To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The caracters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I´m still new to this site and this in only my second try at fanfic, this time with a more-chapter-story. Don´t flame me, English isn´t still my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks on my wonderful beta. Lai

 Summary:

great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

„to lose hope is to give up"

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

Chapter 1: Roots and Mud Puddles

Elrond looked over the rim of his book and smiled as he watched his four-year-old twin sons chase Arahel, King Valandil´s second son and younger brother to the Crown Prince Eldacar, around the garden. Closing his eyes and leaning back in his comfortable chair, the Lord of Imladris enjoyed the last rays of the evening sun listening to the young boys squeal in delight as they rolled on the grass.  Picturing the expression on his wife’s face, he grinned inwardly, for the lawn was wet and muddy from a downpour the day before, and now the children’s clothes were utterly ruined.  Knowing that Celebrían watched them from the balcony above, he sent a calming thought towards her, bringing the smile back to her face.

The Lord of Imladris was very glad to see the young human boy so carefree and healthy. He shuddered, thinking back to the time nearly four months ago when Baradon, the right hand of the King and caretaker of his sons, arrived at the door of the Last Homely House late at night with a very ill boy in his arms.  Elrond was shocked by the extreme state of exhaustion that the Councillor was in.  What shocked him even more was the barely alive boy wrapped in a blanket tightly clutched to Baradon´s chest.

The Elf Lord still had not identified what had ailed the boy. He was near death when he had arrived in the valley, pale and barely breathing, dehydrated and totally unresponsive. The entire royal family had been as clueless as he, because no one had seen any harm that could have befallen the boy. 

In finding no wound or any other indication on the little boy´s body Elrond postulated the possibility of poison, but whether the poison was taken by accident or administered on purpose to the boy, he was unable to discover.  What made it worse, he had absolutely no idea what kind of poison could bring a healthy child to this pitiful state he was in that night. The symptoms were so uncharacteristic and the Elf-Lord had no clue how to begin to find out what possible poison had been given to the child. 

Knowing the royal family well since he had fostered Valandil, he could make a pretty good guess about the grief that had befallen them when assuming that someone may have tried to kill the boy the second in succession to the throne.  After calming down a totally desperate Baradon who loved the boy as if he was his own, Elrond had started the tedious task to find out what had made the boy ill and, much more importantly, what would cure him. 

For many long days and nights he feared he would lose this battle because the boy’s state deteriorated with every passing hour. Much time had already been lost until the boy had arrived here, but the Elf-Lord was not named the best healer in Middle Earth for nothing. In the end he was able to cure the boy but the real reason for the poisoning or the type of the poison used or taken remained hidden.

He heard Arahel cry out again, and he opened his eyes quickly and banned these dark times to the back of his mind. This time the cry was not of joy, but rather of pain.  His sons sat unmoving on either side of Arahel, watching him with wide eyes as he clutched his leg and sobbed.  Elrond rose hurrying down the steps of the terrace and into the garden to kneel in front of the little boy and look into his tear-streaked face.  “Arahel, are you injured?” he asked gently.

Big silvery eyes looked back at him and with a quivering lower lip the child nodded.  “I stumbled over this stupid root and fell,” he hissed angrily, gesturing toward the obstacle. “And now my leg hurts…a lot!”

Despite his worry, the Elf-Lord smiled at the boy, as he asked softly: “The root has always been here.  Perhaps you were not looking where you were going?”

The boy lowered his eyes.  “Maybe,” he confessed, though he continued to look accusingly at the root.

Carefully taking the small leg into his hands, Elrond asked: “Where does it hurt?” Arahel pointed to his ankle, and the Elf Lord rolled the boy’s trousers up to reveal an already swollen ankle.

Curious, Elladan leaned over Arahel, blocking his father’s view, as he asked: “Is his leg broken, Ada?”

“This I could tell you if you would let me have a proper look, my son,” Elrond responded with a sigh.

“Sorry, Ada,” the older twin murmured as he moved back a bit, barely enough, to let his father work.  Elrond flexed the leg slightly, but stopped when he saw new tears welling up in the boy’s eyes.  Curling his hand carefully around the swollen ankle and closing his eyes briefly, he let out his breath in relief.  He could not detect a break.  Looking back to the anxious face, he smiled.  “Though your ankle is not broken, it is badly sprained.  Unfortunately, this hurts more than a break.”

The boy nodded and looked again accusingly at the offending root.  “Will you have to amputate my foot, like my uncle Aralon whose leg was crushed in a rockslide?” he asked fearfully.

Trying to cheer up the little boy, the Elf-Lord shook his head and chuckled.

“No, little one, your ankle is only sprained and I believe I can repair it without an amputation. I will bandage and splint it to give it the proper rest it will need to heal.”

“Oh good,” the boy said, relieved, “because I will become a great warrior, like my father.”

Still smiling, Elrond carefully lifted the child into his arms and started toward the house as the boy snuggled closer to his chest. “That you will, young one, that you surely will.”

Casting a brief glance over his shoulder at his sons who remained still kneeling on the ground, he asked:  “Elladan, Elrohir are you coming?”   The boys didn’t react, and he turned to look at them.  “Well?” he tried again.

Eventually Elrohir raised his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Ada. It was my fault. If I had not chased him, he would not have broken his ankle!”

The Elf-Lord sighed.  “Elrohir, his ankle is only sprained, not broken, and it was not your fault, it was an accident. Will you come now and help me splint this leg?” he asked, knowing full well how eager the twins were to learn everything about the healing arts.

“Oh yes!” two identical voices cried as the twins raced toward the house, lightly jumping over the root.

“I’m a better healer than you!” Elladan cried, hopping around his scowling brother.

Elrond rolled his eyes and shook his head.  “Valar, help me!” he pleaded, quickly following his offspring.

He placed the boy on the examination table in the healing room and opened the top drawer of a nearby chest to retrieve the supplies he would need to splint the leg.  Centhar, the head healer, stifled a chuckle when he saw his Lord nearly stumble three times over his sons, who kept getting in the way and were constantly disarranging the items the Elf-Lord had piled near the edge of the table.

Finally Centhar took pity on him.  “Boys,” he called, “come with me into the herb garden. “I have something to show you”.

Torn between the wish to stay and the chance to discover something new, the two elflings looked at each other, communicating silently.  The beckoning of the healer finally won out and Elrond sent a grateful smile toward his friend, as the little boys raced out through the side door Centhar was already holding open.

At the same time the main door opened and Celebrían walked inside, having seen the incident from the balcony.  She smiled at her husband and then looked at the human boy.  “What happened, sweetling?” she asked as she wiped the boy’s tear and dirt streaked face.

“I tripped over this stu…., this idiotic root and sprained my ankle”, he explained, still upset over his clumsiness.

“I do believe that I am able to mend this.”  Elrond chuckled.

Arching an eyebrow, Celebrían looked at her husband and asked in mock seriousness:  “Really? Without amputation?”

The Elf-Lord smiled, having discerned what his wife carried behind her back.  As the boy looked agape at her, she quickly slipped a honey cake into his mouth. Reflexively, the boy closed his lips and smiled, savouring the sweet taste.  Elrond sent a mental thank-you towards his wife for distracting the little boy.

After he had cleaned the little leg of the mud that covered it, he applied a thick layer of healing salve over the swollen ankle. Then he arranged two wooden splints around it and wrapped a bandage carefully, yet firmly, around the foot to fix the wooden sticks in place.  All the while, Arahel watched closely. When Elrond had finished his ministrations, he looked in the now slightly flushed face as he spoke:  “If you put no weight on this foot, then I believe it will be healed fully by the end of this week.  Now, child, you should rest to aid your body in this effort.”

“But I don’t feel sleepy at all!” the boy protested, looking longingly at the garden.

“You soon will.” Elrond smiled and placed a cup full of warm tea into the boy’s hands.

“But, what if Baradon comes to see me and…” the boy asked anxiously.

“Then,” Elrond interrupted, “I will send him straight to you.”

The little boy nodded reluctantly and drained the cup with an expression of distaste upon his face.  Celebrían quickly slipped another cake in his mouth and kissed the slightly warm forehead as she carried him to a nearby bed.

Elrond covered Arahel with a light blanket, and the boy was asleep within a few minutes.

Wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist, he whispered in her ear:  “Thank you for your help. But now, I think we should rescue Centhar, before your sons drive him mad.”

Celebrían arched an eyebrow.  “My sons? I think you are the one to blame!”

The Elf-Lord only laughed and they slipped silently from the room, leaving the sleeping child to his rest.

To be continued……………………..

A/N: don´t worry – disaster will still strike in chapter two

To lose hope, is to give up

Chapter 2: Nightmare

Elrond slipped into his bedchamber, silently closing the door so that he would not disturb his already sleeping wife.  He had looked after Arahel until he was sure that the boy slept peacefully. Once his foot was set immobile, the boy’s pain had lessened to a mere throbbing, making it difficult for Elrond to keep him from moving.

