow and darkness that had come upon Valmar when the Trees failed, this shadow also emanated malice. A chill ran through him despite the warmth of the afternoon. Then the shadow passed into the earth with ease, and the sun again shone unhindered.

He walked through the hills to the barrow, shooting several more rabbits along the way, but though the air felt heavy and full of death, he could not determine what type of spirit he had seen. He felt a sudden concern for Elrohir, and made his way back to camp.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Was the spirit you saw entering the barrow the spirit of one of the kings of men?” mused Elrohir aloud. “Could this plague that has killed so many men also have afflicted elves? Where else would the houseless ones come from?”

Glorfindel smiled at the young peredhel’s questions. No matter how tired or weary, he could always count on Elrohir’s curiosity to overcome all other concerns.

“No, I think not, and I do not know,” he answered, grinning when Elrohir’s questioning look turned to one of confusion and then humor.

“You have told me what you experienced, but no conclusions about what you saw,” observed Elrohir.

“I have drawn no conclusions,” replied Glorfindel. “The spirit was not one of Men, nor of Elf. What it was I do not know.”

“How do you know it was not elf or man? And if not either of them, what else is there? Perians? Dwarves?”

“I know because I have memories of my existence unclothed by a body, when I was with other elves in spirit form. I recognize the spirits of Men, for I have seen enough flee this world, and it was not one of them. What it could be I only suspect, for I had not the time to test the spirit. I know only at this point what it was not.”

Elrohir fell quiet and Glorfindel was glad to let the wind and birds fill the void so he could think. A spirit was stalking Elrond’s son; of this he was sure. He did not know why. Was the spirit merely in search of a body? Did it perceive the peredhel as weak, or was the uniqueness of the spirit of the half-elven desired by it for some other purpose?

The children of Elrond carried in them enough of the spirit of the Maia to be recognized by those with knowledge of the Ainur. In Elrond the blood of the Maia was stronger yet, and Glorfindel had long thought that it was the strength of that part of his heritage that allowed him to wield the most powerful of Celebrimbor’s rings. And Sauron was of the race of the Maia, and he had other servants of that kind. He also knew Elrond, indeed he had been turned from the gates of Lindon by him.

Contrary to what he had told Elrohir, he did have a suspicion about the spirit near the barrow. It reminded him of the Maiar. Had Sauron returned, no longer in fair form, or sent one of his servants to Cardolan, and was there a connection between the houseless elf stalking Elrohir and this higher spirit?

“There is someone ahead on the road,” said Elrohir. “A child, Glorfindel, and he needs our aid.”

Elrohir spurred his horse forward before Glorfindel could speak. His intentions of continuing north to find Elladan and Erestor were forgotten as he watched Elrohir slide from his horse and cautiously approach the child.

* * * * *

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Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 3

Elrohir saw the child sitting not far from the path. His skin was nearly as brown as the dusty tufts of grass withering under the hot summer sun, and though tear tracks stained his dirty cheeks, his eyes were sunken in dehydration. A sob hiccupped from him. Sad brown eyes met Elrohir’s, then his face filled with fear. He slid behind the scraggly bush whose shade he had been sheltering beneath with the innocence of one who thought if he disappeared, he would be forgotten.

“Ah, little one,” said Elrohir softly in Westron. “Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”

He moved slowly toward the child, stopping when the child sank further to the ground. Pulling his waterskin over his head, he removed its cork and held it out. “Are you thirsty? I have water for you.”

The child’s thirst drove him to sit up and look longingly at the waterskin. Elrohir crept closer, finally sinking to his knees a few feet from the child. The little boy reached for the waterskin, and Elrohir helped him lift it to his mouth and tipped it up that he might drink. He doubted the child had the strength to hold the full skin on his own.

His thirst satiated, the little boy did not protest at all when Elrohir picked him up. Thin arms snaked around his neck and the child melted against him.

He noticed the heat of the child’s body immediately. All children were warm, human children especially so, for they grew so fast that they expended much energy just in living. Yet this child was warmer than normal, and Elrohir feared he had been in the sun too long.

He rested a hand on the child’s back, rubbing gently in comfort, and in doing so he pulled up the child’s tunic and exposed some of the skin. Elrohir caught his breath and clutched the boy a little tighter, as if that would somehow protect him from harm. He shifted the child in his arms and found another black mark on his leg, another on his belly.