Elrond sighed when he saw the small space left for him.  His sons were sprawled in the middle of the large and yet always too small bed.  He squeezed himself next to rumpled sheets, entangled limbs and the icy cold little feet that always managed to find a way to his back.  Content nonetheless, he smiled. For no price in the world would he miss this. A happy family was all he had ever dreamt of.

He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly, only to be woken, it seemed to him, a few moments later by a none too gentle shake and a sharp voice.  “Elrond, wake quickly!” the voice urged.

The Elf-Lord blinked to push the sleepiness from his mind and looked into the concerned face of Glorfindel.  He bolted upright, knowing instantly that something was terribly amiss otherwise Glorfindel would never disturb him so roughly and only now did he realize that the room was filled with smoke, burning in his eyes and lungs.

“Fire!” Glorfindel said urgently as he roused Celebrían and the twins.

Now Elrond was wide awake.  The house was on fire!  His mind raced. What had caused it?  Had all the other inhabitants awoken in time to rescue themselves?  He looked at Glorfindel but knew instantly that now was not the time for questions. Glorfindel had also been caught off guard, judging by the bedraggled state he was in.  

Elrond leapt out of bed. He quickly put on his leggings after removing his night clothes and turned to receive a sleepy elfling from Glorfindel, who was already reaching for the other twin and starting for the door.

Glorfindel opened the door slightly and then quickly stepped back as a thick cloud of smoke and a wave of heat found its way around the small crack.  Elladan shrieked in fear and grabbed Glorfindel, wrapping his little arms so tight around his neck that he nearly choked the golden-haired elf.

Sensing the distress of his brother, Elrohir started crying and coughing in his father’s arms as Elrond tugged a blanket he managed to grab over his son’s head to filter the air somewhat.   Stroking the elfling´s back gently, he murmured soothing words into the little ear.  A pleading look from Celebrían  reminded him that they had to leave quickly.  In just a few minutes more they would no longer be able to breathe.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel had stepped into the corridor, shielding the other elfling’s face with the big sleeve of his robe. Elrond grabbed his wife’s hand to follow Glorfindel into the corridor.  He gasped when he saw their only escape route filled with thick, black smoke, the air shimmering with heat.

Hugging his son closer and holding Celebrían in a tight grip, he stumbled after the swaying figure of Glorfindel, confident that his long time friend would find his way out.  Elrohir trembled with fear in his arms, but Elrond could not soothe him, for every breath caused him to cough.  Blocking his own nose and mouth as well as he could, he pressed the head of his son close against his bare chest.  Celebrían stumbled behind him, nearly crushing his hand in her desperate attempt not to lose him.

For a brief moment, Elrond felt grateful that no guests dwelt in the Last Homely House at this time of year. Yet his concern for its many inhabitants mounted as he ran through the corridor.  Sometimes he sensed someone nearby, or heard a shout, but he was never able to see further than a few steps in front of him. 

The corridor seemed endless and Elrond shivered despite the heat.  His eyes watered so much from the acrid smoke that he blindly made his way forward. As a healer, he knew that they must leave this poisoned air quickly lest the intake of smoke do extreme damage.

He couldn’t see Glorfindel any longer, but he knew that the warrior couldn’t be far ahead.  Suddenly he heard a loud crack and seconds later, pieces of the ceiling came crashing down only inches away from him. He crumbled to the floor, shielding his son from the debris raining down with his body.  A piece of burning wood fell onto his shoulder, instantly setting the fabric of his robe on fire. He rolled onto his side to quench the flames and bit back a cry of pain as the injured shoulder was jarred. For a second he lay there regaining his wits.

“Ada!”  Elrohir’s piercing cry brought him back to his senses.  He rose to his knees and looked around in terror to find his child in the thick haze.  The sobbing child was sitting on the floor surrounded by glowing debris, his eyes wide with fear.

On his hands and knees he scrambled to his son and enveloped him in his embrace.  “Shh, don’t cry, Elrohir. Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head and Elrond lifted him off the hot floor, already searching for his wife.  “Celebrían!” he shouted.

“I’m here,” a coughing voice responded and he nearly sobbed with relief, turning to enfold his wife in his arms as well. She spoke in a raspy voice and he could hear her worry: “Are you alright? I heard you cry out!”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he reassured as he grabbed her hand, this time determined not to lose contact.

Huddled close together, the three resumed their way. For a short moment Elrond thought of Glorfindel. Had hid friend made it out safely? Was his other son safe? Then he banned these dark thoughts quickly from his mind. He trusted his long time friend completely. Glorfindel would protect his son with his life if necessary.

Sometimes Elrond looked up in a vain attempt to see how far the fire had spread.  Here in the left wing, the private quarters, the kitchen and guestrooms were located. Unfortunately, that meant most of the inhabitants dwelt here at this time. 

Knowing his house by heart, he recognized that it couldn’t be far to the main entrance. He looked at the tear streaked and dirt smeared face of his wife with concern as she succumbed to another coughing fit. Equally fighting for every breath, he quickened his pace. The elfling in his arms had stopped sobbing, only looking blankly ahead, overcome with the shock. His laboured breathing chilled the Elf-Lord to the bone. 

As yet unable to ease the son in his arms, and with a prayer for Glorfindel and Elladan, he summoned all his remaining strength in the attempt to rescue his family.

After what seemed an eternity, he heard the front door open and, following the sound, he stumbled outside, desperate to take a deep breath. 

Followed closely by Celebrían, he stumbled down the steps in front of the house and sank to his knees.  For a few moments, he simply knelt on the ground hugging his child close and holding his wife’s hand tightly, and as he regained his breath, he shuddered as the chill morning air crawled over his body. He looked down at Elrohir and planted a kiss on his son’s hot forehead, and the exhausted elfling closed his eyes. With his other hand, he drew Celebrían’s  head to his chest.

So they sat there, the chaos surrounding them momentarily forgotten.  Then he opened his eyes and blinked to ban the tears from them.  They had made it out, but where were Elladan and Glorfindel?

To be continued…………………

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The caracters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I´m still new to this site and this in only my second try at fanfic, this time with a more-chapter-story. Don´t flame me, English isn´t still my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks on my wonderful beta Erulisse. Lai

 Summary:

great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

„to lose hope is to give up"

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

…..they had made it out, but where were Elladan and Glorfindel?......

Chapter 3: Aftershock

Elrond gently placed Elrohir into his mother’s waiting arms and turned to better survey the extent of the damage. He gasped at the sight that greeted him, which could only be described as utter chaos, and for a few brief moments he stood frozen in his place.

The complete left wing of the house was engulfed in flames, and he realized with horror that some inhabitants were still emerging from the front door. Elves were all around him, but in the confusion it was impossible to count or register their number accurately. Some were bent over, coughing and wheezing, and worse yet, some lay unmoving on the ground. Those who were unharmed were busy carrying the injured away from the house, or were already throwing buckets of water onto the burning inferno in what seemed like a futile effort. The last few months had been extremely hot and the wooden beams were tinder dry, had caught fire easily, and were proving difficult to extinguish.

In the oddly beautiful light cast by the flames, much to his immense relief he saw Glorfindel running toward him cradling Elladan to his chest. The golden haired Elf placed the elfling into his mother’s arms.  Celebrían had already spread a blanket and lain Elrohir down. Now, as she lay Elladan next to his brother, the exhausted children instantly snuggled close together, sobbing quietly.

After ensuring they were alright, Elrond kissed Celebrían and turned to face the chaotic scene before him. Torn between the wish to help fight the fire and the need to care for the many wounded, he sighed and walked quickly toward the other healers who were already busy erecting a makeshift tent for the more severely wounded. Even though it was his beloved home, The Last Homely House was only a building after all. His foremost concern was to treat the injured, and as each minute passed, more wounded were being brought to the tent.

He was relieved to see that nearly all of his healers were present and able to work, and fortunately, some had managed to collect healing herbs and supplies during their flight from the house. Looking quickly around, he could see a few elves with severe burns, and many others who were struggling to breathe due to the smoke in their lungs. 

Shoving the sights of ugly burns to the back of his mind and bracing himself against the terrible smell of burned flesh, he washed his hands and walked from blanket to blanket to assess the needs of the wounded. This done, Elrond set to work giving advice to his helpers and sometimes a smile or a word of reassurance to his patients. He knew that burns were the most difficult of injuries: very painful and slow to heal even for elves.

With a heavy heart he stood from the elf he had just tended knowing that the young warrior would not survive the night. Too much skin was destroyed to allow his body to recover. All Elrond could do for him was to place him into a healing trance and offer him some relief from the worst of his pain in his last hours.

After many hours a quick look around showed him that all of the injured had been tended to and were settled as comfortably as possible. The numbers of arriving patients had lessened, and hopefully all had now left the house.

As soon as this thought crossed his mind, he froze. There was one temporary inhabitant of The Last Homely House. Had he been forgotten?

“My Lord, are you all right?” asked Centhar, the master healer under Elrond, looking most concerned at the sight of his Lord suddenly turning pale.

Elrond shook his head.  “I am fine,” he answered quickly, “but have you seen Arahel, the human boy?”

This time it was Centhar who paled. It would seem that in the chaos he too had completely forgotten about the child.  “I have not,” he whispered.  “He was not at the infirmary when the fire broke out.”

With rising dread in his heart Elrond took a moment to ensure that all patients were properly cared for and that his staff could get along without him for now. No more wounded had arrived during these last minutes.  Telling Centhar to inform him should anything change for the worse, he left the tent in the vain hope of finding the boy somewhere in the chaos.

Looking around, he spotted Glorfindel, though he was nearly unrecognizable under all the ash and dirt that covered him.  He sat under a tree, his head bowed in exhaustion. As Elrond neared him, Glorfindel lifted his head to look at him with weary eyes. As soon as he saw the expression upon Elrond’s face, however, all hint of weariness seemed forgotten as the golden warrior sprang to his feet.

“What is it ?” he asked, trying to be heard over the din around him, but still speaking quietly enough not to worry the many bystanders more.

“Have you seen Arahel?”  Elrond asked again, hoping that Glorfindel had seen the boy or at least knew if he too had left the house. However, seeing the shock in his friend’s eyes, he knew instantly that Glorfindel had not.

Again he looked around, as did Glorfindel, although he knew it was futile to locate a single person in the bustling crowd. Elrond then looked toward the still burning house as a great wave of guilt washed over him.  The boy had been given into his care. He was responsible. But in the hectic flight to escape the fire he had been so focused on rescuing his family, that to his shame he had not thought about the human child.

If Arahel had not escaped by himself, then he must still be in his room where Elrond had left him. He shook his head as an image appeared in his mind’s eye of the little boy, trapped and crying for help, until the fire had consumed all and he could cry no more.

The sound of Glorfindel’s voice pulled him from the grim vision, the words mirroring his own thoughts:  “I’m sorry, Elrond,” he said gently, “but if the boy is still in the house then he is already dead.”

Elrond knew this all too well. If Arahel was still in there, then his chances of survival were slim indeed.  As he studied the burning house though, he saw that the fire had not yet consumed the front wall of the house. The guest chamber where he had brought the boy after tending to him was located on this outer wall. Was there any chance that the child could have survived this long? Maybe the fire had not yet reached this room? Maybe the boy had scrambled under the bed in his fear and avoided getting hit by any falling debris? With a little luck, Arahel could still be alive. He had to try to rescue the boy.

He felt Glorfindel grab his elbow.  “Elrond, surely you are not seriously considering going back in?” he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. He did not need to see the resolve on his friend’s face to know the answer. The Elf-Lord’s next words confirmed it clearly. 

“Glorfindel,” Elrond said as he fully turned to face his councillor, “we cannot possibly stay here and do nothing. I am responsible for him. If there is any chance that the child is still alive we must at least try to rescue him!”

Elrond heard Glorfindel’s sigh and he knew that his councillor was already busy planning how this could work. Glorfindel spotted Erestor and quickly walked toward him. After a few frantic gestures and raised voices, Erestor followed Glorfindel to join Elrond.

“Elrond, you know this is folly….” the dark haired elf trailed off at the look he saw in his Lord’s determined eyes.

“I know, Erestor, but what other option is left to us? I could never forgive myself if I had not at least tried to rescue him!”

With the three of them they had at least a slim chance of success.  After quickly informing Centhar and Lindir of their intent, the three elves prepared themselves to go back into the danger, they had so recently escaped from.

As Elrond opened the door and stepped into the corridor, he felt as though he had walked into a solid wall. The heat was nearly unbearable, he could see nothing through the thick cloud of smoke, and the crackle and roars of the fire drowned out all other noises.  His first instinct was to turn and run out, but his worry and guilt compelled him to go on. With a sinking heart he recognized that he had misjudged the situation inside the house. The fire had already reached the front, rendering their mission hopeless. Nonetheless he had to try!

Quickly turning he looked into the faces of his friends. All had fashioned their hair into single thick braids tucked into their tunics and covered their mouth´ and noses with damp linen to filter the air.  However, all their preparation would only aid them for a few minutes at most in the heat and smoke. If they could not find the boy quickly then they knew they had to leave. Having decided their routes before they had entered the house, Elrond gave only brief hand signals and the three Elf-Lords parted.

Concentrating on the path he knew he must take, Elrond walked toward the guest rooms, stumbling several times over debris lying scattered on the floor.

He called out several times for the boy in case he had already left his room but got no response. 

The smoke grew thicker with every second and the air begun to waver.  As a new wave of heat rushed toward him, he coughed painfully, the cloth around him was almost dry. He stumbled to the left and touched the wall to steady himself, only to retrieve his hand with a painful cry a second later. The stone was almost glowing and had burned his skin away leaving raw flesh. Quickly he wrapped the now dry fabric around the wound in an attempt to protect it.

Almost becoming disoriented, he sank to his knees. If he had such difficulties reaching a room only a few paces from the entrance, how must a child fare? 

However, the image of the little boy lying somewhere, trapped, returned to his mind, lending him new strength.  Although he knew that in mere moments the heat would be so great and the smoke so thick that it would be impossible for any being to survive any longer, he scrambled to his feet and with the power of sheer will he trudged forward, his senses almost completely clouded by pain and exhaustion.  It was ironic. Had the boy now answered his calls, he wouldn’t be able to hear him.  He never heard the crack as a large wooden beam gave way to the flames and crushed him beneath it. 

Through the excruciating pain, Elrond closed his eyes.  His last waking thought was about his beloved.  He whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I love you Celebrían.’

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I´m still new to this site and this is only my second try at fanfic, this time with a longer chapter-story. Don´t flame me, English isn´t my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks to my wonderful beta Erulisse. Lai

 Summary:

Great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

“To Lose Hope Is To Give Up”

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

His last waking thought was about his beloved. He whispered, ‘I’m sorry. I love you Celebrían.’

Chapter 4: Desperation

Glorfindel reached the healing wing, quickly pushing the door open with his boot and stepping inside. Since he had been holding his breath while he was in the corridor, he tried to take a careful breath in the chamber, but the air was much too hot to inhale and he coughed instantly.

Closing the door to block further smoke and heat from the corridor, he turned to observe the examination room and swallowed. The once tidy wing was unrecognizable. Shelves and chests were turned over, the floor was covered with debris, and the curtains and covers, easy prey for the flames, were alight. Wiping the tears that blurred his vision, he carefully set one foot in front of the other and searched the floor. The air was shimmering and the walls seemed to no longer be made from solid material.

“Arahel?” he tried to call out loudly, but grimaced as he heard the rasping sound leaving him, a sound that would not be able to overcome the din the fire created. The child would not be able to hear him, even if he was able to hear at all. Nonetheless, he moved from bed to bed and looked under tables and chests, ever calling for the boy. He carefully moved items on the floor aside with his boot to identify them and make sure no body was lying there, since his eyes were not of much use in the smoke covered air.

After what seemed like an eternity to him, he turned, not able to withstand the heat any longer. His skin felt on fire, his lungs hurt with every intake of breath and his eyes burned. He was no healer, but even he knew that he must leave this poisoned air soon, otherwise his body would take great damage with no chance of recovery. Fleetingly he wondered if a child, a human child at that, could possibly have survived this inferno for so long.

Having searched the whole area as thoroughly as possible, he was certain now that the boy was not here, and that the time period they had agreed on was nearly done. With a last look around, he headed toward the door and braced himself to open it. Shielding his face with the sleeve of his shirt he pulled the door open and was instantly pushed back by the wave of heat and smoke that raced toward him. Regaining his balance and gathering all his strength he closed his eyes, stepped into the corridor, and ran back the way he had come.

…………………………………………………………

Quickly crossing the dining rooms, Erestor reached the kitchen and shoved the heavy door open. He cried out as a gush of fire engulfed him causing his skin instantly to blister. He quickly stepped behind the kitchen door and leaned against the wall until the pent-up heat had levelled out.

`This must be where the fire had started`, he thought. The room’s interior was there no longer and the room was destroyed. If Arahel had tried to hide in here then he was long dead, and Erestor knew if he did not leave immediately, he would share the boy´s fate.

Painfully coughing and with a heavy heart he stepped back into the dining rooms, knowing that he was running out of time. However, as he ran past the slightly open door to a store room used by the kitchen staff, something caught his attention and he stopped, trying to push the door open further. He managed to budge it only a few inches because something was blocking it from the inside.

His heartbeat quickened in the hope that he had found someone after all this time. He sank to his knees and groped blindly around the door, his eyes watering too much to allow him to see. As his fingers touched something soft he cried out in joy or would have if his perched throat had allowed such a sound. Ignoring the pain racing through his body, he leaned his full weight against the door and managed to open it enough to squeeze around.

Quickly grabbing the body lying there, he emerged from the little room and was greatly relieved to see that he held Arahel in his arms. His joy quickly vanished, though, as he saw the state of the little boy. Perhaps all their effort would be for naught in the end. He did not have the time now, however, to determine if the limp and motionless body he carried was alive or dead. Covering the boy with a piece of table linen he took from a pile in the storeroom, he raced out of the room and into the corridor toward their agreed meeting point.