The child’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with the slow even breaths of sleep. Yet already Elrohir could hear a slight crackle in the child’s chest. Resting his cheek against the child’s head, he wept.

He felt strength flow into him a few moments later when Glorfindel laid a hand upon his shoulder. Composing himself, he rose without disturbing the sleeping child in his arms. Glorfindel led him a short distance away to a small camp. As they approached, the smell of death grew. Glorfindel motioned for Elrohir to stop.

“Mother and infant are buried under that cairn of stones,” said Glorfindel quietly. “The father is covered with a blanket.” He faltered. “An older girl child cared for that little one until she too passed, probably this morning.”

Elrohir cradled the sleeping child to his chest, his heart breaking for this little one who had seen mother and baby brother die, then his father, and finally his sister. He was old enough to understand death, yet far too young to provide for himself. Elrohir could only imagine the fear this child had lived in as his family left him to follow death’s call, and he was left without food or water, to starve in the wilderness if wild animals did not take him, or war, or the illness that had claimed his family.

He waited until Glorfindel had wrapped and removed the bodies from the camp, then he made as comfortable a bed as possible in the shade of the tree the family had chosen for shelter from the sun and laid the boy upon it. The child released his hold on Elrohir’s tunic and hair begrudgingly, and he grew restless within moments.

“Stay with him,” said Glorfindel as he finished pulling the family’s wagon to block the view of the graves. “I will bring what you need.”

Using what water remained in his waterskin, Elrohir bathed the child, removing the dust and dirt that covered him. Whether his touch calmed the child or the coolness of the water upon his hot skin he did not know, but he was thankful for any relief he could give.

Once clean, the swollen nodes and black marks upon his body became more apparent. Placing his hands on the child’s chest and forehead, Elrohir touched his mind to the child’s. Comfort and strength he could impart, but the child’s spirit was confused and weakened, unable to battle the disease ravaging his young body. Elrohir knew in that moment that his healing skills would not be enough; indeed, even those of his father might not be enough. Perhaps if they had found him earlier. . . He forced the thought from his mind. Thus far, they had not found survivors. His desire for this child to be the first gripped his heart so tightly it hurt.

“Glorfindel,” he began, looking up. His words died in his throat and he fell silent. Glorfindel was not in sight. Yet, he had felt the presence of someone drawing near to him. In the dappled shade just to his right he saw a faint glimmer. The now familiar cold prickle rose on his neck.

The spirit did not descend upon him as it had earlier. Elrohir thought it was the same houseless one, albeit more in control of itself. It approached him slowly, and Elrohir thought the spirit was ensuring he knew it was there.

The child will die.

Elrohir stiffened.

The child will die. He is weak, mortal.

Elrohir shifted slightly, blocking the child with his body. The temptation to gather the child in his arms was great, yet he wanted to keep his hands free.

He is abandoned. His body will die and his spirit will flee, but it will not find peace.

Fear rose in Elrohir. Could these spirits keep the child’s spirit from going where the spirits of men went? Surely if summoned by Mandos or Eru himself, nothing could impede the child from them. Could these spirits hold the child’s in torment?

The spirit laughed. Indeed we can. And we shall.

The boy was wracked by a spasm of coughing. Elrohir forgot about the spirit as he lifted the boy’s upper body to help him breathe. When the coughing had ceased, he held his waterskin to the child’s mouth and trickled the remaining drops in. The boy drank them thirstily, continuing to smack his lips even after the water was gone. Elrohir built up a pillow from blankets he had gathered and eased the child into a reclining position against them.

“Here,” said Glorfindel. He held out a small cup full of water to Elrohir, a much more manageable size. “I will clean your waterskin before it is used again.”

“I thought you said that elves are not likely susceptible to this illness,” said Elrohir as he held the cup for the child to drink again.

“Elves are likely not,” replied Glorfindel grimly. “But you are half-elven. You also may have need to share your water with others of mortal race again.”

Elrohir squelched the brief glimpse that flashed in his mind of him or Elladan or Arwen - or their father - ravaged by this same disease. The child shivered, despite the heat of the day, and he covered him with a blanket. The boy opened his eyes. Elrohir smoothed his hair back, caressing his cheek, and the child leaned against his hand.