………………………………………………….

Glorfindel was the first to arrive at the agreed-upon location, and he looked anxiously around. Where were Elrond and Erestor? Had he missed them or had they yet to arrive? With watering eyes he tried to see in the gloom surrounding him, but it was futile. The smoke was so thick now that he couldn’t see the end of his outstretched hand. With a sinking heart he knew that he could do nothing to aid the other two Elf-Lords. He was barely able to hold himself upright and with every passing minute, his chances of leaving here alive grew less.

Just then, he saw a figure staggering toward him, clutching a bundle to his chest that could only be the missing boy. Seconds later, Erestor nearly bumped into him, barely able to hold himself upright, and as he looked at his friend, Glorfindel paled. The dark haired elf´s skin was angry red and covered with blisters and his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

Glorfindel quickly grabbed his friend’s arm to steady him, and Erestor leaned against him briefly, burying his burning face in the other´s shirt. As Erestor regained his balance somewhat, he looked up with a thankful nod and Glorfindel saw from his frightened expression that his own appearance must not be much better.

“Where is Elrond?” Erestor croaked, looking around frantically.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel lowered his eyes.  “He´s not here yet. You take the boy out of here. I will look for him.”

Erestor stared back at the golden warrior in disbelief. Surely, he could not be serious? But what other choice was left to them? As Glorfindel shoved him toward the entrance, Erestor obliged, knowing that this was the boy´s only chance of survival, if the child was alive at all.

Lowering his head, he clutched the boy tighter and turned toward the main hall, knowing that if fate were cruel this day, he would lose two of his dearest friends at once. As he started to run, he blocked such thoughts from his mind, focusing only on reaching the main door and never looking back. With every step, he tried to inhale, but the air was too thick and poisonous to support his lungs. He was so tired, so exhausted. Still he continued on.

Finally he reached the main hall and the heat lessened a little. Knowing that the front door must be near, he pushed his body with his last reserves to go on, pressing the little boy close to his chest. But his way seemed to stretch on endlessly. Where was the door? It must be there, his mind told him, and again he forced himself to go on. Suddenly all seemed to move in slow motion. He no longer felt the pain, he no longer heard anything and he walked on clouds. This was the end. He could go no further, his strength was spent. And then, he felt it. With his last conscious thought he reached out to open the front door, never aware that the handle was glowing, and stepped outside.

………………………………………………………..

When Erestor was out of sight Glorfindel ran down the corridor in the direction that Elrond had gone. If it was the will of the Valar for him to die here this day, then so be it, but he would not give up without knowing what had happened to his friend and Lord. Nearing the very end of his endurance, he stumbled forward, driven only by sheer will and fear for his friend. No longer able to form a coherent thought, Glorfindel nearly despaired as he reached the boy´s room and could find no trace of the dark haired elf.

His body ached beyond description now, and Glorfindel slid down the doorframe, ready to embrace the darkness that beckoned him. As his knees hit the floor he tumbled forward and his fingers touched something soft lying only a few inches beside him. His heartbeat quickened as he felt that it was indeed a body, and he knew he had found the missing Elf-Lord. To his shock his searching hands discovered something heavy lying across the motionless body trapping it effectively. It must be some piece from the ceiling. Summoning all his remaining strength he shoved the wooden beam aside and carefully turned his friend over. More feeling than seeing he detected that the left side of Elrond’s face was covered in blood from a head wound right above his temple. Coughing again violently, he ripped a piece of cloth from his tunic and secured it tightly around the dark haired elf’s head to staunch the bleeding and protect the wound.

As the support beams of the house begun to shift dangerously, Glorfindel recognized with horror that the flames had consumed most of the ceiling now and it threatened to come down at any minute. He had no more time to care for his friend’s injuries; they had to leave at once. Carefully lifting the unconscious Elf-Lord, he tried to return the way he had come, but as he reached the main corridor, Glorfindel´s heart missed a beat.

The way he had come was no longer there.  Everything was in motion; the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Glorfindel could only see an all-consuming wall of destruction rushing toward them.

Clutching the Elf-Lord tighter to his chest, he tensed his muscles and began to run. Like a machine he charged forward, never looking to the left or right and desperately hoping that the ceiling would hold a few minutes longer. His body ached, he felt he could no longer breathe, and his eyes were swollen shut. He had lost all sense of direction and time.

Never knowing how he found his way, or who had guided him, he finally stumbled out of the burning house. He did not feel the gentle hands that held him and relieved him of his burden; he welcomed the pain-free blackness that took him instantly.

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I´m still new to this site and this is only my second try at fanfic, this time with a longer chapter-story. Don´t flame me, English isn´t my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks to my wonderful beta Erulisse. Lai

 Summary:

Great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

“To Lose Hope Is To Give Up”

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

Chapter 5: Tragedies

After he had finished tending his patients Centhar was finally able to leave the tent. His worry for the Elf-Lords drew him toward the still burning house where he paced before the main door watching anxiously for their return. He should not have allowed them to enter the building again.  

“Allowed…,” a bitter laugh escaped him at the thought. How could he have forbidden his Lord to go back in? But, he told himself, he should have tried harder to convince them not to do so. By so doing, however, he would have doomed the human child to certain death. He shook his head, angry at his failure. If he had not forgotten about the boy, none of this would have happened. 

With every passing minute, he knew their chance of survival decreased, and from the look in Lady Celebrían’s eyes as he turned to her, she knew it as well. After delivering her children to the care of their nurse, she too had arrived at the front door, nearly out of her mind with worry for her husband. 

They heard a loud crack, and the healer quickly grabbed her, pulling her further back as a large piece of wood from the porch roof came down sending glowing sparks in every direction. Holding the terrified Lady in his arms, he briefly closed his eyes. Now there was no hope left that any one could escape this inferno. He felt sure that the three elves had been gone for too long by now. ‘Please, let their deaths be swift,’ he thought despairingly. Celebrían turned and bowed her head as she too seemed to realise that this tragedy would change their lives forever. 

At that moment, the two elves heard a shout and turned quickly back to face the house. Centhar could not believe his eyes. Erestor stumbled through the main door clutching a bundle tightly in his arms. The dark haired councillor had accomplished the seemingly impossible: he had found the boy. With a few long strides the healer hastened up the steps and managed to catch the elf before he could hit the ground.  

He carefully removed the little boy from Erestor’s death-like grip and placed him into the outstretched arms of a helper, who turned at once and hurried toward the healing tent. Centhar did not even have the time to discover if Arahel still lived but, knowing that the boy was safe, he turned back to his patient. He could not help but grimace at the sight of Erestor’s face and hands, which were badly burned.  

Lowering his ear to Erestor’s chest, Centhar was relieved to detect regular, if laboured, breathing. He was in no immediate danger of dying, and though the healing process would be most painful, given proper care, in time the burns would heal. Centhar helped to place the elf onto a litter in order to carry him to the healing tent with minimal jostling. Just as he was about to lift the litter, however, he heard another cry and within moments he once again had reason to doubt his senses.  

In the open door now stood Glorfindel swaying dangerously, Lord Elrond’s unmoving body in his arms.  

Ensuring that Erestor was taken care of, Centhar once again sprung into motion and raced toward the two bodies that now lay unmoving on the ground. 

As he knelt down, he gasped, knowing that his skills as a healer were inadequate for what was needed here. Glorfindel was badly injured, his breathing laboured, his face and the visible parts of his body showing severe burns. Lord Elrond looked far worse. Besides the equally bad burns, his right hand was severely damaged and blood trickled thickly through a dirty, makeshift bandage wrapped around his head.  

However, what really caused the healer’s heart to miss a beat was the recognition that the Elf-Lord was not breathing. Fully focused now on the patient in most dire need, he entrusted Glorfindel’s care to his colleagues, and he placed his lips upon Elrond’s, trying to force the breath back into his Lord’s lungs with his own. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Celebrían, seemingly overcome with shock, kneel next to him as he continued with his desperate ministrations. Paying her little heed, Centhar pulled his head back slightly to study Elrond’s body for any signs of breathing. Seeing none, he tried again to press air into the tormented lungs of his Lord. Horrible moments passed while Centhar tried to detect any signs of life in his patient, but much to his dismay, the second attempt also achieved no result.  

“Please no!” he heard Celebrían cry and, feeling her pleading and desperate gaze upon him Centhar´s actions grew more frantic. How long had it been since the Elf-Lord last drew breath? Was this all in vain, was Elrond already beyond aid? What other option did he have but to try again? 

With a desperate prayer, he tried once more to give Elrond breath and much to his delight and amazement, finally the Elf-Lord responded with a violent cough. The joy left quickly, however, as Elrond remained unconscious, not showing any other signs of life. Nevertheless, the immediate danger had passed and the healer gave Celebrían a reassuring nod. 

After watching the laboured breathing a little longer, Centhar removed the bandage carefully to take a closer look at the head wound. He saw that he had underestimated the injury at first. There was a deep gash over the left brow, and as he carefully lifted the eyelids to peer at the pupils, he saw no immediate reaction. Maybe it was too dark to gain a proper reaction; he tried to reassure himself, not wanting to think further about any possible implications. 

As Celebrían touched his forearm to gain his attention, he quickly hid his emotions, not wishing to upset her further.  “How is he?” she whispered, barely able to steady her voice. 

Centhar swallowed, not wanting to lie to her. “His condition is bad, but we must wait the rest of the night, then I can say more. By morning light, we may realize that it looks worse than it actually is.” His words sounded hollow even in his own ears and judging from Celebrían’s expression, they sounded hollow to her ears as well. 

Unable to look at the Lady’s red-rimmed eyes any longer, the healer sighed and carefully lifted the Elf-Lord on the litter brought by two apprentices. Followed by concerned stares and an occasional gasp, the procession reached the healing tent and Centhar placed his Lord right next to Glorfindel and Erestor. 

Now able to treat Elrond’s wounds properly, he cleaned the head wound and pressed a thick patch of linen over the gash to lessen the blood flow. This wound also required stitches to close it properly. After placing healing herbs over the gash he bound a bandage into place. With a wet cloth he gently wiped the blood and dirt from the pale face, while under the critical observation of Celebrían.  

With a thankful nod, he took a bowl filled with water, richly smelling of athelas, from Amaril, a young apprentice. Directing a pleading gaze toward Celebrían, his Lady understood and rose. He did not wish for her to witness the task of bathing Elrond’s burns. With a light kiss to her husband’s forehead, she walked toward the tent’s entrance where Lindir was waiting for her. 

Sighing with relief, Centhar carefully grasped his Lord’s abused right arm and began removing the blood and dirt from the ugly looking burns. Quickly looking around, he was relieved to see that Erestor and Glorfindel were also in good hands and being properly cared for. Returning to his dreadful task he felt that his hands trembled slightly, never knowing, if he removed a piece of skin, cloth, dried blood or simply dirt. He was very grateful, that the Elf-Lord was so deeply unconscious, because he knew how painful burns could be, especially while being tended to. After what seemed like an eternity he had cleaned all of the burns and applied a thick layer of healing salve. He washed his hands and covered Elrond with a light blanket.  

He leaned back and listened to Elrond’s breathing, which came in short, laboured gasps due to the great amount of smoke he had inhaled. Wetting a cloth in the athelas-saturated water, he pressed it gently over his Lord’s nose and mouth. After a while the painful intake of air eased somewhat but remained frighteningly uneven. Unable to do any more for him now, Centhar turned when he heard a moan behind him. He was surprised to see Glorfindel well on his way back to the waking world.

He wiped Glorfindel’s sweat-covered face with a wet cloth, careful of the many blisters and other injuries, and waited until the golden-haired warrior had managed to open his eyes. Immediately, though, Glorfindel squeezed them shut again and gasped in pain, trying to cope with the many hurts of his body.  

As he opened his eyes once more, Centhar quickly shifted to block his view of the dark haired elf lying next to him. Not fooled so easily despite his state, Glorfindel tried to rise. “How is he?” he croaked hoarsely. 

Gently pushing the warrior back to the pillows, Centhar sighed, pouring him a glass of water mixed with pain relieving herbs holding the glass to his parched lips. Glorfindel refused the drink, and groaned as he tried to lift his head. Centhar knew that Glorfindel would not back down until he had his answer.  

“He is gravely injured. I do not know if he will survive this night.” 

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I’m still new to this site and this is only my second try at fanfic, this time with a longer chapter-story. Don’t flame me, English isn’t my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Erulisse. Lai

 Summary:

Great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

“To Lose Hope Is To Give Up”

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

“He is gravely injured. I do not know if he will survive this night.” 

Chapter 6: Unexpected help

After ending his ministrations on his third prominent patient, Lord Erestor, Centhar stretched his aching back muscles, ready to collapse any minute himself. Looking around he was satisfied with the work the healers had done so far. They had laboured tirelessly throughout the night to attend any injuries and help all of the patients, including the three Elf-Lords, to be as comfortable as possible. The elf that Lord Elrond had tended earlier had finally died during the night, but no other deaths had occurred to mourn and Centhar hoped fervently that this would remain so. The help of Lord Elrond had been greatly missed, of course, but they had managed.

As he walked toward the tent entrance, he saw Lady Celebrían standing there, pleading with her eyes to enter. Not that she needed his permission, but she knew clearly that he wanted to shield her from the dreadful tasks they had to perform. Her face was pale and her features tired. ‘No wonder’, he thought, ‘I must not look any better’. As the young healer nodded, she brushed past him and sat carefully beside her husband on the cot. With a gentle gesture, she pushed a strand of hair from his face obviously disappointed that he was still unconscious.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Centhar waited until she looked up. “It´s better for him not to be awake. The pain would be unbearable.”

Knowing that the healer was right, she lowered her eyes, aware that her wish for her husband to be awake was selfish. Sensing her thoughts, Centhar squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and turned away to give the couple some privacy.

As he stepped outside he blinked, surprised to feel the first sunrays of the new day on his face. The night was over? He had not noticed. For a few seconds he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to relax a bit, but opened them quickly, when he registered the rustling to his left.

Turning he looked toward the house expecting the worst, but the fire had been extinguished and the residents had somehow managed to prevent the destruction of the whole building. The left wing where the fire must have started was greatly damaged, but it was surprisingly still standing even though much of the roof had come down. It remained to be seen if this part of the house could be used again or had to be rebuilt.

Sighing he let his gaze wander over the many elves sitting in front of the house completely exhausted from working the whole night. The hectic pace from the night had changed into something like apathy and an unnatural silence hung over the valley. It almost seemed as if nature was in mourning with them. Fearing the instability of the structure as a result of the fire, and since some of the embers were still glowing, no one could go and explore to make sure that all of the residents had managed to leave the house safely.

Being tired beyond measure himself, he straightened and walked back toward the tent, knowing that he could not give in to exhaustion; not yet anyway, when so much depended on him. The sound of hoof beats coming closer reached his ears and he stopped and turned around. Intrigued by the surprised murmurs from the elves around him, he squinted his eyes trying to determine who was arriving.

As the travellers came into sight, he could not suppress a gasp. There, in the courtyard, stood Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn followed by a procession of elves escorting some wagons.

He wondered fleetingly how this could be possible. The fire had happened only yesterday and no messenger had been sent out. Too tired to follow this train of thought or to recollect the ability of Lady Galadriel to foresee the future, he stood there immobilized.

Before, he had the chance to appear completely uncourteous and unused to this task, Lord Elrond’s assistant Lindir sprang to his feet and tried furtively to improve his dishelved appearance. He, nonetheless, formally greeted the Mithlond elves.

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel returned the greetings, yet their eyes were fixed on the smouldering remnants of the house. Stopping Lindir´s flow of words, Galadriel laid a gentle hand on the younger elf’s shoulder. “Thank you for the greeting, Lindir, but who is in charge at the moment?” she asked softly.

Centhar swallowed. This question clearly indicated that she knew both what had happened and that Lords Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor were unable to wield authority at this time. Quickly brushing his hands on his apron, Centhar straightened and met the two elves halfway. He bowed as the couple came to stand in front of him, after Lindir had indicated that he was nominally in charge.

“I’m Centhar, my Lady, my Lord,” he managed to say. “I’m the head healer of Lord Elrond’s staff and in charge at the moment, I fear.” Not able to interpret their expressions, Centhar waited patiently for Galadriel to speak. However, before she could say anything they heard a cry from across the courtyard.

“Naneth, Adar”, cried Celebrían as she ran straight toward her parents. Elrond´s wife had not bothered to make herself presentable. She looked as exhausted and dirty as all the others who had been lucky enough to escape the inferno. Celeborn turned just in time to catch his daughter in his embrace and instantly, as the tension of the past hours left her, tears begun running down Celebrían´s face. Sending an anxious look towards his wife the silver-haired elf waited until the shaking of the slender body had abated.

“Celebrían, are you all right”? he asked trying to suppress his own fear.

Nodding, Celebrían tried to bring her voice under control. “Yes, Ada, but Elrond is wounded and…and…” she stopped as new tears welled up in her eyes. Looking over his daughter’s shoulder, Celeborn looked sadly towards his wife while stroking Celebrían’s back. Galadriel´s visions had come to pass, but to dread something and to see it were completely different matters.”

Looking up, Centhar braced himself for the inevitable question that would be directed at him. As Lord Celeborn looked at him, he nodded.

“It’s true my Lord. The Lords Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor are injured and not accessible at the moment.”

As a frown appeared on the Sindarin elf’s face, Centhar could make a good guess about what the older elf was wondering. How could it be that all three Elf-Lords were injured?

Again, Celeborn was interrupted, as another cry could be heard across the courtyard. This time, however, it was a high-pitched cry followed seconds after by a second, identical voice.

“Dearada, Dearnana!” Simultaneously Galadriel and Celeborn knelt to receive the running twins into their outstretched arms. Hugging their grandchildren close the couple briefly closed their eyes relieved to know that the boys were all right. Gently rubbing their backs and whispering soothing words in their ears, they each tried to calm the crying children.