“What is your name?” he asked gently.

“Toman,” whispered the boy.

“Toman is a good name,” replied Elrohir. “I am Elrohir.”

“El. . .” the child fumbled over the unfamiliar pronunciation.

“El is enough,” replied Elrohir. “Are you hungry?”

Toman nodded. Elrohir took a bit of waybread from the pouch at his belt and fed Toman small pieces, washed down with sips of water. To his eyes, the child seemed improved already. Clean, his thirst and hunger assuaged, and fear banished, he now looked as a child ought. Elrohir’s hope was kindled.

Then the child lifted his arm and the blanket slipped down, and the now visible black spots wiped Elrohir’s hope away. He sang to the child until sleep again overcame him.

Glorfindel wandered the area, gathering wood for a cooking fire and stones for another cairn. When he had a small fire started and set a pot of water to boil, he gathered up the sack of stones he had collected and said, “Call me if you need me, Elrohir. I will be just beyond their wagon.”

Elrohir realized he had not told Glorfindel about the spirit; he had forgotten about it entirely when the child had needed his help. Now he looked for any sign of the glimmer that had alerted him to the presence of the spirit earlier. In the distance, he could hear the faint clicks of the rocks being stacked, and he knew that Glorfindel was burying Toman’s father and sister. Not unexpectedly, the spirit re-appeared as soon as Glorfindel was engaged elsewhere.

You grow attached to the child. It is unwise for the Eldar to mingle with the secondborn. Wisdom fades and unlikely alliances form, alliances that only weaken your strength.

Elrohir contained the retort that formed on his lips and closed the door to his mind. Beside him, the child slept on, his small body pressed against Elrohir’s side.

Such is to be expected of you, perhaps. The blood of mortal men runs through you. Will you follow the spirits of men or elves? When Elrohir did not respond, the spirit continued. How fortunate for this child that you are his caregiver. You could accompany him when he passes. Protect him from those who would harm him.

Toman’s hand came to rest on his arm, seeking contact. Seeking comfort. Elrohir took the small hand in his own and held it. Toman sighed and seemed to sink deeper into sleep.

The spirit departed as quickly as it had come. Elrohir shook his head to clear it, and only realized how much time had passed when Glorfindel appeared from around the wagon.

“I have meat. I thought he might like a broth,” offered Glorfindel as he lay aside his hunting gear.

Another spasm of coughing shook the child’s body. A pinkish froth dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Elrohir wiped it away, his sorrow nearly overwhelming him.

“Glorfindel,” began Elrohir. Then he paused. He wanted to ask Glorfindel if what the houseless one said was true, if the child’s spirit could be caught and held in thrall. Something held him back. He smiled at the expectant look on the elf’s face instead and said, “Thank you. I think he will manage a little broth.”

“Elrohir, has the spirit returned?” asked Glorfindel steadily, his hands preparing the meat even as his gaze seemed to pierce through Elrohir.

“I have not been assailed,” replied Elrohir carefully. When Glorfindel continued to hold his gaze, he said, “But the spirit has been near. It seems to have given up its battle for my body.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Or it is merely seeking to gain it another way.”

Toman began coughing again, the spasms so great that he choked and gasped for air. Elrohir could feel his fear and distress, and he poured forth his strength into the child, calming him and helping him to relax. But he could not stop the disease. He wiped the bloody froth from the boy’s lips and gave him a sip of water. The big brown eyes that met his were more dull and sorrowful than they had been just a few hours earlier. Yet they held trust, trust that Elrohir would take care of him.

The coughing spasms increased in intensity and frequency as the evening light dimmed and night fell. Toman took a few sips of broth, but the coughing spells caused him to vomit up even that little bit of nourishment. While Elrohir could calm him and reduce the pain in his chest, he could not stop the fits of coughing. With tears in his eyes, Elrohir prepared the medicine he knew would help stop the spasms. The medicine would make him sleep as well, and Elrohir knew he might not awaken again.

He mixed the medicine into a little broth and held it to Toman’s lips. “Drink, little one. This will help you to feel better.” Toman drank obediently, then clung to Elrohir’s hand. “You are a brave boy, Toman. I am proud of you.” Elrohir cradled the child in his arms until those trusting eyes slid closed and sleep claimed him.

“Sleep while he does, Elrohir. I will waken you if he worsens,” said Glorfindel gently.

Elrohir lay down on the blanket that Glorfindel had spread out next to Toman and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Toman’s coughing wakened him during the darkest hour of the night. Glorfindel supported the child, but his breaths were mere wheezes and the lack of air was making him panic. Elrohir sat up and pulled the child into his lap. In his panic, Toman was hard to reach, but Elrohir finally gained a hold on his spirit and calmed him. His breaths were still labored, but the panic that was expending all of his energy was gone. Toman was too weak now to cling to him bodily, yet Elrohir felt as if he had cleaved with the child’s spirit.

Never had he gotten this close to the spirit of another, and wonder filled him. When Toman was calm, he withdrew a little, that he might assess the child’s physical needs. He needed his clothing changed and his fever brought down.

“I need warm water to bathe him, and the waterskins filled with cold water that we can place against him to bring down his fever,” said Elrohir, and Glorfindel rose without question, stoking the fire to warm water and then taking the pot and waterskins to the stream.

Intent on caring for the child, Elrohir did not notice the spirit approach. He noticed it hovering over them, watching them, yet taking no action or attempting to re-house itself.

The time is drawing near. The call is upon his spirit. Soon he will hear and heed it.

Elrohir wiped a tear from his cheek. He could keep Toman’s delirium in check and ease his pain, but he could not stop the fluid that threatened to drown him nor the fever that raged within him. He could not help him to breathe easier.

Will you not aid him? Will you let him run the gauntlet to safe haven alone? Surely he will fail. You are strong enough to withstand all he might encounter. You have the right to go where both Elves and Men find peace.

A desire rose in Elrohir at that moment, one that he had never before experienced. He had given little thought to the fate of men, or where their spirits went upon bodily death. Beyond the circles of the world, that is all his father had told him. What lay beyond? Could he go there – could he escort Toman there and then return?

The houseless one would take his body, but he could reclaim it. What was rightfully his would respond to his command, he was sure. And if not . . . then he would go to Mandos. Would not the Valar find him redress? Like Glorfindel, could he not be given a new body and sent back?

Toman shuddered in his arms.

Another glimmer of light appeared, then another. The third was stronger than the other two, and Elrohir knew it was no elf. He felt fear for himself, not just the child. Toman was near death in his arms. Soon his spirit would be bereft of body. Could Elrohir let him go when he knew what was waiting for him? He cradled Toman tighter, strengthening his hold on his spirit as well.

He would go with him.

A new fear came over him with his decision. What if he could not return? He would be sundered from his family forever. He would cause injury to them as Elros had done to his father so many years ago.

He wept for Toman and for himself. He was desperately afraid of what he was about to do. Then Toman released his last breath and went limp, and Elrohir felt the child’s spirit let go of his body. Still he trusted in Elrohir.

A great fury of sound and light surrounded him, attempting to separate Toman from him. Elrohir held on desperately while trying to gather his courage to depart with him. Something was holding him back. Someone.

Glorfindel joined the battle, and some of the spirits fled before his wrath. Others stood their ground. Elrohir watched Glorfindel battle them and realized this was his opportunity, the diversion he needed. He forsook his body.

He and Toman fled their bodies, but did not go far. Other spirits surrounded them, spirits that were mighty and powerful, yet also good. Elrohir had not noticed them before, but they chased the evil ones away. No malice emanated from them, only great love. One reached out with power gentle yet mighty and touched Toman. Toman’s spirit released its hold on Elrohir immediately, joy filling it.

Elrohir was confused. Other powers were interceding, one that could only be Mandos. At his command, Elrohir released the child’s spirit. In an instant, the glorious spirit had taken him away, shooting to the heavens with a rush of light, surrounded by a host of others of his kind.

Elrohir faced Mandos. He trembled in fear, expecting wrath to descend upon him. Then he realized another stood behind him. The tug that had been holding him in Arda, the someone that had a strong grip on him, was Elladan.

Elrohir Elrondion, it is not your time. Heed my words, young peredhel. When your choice is made, your doom will be appointed and there will be no return. Make not your choice in haste.

Elrohir looked to where Toman had gone.