Entangling himself from his grandfather´s loving embrace, Elladan looked up with wide eyes. “The house burned and there was so much smoke that we nearly didn’t find the way out, but Glorfy came and rescued us and then… then the roof crumbled and now I’m not allowed to see Ada”.

Celeborn smiled inwardly, as only the need for air stopped the flow of words of the youngster. Sensing the distress in the child, Celeborn sent calming thoughts until the emotional turmoil had abated somewhat. Galadriel did likewise with Elrohir.

“Your Ada is hurt and must rest. We do not want to disturb him, do we?” Celeborn admonished gently. With identical frowns on their faces both elflings nodded reluctantly, not really understanding why their Ada, the one who always comforted them, was not there.

Sensing his wife´s wish to get some answers, Celeborn set his elfling to his feet while Galadriel did the same with hers. Celeborn then took both elflings’ hands in his.

 “Come”, Celeborn said, “we have brought many supplies with us. Will you two help me unload the wagons?”

Torn between the wish to stay with their mother and the chance to discover what the wagons contained, the boys looked questioningly at their mother, and after receiving an encouraging nod both walked with their grandfather toward the waiting party of newcomers.

Turning serious again and wiping the forced smile from her face Galadriel addressed her daughter and the healer. “Where can I be of help? We have brought two healers with our group, if you are in need of their help, you have but to ask. Celebrían, will you show me where the injured are treated and perhaps we can prepare a breakfast for all.”

The silver haired elleth only nodded; already on her way to show her mother the way. Centhar bowed. “Thank you, my Lady. I will advise the healers and helpers.”

After the two elleth had walked away, Centhar heaved a sigh of relief. Knowing the capabilities of Galadriel, he hoped that things would progress faster now. He could now share the burden of responsibility and for that, he was grateful.

Following the path taken by the two women he looked over his shoulder and saw that the elves were already busy unloading the two wagons packed with much needed supplies. There were now many simple things that had been destroyed during the night and that nonetheless were needed urgently.

Before reaching the tent, he took a quick look around again, surprised at how calm and controlled most of the elves seemed to be. Yet he knew that their minds and thoughts were still ruled by shock. Until now, most of them had not had the time to consider the happenings of the night before.

Entering the tent, he smiled in surprise to see Glorfindel awake. His smile faded as he recognized how pale the golden warrior looked and that fine lines of pain were upon his face. When Glorfindel saw the healer, he struggled to rise but grimaced as his body betrayed him. Centhar quickly crossed the distance between them to avoid this foolish act and to save the councillor from further injuring himself.

“Please, Glorfindel, don´t move, you must remain abed,” Centhar ordered. Knowing that the healer was right, Glorfindel relented and leaned back with a sigh.

“I’m glad to see that you are awake now,” Lady Galadriel addressed the elf. Glorfindel blinked, the only indication that he was surprised to see Galadriel there. Inclining his head respectfully towards the Lady, Glorfindel redirected his gaze at Centhar.

“How are Elrond and Erestor?” he asked trying to find a more comfortable position.

Sighing the healer knew that Glorfindel would never back down until he had his answer. “Their injuries are severe and they have not woken yet, but they are stable at the moment“, he answered purposefully concealing that the state of Lord Elrond was much worse than Erestor´s.

Receiving a sharp gaze from Galadriel, he knew that she at least had seen through his attempt to calm his patient. Glorfindel however nodded reluctantly, temporarily satisfied, but he had only to look at his friend lying right next to him to know that the healer did not want him to get upset.

With a concerned expression on his face, Glorfindel looked back at the healer. Centhar cringed, knowing what this gaze meant. If the Elf-Lord’s condition worsened, he did not have the power to do anything against it. Elrond was the skilled healer and Centhar’s own skills were far from matching the Elf-Lord’s.

Galadriel’s purposeful coughing jerked him back from his musings. “Do not despair yet”, she said to both of them in her low voice. “The future is in motion and nothing is sure yet.”

Centhar frowned, not able to catch the meaning of her words with his tired mind, yet the golden warrior seemed to relax a bit. For the second time the young healer was jerked from his wandering thoughts when Galadriel laid a hand on his shoulder. “And you, young one, should rest also, before you fall over.” As if her words had a hypnotic note, Centhar only nodded and he walked to a cot and was asleep, before his head touched the pillow.

……………………………………………………….

When he awoke, he sighed contently and felt truly rested. He heard birds singing and the distant rumble of the Bruinen. He blinked, looking drowsily at the tent canvas. A light breeze ruffled the linen material… Tent….what was he doing in a tent?

Suddenly he jerked upright, as the memories connected him with reality. Frantically he searched around and gasped, as he looked at the empty cots to the left and right of him. What had happened to all the patients during the short time he had slept?

A short time…how long had he slept? He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his foggy mind while jumping to his feet. He groaned, as he was forced to sit back on the cot. The world spun quickly before his eyes, and the floor was very determined to meet his face. Having enough knowledge as a healer, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths to overcome the nausea that rosein his throat. After his body had convinced him to take it a bit more slowly, he staggered to his feet and felt instantly that his rest was not as sufficient as he had initially hoped.

Emerging from the empty tent, he was surprised by the activity that greeted him. Many elves hurried back and forth clearing burned debris from the area directly around the house and taking an inventory of the many items that could still be used. A few elves carefully checked the structure of the main beams that had survived the fire and tore down the hopelessly burned ones. Other groups on the lawn searched through the items the residents were able to grab during their flight. The young healer was surprised by how many things could still be used.

As he spotted Glorfindel among a group of elves already busily planning to reconstruct the roof of the side wing, he groaned. The elf-Lord was surely far from fit enough to work and the angry red patches on his bare upper body indicated that clearly. Centhar also knew that trying to stop Glorfindel would be futile.

Sighing he turned, determined to find out where they had brought all his patients.

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

 Author’s note:

Hello, I’m still new to this site and this is only my second try at fanfic, this time with a longer chapter-story. Don’t flame me, English isn’t my first language. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Erulisse. Lai

 Summary:

Great despair settles over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, as a tragedy strikes the Last Homely House and leaves the Lord of Imladris badly wounded.....

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

“To Lose Hope Is To Give Up”

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

Chapter 7: Why does Nana cry?

Before Centhar had the chance to take one step he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning he could not hide his surprise quick enough, as he looked into the sweat and dirt covered face of Lord Celeborn. The sight increased his respect for the elf even higher, yet he lowered his eyes in near shame not having expected the Elf-Lord to actually participate in the clean-up effort. Interpreting the younger elf´s expression correctly, Celeborn chuckled until the healer looked at him again.

“I hope you are rested a bit,” he said; as always coming straight to the point. “We could need your help in the infirmary.”

Centhar gasped. The mention of the infirmary brought his attention back to his initial search. Easily guessing the healer´s thoughts, Celeborn gently steered the younger elf toward the house. Smiling slightly, Centhar bowed and quickly excused himself anxious to look after his patients, especially the three Elf-Lords.

With a suspicious look toward the main entrance now stabilized with thick wooden beams he nonetheless admired with awe the great amount of work already done. Many helpers were busy tearing down hopelessly burned beams from the front porch and the main door, as well as removing shutters and benches and inspecting and repairing other things still usable, like to Centhar´s surprise, a beautifully carved rounded arch at the bottom of the steps, which the fire had spared. Walking down the now cleared corridor leading into the healing wing he could barely believe that an inferno had raged here just a few hours ago.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the first re-established sickroom and saw Lady Celebrían cradled in her mother´s embrace crying. An icy hand tightened around his heart and he quickly looked toward the bed occupied by Lord Elrond dreading what he would find. After a few seconds of intent observation he clearly recognized the slight fall and rise of his Lord´s chest with relief.

His audible sigh drew the attention of one of his assistants. Raising from beside the bed the young healer joined him at the door. “I’m glad you are on your feet again,” he said softly, squeezing Centhar’s arm lightly.

“How is he?” Centhar asked equally softly.

With a careful look toward the two women, the other healer hesitated. Understanding the silent plea, Galadriel walked her daughter out of the room. Looking after them until the door had closed, Centhar redirected his gaze toward his colleague. “Well?” he inquired.

Taking a deep breath the young assistant looked back at him. “His breathing system is badly compromised. There were times that we feared he would stop breathing completely but what troubles me most is his prolonged unconsciousness. At first I thought it came from the head wound, but now I fear the brain may be damaged because of the lack of oxygen.”

Centhar paled, as his most feared worry seemed to have come to pass. They could handle many sorts of injuries, but this kind of hurt was beyond their skills. He looked rather helplessly at the pale figure on the bed. If Elrond died or was unable to rule Imladris any longer, then the future of the Valley lay in darkness. He knew there were a few elves that could take over Elrond´s duties for a while, but the charismatic Elf-Lord could never be replaced, nor would anyone want to.

Banishing these thoughts resolutely from his mind and knowing that he could do nothing at the moment but wait and hope for the best, Centhar nodded at the other elf reassuringly and quickly began caring for his patients until late in the afternoon.