He is safe? He will find peace? he finally dared ask the Vala.

Iluvatar sends His own to bring to him those who are His. The Eldar who heed my voice will have my protection. Take back your hroa, my child.

Elrohir looked back at the scene on Arda. The battle was over; the spirits had fled. Toman’s body lay upon the hard ground. Glorfindel was still radiant, shining like the sun, standing over his body. Elladan was there, holding Elrohir’s body, and Erestor stood behind him.

Turning, Elrohir allowed Elladan to pull him down and he took back his body.

“Elrohir!”

Elrohir opened his eyes and met the exhausted gaze of his twin. He heard Erestor sigh in relief, and then Glorfindel knelt beside them. Tears glittered in his eyes.

Elrohir tried to speak, but he could not form words. He tried to raise his hand, but his body would not heed his command. Fear was returning when he felt the touch of Glorfindel upon his mind.

“Peace, Elrohir. Your spirit and body have not forgotten each other; they just need a few moments to synchronize their rhythms.”

Elladan’s shoulder sagged and Erestor eased him to a sitting position while Glorfindel took Elrohir. Elrohir could hear Glorfindel speaking to him in a soothing voice as he massaged his hands and arms, encouraging his body to remember, but his eyes were on his twin. Erestor had found a flask of Miruvor and was encouraging him to drink it.

“Son of Elrond you will always be,” said Erestor. “But Elladan Elrondion is a force to be reckoned with in his own right.”

Elladan smiled wanly, then scooted the few feet to where Elrohir lay.

“If you ever leave me again, Elrohir,” said Elladan, “I will drag you back and have adar build a strong tower to hold you and set spirits about it to guard you.”

The threat was lessened by the weariness that made his voice crack.

“What happened, Elrohir?” asked Erestor.

“When did you arrive?” managed Elrohir, finally finding his voice. “It is just dawn. Why were you traveling at night?”

“We encountered an evil spirit several days ago. It recognized Elladan as kin to Elrond, pronouncing him a mighty gift. It said also that their captain had not forgotten Elrond,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel straightened at those words. “Their captain can only be Sauron,” he said sharply.

“That is what we thought,” agreed Erestor. “The spirit was a servant of Morgoth, recognizing in Elladan the blood of Lúthien. I would have returned to Elrond with this news, but we feared for Elrohir.”

“I felt driven to find you,” said Elladan, now strengthened by the Miruvor. “I did not know why, but I pushed Erestor until we traveled through the day and night without stopping. We found you by Glorfindel’s light.”

Elladan paused, then asked in a more strained voice. “Why did you do it, Elrohir? Why did you make the choice of Men?”

Glorfindel’s sharp intake of air was all that Elrohir heard in the ensuing silence.

“I did not choose the fate of Men,” he corrected, his voice shaking. “At least, that is not the choice I was attempting to make. The houseless one said they would ensnare the boy’s spirit and keep him from peace. As his body failed, spirits were gathering. They would hold him in thralldom forever.”

Elrohir stopped, bowing his head as he struggled to stop the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “I was deceived. The houseless elf could not take my body by force, so it attempted to lure me from it out of fear for the child.”

Elladan wrapped an arm about his shoulders and Elrohir leaned against him.

“What did Mandos say to you?” he asked softly.

“The child’s spirit was never in danger. Mighty servants of Eru escort them to wherever they go. I was naive, thinking I could take him to safety and then return. When we make our choice to go to the Halls of Men or to the Halls of Elves, it is final.”

Elrohir closed his eyes, his head still bowed in shame. “How arrogant of me to think that I was needed to keep him safe from harm.”

Glorfindel laughed. “Nay, greatheart, it is not arrogance that makes you love as you do. You have a gift for healing, like your father, and that does make you vulnerable. Yes, you are innocent still in the ways of the fallen. You do not know evil. But now your eyes have been opened and you will not be deceived in such a way again. There are other forces in this world than just those of evil.”

Elrohir looked at the body of Toman, still lying just a few feet from them.

“Why does evil come upon small children and steal away even the short life they have been given? He has committed no wrong, done no evil. He is not long from his mother’s breast and already he has seen suffering and death beyond what anyone should see in a lifetime of men.”