Work really helped barricade against brooding, he thought, as he took a break and walked outside into the garden. The garden was slowly becoming the neatly arranged space it was before. As he rounded a bush, he spotted Lord Glorfindel sitting on the grass, his arms around the shoulders of the two distressed twins. Not wanting to intrude, but near enough to overhear the conversation, the healer sat on the stone bench, observing the scene before him.

“Shht, young ones,” the golden haired warrior soothed the sobbing children, “you cannot see your Ada right now. He is very ill and needs his rest. We do not want to disturb him, right?”

Two identical faces looked up and shook their little heads. Glorfindel sighed and stretched out on the grass, beckoning the two elflings even closer. As the boys bounced to the left and right of him, Centhar saw a grimace of pain flicker over Glorfindel´s face. The healer cringed inwardly, knowing full well that the warrior was far from healed.

“Ada will not leave us?” Elladan suddenly asked, raising anxious eyes at the Elf-Lord. The healer tensed and was fairly relieved not to be in Glorfindel´s position.

Glorfindel bent the small head to his chest and planted a kiss on top of the raven hair. “Why do you ask this, Elladan?” he whispered.

Elrohir answered instead of his brother. “Because Nana keeps crying. She always tries to hide it, but I have seen her many times. We haven’t seen her cry before.”

Rising on his elbows Glorfindel sighed, addressing both elflings. “Your Nana is tired and worried, yet your Ada will recover in no time, you will see,” he said so confidently, that a shiver ran down Centhar´s spine. Not looking really convinced the boys snuggled close to the warrior, their only anchor at the moment.

´I hope you are right, Glorfindel. I hope you are right.´ Centhar prayed and left the spot unseen. With quick strides he returned to the infirmary and slipped inside closing the door silently.

While he was checking on the first patient, he felt like he was being watched and he turned around. Joy lit up his face, as he saw Erestor awake, sitting in his bed. “How do you feel?” the healer asked softly, quickly crossing the distance to the bed. Erestor groaned. “Like a roasted chicken,” he tried to jest and shook his head in mock indignation, but regretted his movements instantly, as a sharp pain shot up his back and a fit of coughing overtook him.

Centhar smiled. Erestor could be as annoying as Glorfindel, if not worse, when being confined to bed. However, he felt sympathy when he saw Erestor wince in pain. His burns were still raw and far from healed. When Erestor´s coughing fit had eased the healer pressed him gently back on his pillow.

“Don’t move too much. The burns need time to heal.”

Erestor snorted again, but suddenly went grave. Looking directly at the healer he asked. “How is Elrond?”

Centhar sighed knowing that the councillor too would not back down until he had his answer. “He’s unconscious and shows no sign of waking any time soon.”

Catching the undertone of desperation not expressed by the healer and looking into the worried eyes, Erestor was intelligent enough to know what this meant. He had worked with the Elf-Lord for much too long and had his words about head wounds clearly in mind. If a patient with a severe head wound did not wake within 48 hours, then his chances of waking at all would wane with every passing minute.

……………………………………

Galadriel was sitting on a low wall surrounding the terrace with the little human boy Arahel in her lap. The splinted foot dangled over her knee and the child did not seem bothered by it any longer. Thankfully, the inhaled smoke had not done great damage to the young one´s lungs. He coughed occasionally and was a bit breathless, but given time this would heal without lingering effects.

Together they chased bugs over the rough stones, until they disappeared into the many crevices between the stones. The boy giggled as an ant crawled over his knee. Galadriel looked up, as she heard hoof beats nearing the courtyard.

“Someone is coming,” she whispered into the boy’s ear, earning a bewildered look. “I can hear nothing,” the boy stated. “But I can!” Galadriel smiled. “Come let us see who it is.” Scooping the boy up and into her arms, she walked toward the gate, awaiting the oncoming riders. She had detected that the riders must be men; they were much too noisy to be elves.

As the group of men came into sight, the boy’s face lit up and he wriggled in Galadriel’s arms, demanding to be set down. “Baradon, Baradon,” the boy cried, limping toward the first rider.

Instantly the men stopped and a sturdy grim looking man dismounted and quickly gathered the child into his arms. Glorfindel had joined Galadriel at the main gate.  The two golden-haired elves smiled at the reunion and stood patiently waiting to greet the men.

“Arahel, what happened?” the man cried, lifting the little boy from the ground.

“I broke my ankle and then the house burned and I could not get out and then….” The last words were lost in sobs. Alarmed the man first looked at the injured child and then wide-eyed at the chaos still surrounding the house.

With a grim face he stared back at the two elves, the sobbing boy still in his arms. “What happened here?” he grumbled looking straight at Glorfindel. Feeling the anger of the royal councillor was mostly coming from his worry; the golden haired warrior ignored the accusing tone and inclined his head.

“Welcome back, Baradon. “As you can see, we experienced a serious fire a day ago.  Although Arahel is injured, the sprain of his ankle occurred the evening before the fire started while he was playing in the garden.”

Before Glorfindel could continue the man grabbed his arm; painfully unaware of the still healing burns. “And then you forgot him in the house, huh?” the man snapped.

Unimpressed by the angry tone, Glorfindel wrenched free of the painful grasp and sighed. “You are right. First we had forgotten about him in the chaos, but then we went back in and were able to rescue him. No harm was done. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”

The man’s eyes were on fire now. “Oh, how gracious. I entrusted him to your care and you left him in a burning house!”

Sensing the anger building up in Glorfindel at the man’s accusation, Galadriel stepped forward and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You should calm down now. No harm has befallen your charge. It was a tragedy; no one is to blame.”

Snorting the man stormed past the elves, followed by his men. “I want to speak with Lord Elrond, now!” he said over his shoulder and was out of sight, before the elves could say another word.

Glorfindel glared angrily after the men and Galadriel said softly: “Don’t be angry with him. His anger is not directed at you. It is born out of concern and fear of losing the child he has been entrusted to take care off. He lost his wife three years ago and this child, though not his own, is the only joy left to him.”

Knowing that Galadriel was right Glorfindel relaxed a bit. “I know. Let us return to the house, before he, in his fury, destroys what the fire has left.”

Galadriel smiled. Glorfindel was on the mend, when he could jest again.

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Chapter 8: Regret

Erestor was leaning back, relaxing in the comfortable chair on the main entrance terrace, enjoying the last rays of the descending sun. Or at least he was trying to do so. After a rather loud debate with Centhar he was allowed to sit outside, but with strict orders not to move around and to rest. By agreeing that he would obey the healer’s commands, he could at least flee the dreadful atmosphere of the healing ward for a few hours. Most of the patients could leave the infirmary soon, but not so Lord Elrond. His injuries were severe and he had shown no real improvement yet.

Erestor was worried. What would become of this community if the worst came to pass and the Elf-Lord would no longer be able to lead them? Due to the still lasting shock and the hectic activity all around, nobody seemed to have considered what would become of the sheltered valley. He sighed and shuddered because the rays of the sun did not really warm him, yet his dark thoughts were interrupted, when he heard a commotion at the main gate.

He looked closer and saw Lady Galadriel and Lord Glorfindel standing at the gate debating with a group of men. The stiff posture of the golden haired warrior told him instantly that something was amiss with the newly arrived royal party.

Erestor struggled to his feet, stubbornly ignoring the protest of his injured body, when he saw Baradon, the chief councillor of King Valandil, rush past Glorfindel clutching a sobbing Arahel to his chest. With a frown on his face, Erestor stood at the entrance, awaiting the grimly looking man stomping through the garden. He had no difficulty guessing what the conversation had been about.

Suppressing a violent cough Erestor stepped casually into the man´s path. “Mae govannen, Baradon,” he greeted; ignoring the anger that rolled in waves from the man. He did not move an inch to let the man pass.

Surprised and unaware of his rude behaviour, due to his worry for Arahel, the councillor stopped and looked unwilling at the dark haired elf. “Mae govannen Lord Erestor,” he grumbled. “Where is Lord Elrond? I want to speak with him!”

Before Erestor could answer, the boy squirmed to gain his caretaker´s attention. “Bara, you….” When he looked angrily at his charge, the boy swallowed and his voice trailed off.

“Arahel you must not interrupt your elders,” the man chided, looking sternly at the boy.

“But, Baradon…,” the boy began again but closed his mouth quickly, when he saw the dangerous gleam in Baradon´s eyes.

Erestor coughed, this time deliberately, to get the man´s attention back. “I´m sorry, but you cannot see Lord Elrond, he´s… unable to meet you right now,” Erestor finished quickly.

Shifting the squirming boy in his arms Baradon took a deep breath. “Well, that I cannot accept. I insist on seeing him right now!” As the man attempted to rush past Erestor the dark haired elf grabbed the man´s arm firmly, stopping him effectively.

“Consider your words and actions, man,” Erestor said in a low tone.

For a short time the man and the elf glared at one another until Baradon was unable to bear the elf´s angry gaze any longer. Baradon´s followers shifted nervously from one foot to the other, clearly feeling the tension between their superior and Lord Elrond´s chief councillor. Wrenching his arm free Baradon clutched the child tighter and continued into the House followed by his men.