No one answered him. Then his mind was filled with the memory of the glory he had seen, of the joy in the spirit that had come for the child, of the trust and willingness Toman had shown in going with him. “Perhaps death is a gift, regardless of age, if such glory lies beyond,” he murmured. But none of them had seen what he had, and they remained silent.

Elrohir looked up at Elladan. “You look like you were in a great battle. Thank you, my brother, for coming for me.”

Elladan only smiled, but Glorfindel said, “He joined the battle I was in like a warrior out of the great tales of old! Lúthien’s blood runs strong in you both, though the manifestation is different. Your father will be proud of you both.”

Glorfindel rose. “With your leave, Elrohir, I will bury Toman with his kin.”

Elrohir nodded, but moved from his twin’s side to kneel by the child’s body for a moment, then continued what he had begun before dawn had come. He washed and dressed him, then wrapped him in a clean blanket. He carried him to the cairn Glorfindel had made the day before, and noticed that he had prepared a spot for the child when he had buried his sister and father. He laid the body in the grave, then began stacking the stones as Glorfindel handed them to him. Then he sang, Glorfindel’s tenor joining his, as they grieved for their loss. When they had finished, he went to the stream to wash, and Glorfindel again fell into step beside him.

“You do not think any spirits remain?” Elrohir asked in surprise.

Glorfindel smiled. “Some perhaps do that we cannot see. The evil ones have fled, but they must abide somewhere. I saw one go into the Barrow on the Downs that day; perhaps others have gone there as well. But you are weary and I am still too near to the fear I had for you, so you will indulge me my presence.”

Elrohir laughed. “Because I am weary, I will indulge you almost anything.”

They returned to camp to find Elladan sound asleep. Elrohir moved his bedroll next to his twin and stretched out beside him. His stomach growled, and Glorfindel laughed

“I will indulge you making breakfast,” he yawned, teasing.

Glorfindel walked past him to the fire, where Erestor was already seeing what could be made of the food stores in their packs. He bent down and laid his hand on Elrohir’s head, and Elrohir fell fast asleep.

* * *

“Impertinent whelps,” commented Erestor as Glorfindel joined him at the fire.

“Aye,” replied Glorfindel. “But since they fought the hard battle, this one time we will wait on them.”

“I would have thought that you, of anyone, could have handled that battle,” replied Erestor in surprise.

“No, the spirit that taunted Elrohir was right,” admitted Glorfindel. “Only one with the blood of the Ainur, the Eldar and the Edain could have done so. Only Elrond’s children of all those living today or who may yet live will choose their own fate. Elrohir is fortunate that Mandos granted him a reprieve, recognizing the deception played upon him. A deception, I might add, that could only be visited upon one of Elrond’s children.”

“Elrohir is not the one I would have thought would ever make that choice,” replied Erestor.

Both looked at Elladan. “No, nor I,” replied Glorfindel softly. “They see things we do not see, feel things we cannot feel and one day will choose something we cannot comprehend. In all of Middle-earth, only Elrond understands.”

“And yet he still sends them out into the world.”

“The choice must be freely made, with full knowledge, or at least all the knowledge they are granted to know,” said Glorfindel. “Elrohir gained some new knowledge about the fate of men today. Whether that increases his desire to know more, or provides him with enough knowledge to choose what he knows remains to be seen.”

“I think our mission accomplished,” said Erestor after a long silence. “Elrond will wish to know all we have learned. I am quite ready to return to the dwellings of the living.”

“When the elflings awaken, then, we will go home,” replied Glorfindel.

“Not an elfling,” murmured Elrohir in his sleep.

The End.

* * * *

Author’s notes:

The passage that inspired this whole tale, from Appendix A, LotR

In the days of Argeleb II the plague came into Eriador from the Southeast, and most of the people of Cardolan perished, especially in Minhiriath. The Hobbits and all other peoples suffered greatly, but the plague lessened as it passed northwards, and the northern parts of Arthedain were little affected. It was at this time that an end came of the Dúnedain of Cardolan, and evil spirits out of Angmar and Rhudaur entered into the deserted mounds and dwelt there.

As for the concepts used, they are rooted in Tolkien, but are my own interpretation. In the Silmarillion, Tolkien says that

There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made.

And

Thus it came to pass that of the Ainur some abode still with Ilúvatar beyond the confines of the World; but others, and among them many of the greatest and most fair, took the leave of Ilúvatar and descended into it. But this condition Ilúvatar made, or it is the necessity of their love, that their power should thenceforward be contained and bounded in the World, to be within it for ever, until it is complete, so that they are its life and it is theirs. And therefore they are named the Valar, the Powers of the World.

Ilúvatar and some of the Ainur exist outside the realms of time and the physical space of Arda. The Valar and the Maiar (who are of the Ainur) dwell within it, as do the Elves (the Firstborn children of Ilúvatar). All of these exist as long as Arda exists. Their fate when the world ends is unknown.

Men, the Secondborn Children of Ilúvatar, live in the world, but upon death they leave the circles of the world and no longer exist in time and that physical space. Thus death is called the Gift of Iluvatar, for existing outside time and space means a true eternal existence without the wearying cares of the world. Elves are immortal only in the sense that they exist as long as the world does.

When Melkor (Morgoth) of the Valar ‘fell’ some of the Maiar followed him. The balrogs and Ungoliant the spider and Thuringwethil the vampire are all Maiar. Sauron is a Maiar. Other well known Maiar are Melian and Olorin and Radagast and Saruman.

By this point in the Third Age (1636) some of these creatures are gone, but some still live and some have reproduced (Shelob is a descendent of Ungoliant, as are the great spiders of Mirkwood). Sauron is still active in Middle-earth.

The houseless ones also exist in Middle-earth. When the elves were first summoned by the Valar to come live in Aman, some refused. They became known as the ‘Unwilling’ or Avari (and eventually the ‘Forsaken’). When they chanced to die, their spirits did not heed the call to the Halls of Mandos and remained in Middle-earth. For the most part, they were not evil.

But in Morgoth’s Ring, Tolkien says:

But it would seem that in these after-days more and more of the Elves, be they of the Eldalie in origin or be they of other kinds, who linger in Middle-earth now refuse the summons of Mandos, and wander houseless in the world,* unwilling to leave it (40) and unable to inhabit it, haunting trees or springs or hidden places that once they knew. Not all of these are kindly or unstained by the Shadow. Indeed the refusal of the summons is in itself a sign of taint.

For the Unbodied, wandering in the world, are those who at the least have refused the door of life and remain in regret and self-pity. Some are filled with bitterness, grievance, and envy. Some were enslaved by the Dark Lord and do his work still, though he himself is gone. They will not speak truth or wisdom. To call on them is folly. To attempt to master them and to make them servants of one own's will is wickedness. Such practices are of Morgoth; and the necromancers are of the host of Sauron his servant.

Some say that the Houseless desire bodies, though they are not willing to seek them lawfully by submission to the judge- ment of Mandos. The wicked among them will take bodies, if they can, unlawfully. The peril of communing with them is, therefore, not only the peril of being deluded by fantasies or lies: there is peril also of destruction. For one of the hungry Houseless, if it is admitted to the friendship of the Living, may seek to eject the fea from its body; and in the contest for mastery the body may be gravely injured, even if it he not wrested from its rightful habitant. Or the Houseless may plead for shelter, and if it is admitted, then it will seek to enslave its host and use both his will and his body for its own purposes. It is said that Sauron did these things, and taught his followers how to achieve them.

All of the spirits in the story are of the type Tolkien created – those that exist in time and space, Elrohir and Glorfindel could see and experience. The elven ‘fea’ exists apart from the body, which theoretically makes them more aware of spirits. Glorfindel especially lived in Mandos’s Halls until he was re-emboded, so he would be well familiar with recognizing spirits.

The spirits that exist outside of time and place, I had the elves and the sons of Elrond not be able to see those unless the spirit chose to be seen. As for them escorting the spirit of the child, I use another idea not mine. This one belongs to Ilúvatar also, by the name he uses in our world.

Matthew 18:10 tells us that an angel watches over the ‘little ones’

^10 “See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.

Luke 16:22 tells of how angels escort the souls

^22 “The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side.

So there, Tolkien really does have it all. Evil spirits, good spirits, plague, war, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters….

As for the last line ‘Not an elfling’ – Elrohir and Glorfindel have been having this exchange for the last 1500 years.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.