Seeing the shocked expression on the little boy´s face, Erestor shook his head. “Men!” he thought. “They are unfriendly and insensible.”

Erestor was not very fond of men. Every elf could have easily read the worry in his eyes, but men were simply ignorant. Knowing that the healers would be able to handle Baradon, he sat back down, forced by his slightly shaking legs.

………………………………………………….

Wearily Centhar closed the door to Lord Elrond´s sickroom. He looked up surprised when he heard someone stomping down the corridor. This could only be a man; elves would never make such a noise. He forced a smile onto his face, when he recognized Baradon with little Arahel in his arms. His smile froze when he saw the anguish in the boy’s eyes and the grim expression on Baradon´s face.

Before he could say anything the man stood before him, his eyes gleaming angrily. “Don’t tell me that Lord Elrond is busy and not able to speak with me. That I have heard before!” the man grumbled.

Not knowing what had happened, Centhar stiffened despite his weariness, not liking the tone of the man at all. “I think you should reduce your voice and calm down”, he said in a controlled tone and stepped forward to block the man’s path.

Re-shifting the again sobbing child in his arms, the King´s councillor threw all caution to the wind and quickly stepped around the healer, entering the room Centhar had just left. Angrily Centhar turned and followed the man. One of the healer’s apprentices looked bewildered at the commotion and glared unwilling at the man standing in the open doorway.

With his mouth open to demand his request, Baradon stopped short and looked startled at the still figure on the bed. What was going on here? He had expected Lord Elrond to be tending to some injured patient; but actually seeing the Elf-Lord lying on the bed himself came as a shock. Suddenly his rude behaviour struck him like a blow. What had gotten in him? Even if Lord Elrond had been tending a patient, he had no right to enter here. He had surely been taught better manners, but seeing his beloved boy injured and the chaos all around had snapped some barrier.

Suddenly very unsure about how to master the situation and fumbling for the right words, he swallowed looking into the angry faces all around him until a few seconds later Glorfindel appeared in the room and grabbed his elbow.

“I think you should go now,” he said with a calm voice, yet every-one who knew him winced at the underlying threat. “But what …?” Baradon stammered confused, grimacing as Glorfindel grabbed his arm painfully and dragged him out. Nodding reassuringly at the other healers, Centhar quickly closed the door and took a deep breath.

When they had gained enough distance to not disturb the injured patients Glorfindel released the man and turned to glare at him. “What do you think you are doing?” he snapped steering the man further down the corridor. Baradon, slowly recovering from his shock, looked unwillingly at the golden haired warrior. Knowing that he had done something wrong, through not willing to suffer the warrior´s tone he growled: “Release my arm. I didn’t know that Lord Elrond was ill!”

Glorfindel glared back unimpressed. “If you had allowed one of us to speak, then we could have told you that. Besides, he’s not ill, he was injured during the fire.”

Baradon´s confusion mounted. Why was the elf so angry at him? He was not responsible for the Elf-Lord’s injury. Suddenly Arahel burst into tears looking fearfully at his mentor. “Bara, it was all my fault. I got lost during the fire and Lord Elrond went in search of me. Now he will die because of me.”

Gasping at the words of his charge the councillor stumbled back. With horror in his eyes he looked at Glorfindel. “I did not know,” he whispered. “Please forgive me, I had no idea.”

The expression on Glorfindel´s face did not change. He was weary, angry, in pain and not able to respond properly to the man’s apology. Therefore he turned away quickly, before he would say anything he would regret later.

Lost, Baradon stood in the corridor soothing the weeping boy. How could he have been so blind? The death of his wife and their unborn child had left him short-tempered and now he had managed to not only upset the child, but also anger the elves.

With a pleading look, Baradon gazed at Centhar. The young healer sighed and took the still crying child into his arms, as the man turned and headed after Glorfindel. “Shht,” Centhar soothed, rubbing the boy’s back until the sobs subsided. “Don’t cry anymore. It wasn’t your fault of course. Do you hear me?” Reluctantly the boy nodded snuggling closer to the elf.

Centhar smiled and sat down with the boy on his knees. “Why is Bara so angry with me?” the boy whispered finally. Centhar tilted up the boy’s tear streaked face.

“He’s not angry with you, he’s rather angry with himself. Don’t worry. All will be well. Come, let’s go and try to fetch some milk and honey cakes, shall we?” Nodding, the boy’s face lit up. Centhar smiled. Children! They were all the same.

…………………………………………………………..

Baradon stepped outside and searched for the golden haired warrior, but stopped when he saw Erestor speaking softly to Glorfindel. The King´s councillor shivered as for the first time he took in the weary and pale look of the two elves in front of him, and only now realized that numerous bandages covered the visible parts of the two elven bodies. Oh, he was such a fool. Something terrible must have happened two nights ago and he had nothing better to do, than to poke in open wounds. Lord Elrond was probably mortally wounded. No, he would not even think further on this possibility.

He stood in the entryway, hesitating. He wished that the earth would open and swallow him, yet he wanted nothing more than to apologize for his rude behaviour. He did not know how to approach the elves. How should he start? What should he say? Not able to reach a suitable solution, he turned away to leave so that he would not cause any more distress.

After one step however, he heard a soft call behind him.  Although he was unsure, he turned and looked at the two elves. If he had expected anger, there was only sadness.

“Glorfindel, Erestor,” he whispered with a quavering voice. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. When I saw the boy injured all my self control snapped. Please forgive me?”

Glorfindel stepped forward and laid a hand on the unhappy man’s shoulder. “There is nothing to forgive, Baradon. I think we all overreacted a bit. Come let us fetch some food and look after the boy and then I will tell you what happened”. Not trusting his voice, Baradon nodded gratefully and followed the two elves.

To be continued……………………..

A/N:

I will be unavailable for two to three weeks and will respond to reviews and post new chapters as soon as I can when I return. Thanks for your patience. Lai

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Chapter 9: Any hope ?

Celeborn stretched his back, after he secured the last items onto the great wagon ready to depart for home, and looked with satisfaction at the work done so far. Many days had passed and now the damaged part of the house had been restored and a new roof had been attached. He knew there was much work left, especially inside, but the most important steps were done, and this was necessary to help lift the spirits of the Rivendell elves. They were still busy removing the last remnants of the fire but soon they would have time to come to terms with what had happened. Afterwards, they would all feel the depression that held the valley in its’ grip much clearer.

The absence of their Lord could be felt everywhere. Many had returned to their day-to-day lives but the dark haired Elf-Lord´s spirit was too deeply connected to the well-being of the valley and because of that his presence was greatly missed.

Celeborn sighed, as he saw his daughter sitting on a stone bench in her favourite rose garden with her sons to the left and right of her. The two elflings looked downcast, not yet knowing what had happened to their father, but nonetheless feeling that something was amiss. Until now they had refused to allow the children to see their father, because they feared they would not be able to explain what had happened. For days, they had not eaten properly despite all efforts to distract them and they hardly left their mother´s side.

When he spotted his wife, waving at him and pointing at the children, he walked over to his daughter, picked up an elfling and sat beside the trio. “Hello you two,” he said and smiled at the sad faces looking back at him. “Would you like to join your grandmother? She has a surprise for you!”

Hesitantly looking up at their mother, Celebrían nodded encouragingly. Looking at each other the boys communicated silently and finally walked toward their waiting grandmother. She waited until her mother had received them, then Celebrían´s expression fell and tears came again to her eyes.

Closing the space between them, Celeborn laid an arm gently around his daughter’s shoulders and held her against his chest. “Do not despair yet,” he whispered. “Maybe he needs his time to heal.” Without looking up Celebrían shook her head. “I know you mean well, Ada,” she whispered, “but even Centhar has nearly lost hope. This morning I overheard him speaking to Glorfindel and Erestor. He asked them to take over Elrond’s duties.”

Having spoken these words so often in the past days the silver haired Elf-Lord sighed knowing that even his hope was waning now. “This means nothing, yet someone must take over the duties necessary to run this community and…”

Celeborn was interrupted as his daughter jerked away and looked at him with watery eyes. “How can our lives return to normal? They cannot replace him and we cannot simply go on, as if nothing has happened!” she shouted. “He’s still alive! Why did he have to go back to rescue this human?” Shaking violently, Celebrían sank to her knees knowing that her anger was misdirected and shameful.

Celeborn quickly knelt in the grass next to her and embraced his distressed child again. “I’m sorry, Ada,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean what I just said.” Laying a finger under her chin, Celeborn titled the head of his daughter up. “Have faith. Elrond will recover. His time on Arda isn’t over yet. If you desire we can stay a little longer.”

Searching her father´s eyes for the meaning of this cryptic statement, Celebrían smiled faintly. “No, Ada. I am feeling better already. Thank you. I promise we will manage.” Wiping the remaining tears from his daughter´s face Celeborn smiled back. “Of that I’m sure, my dear. And now try to get some rest. Don’t worry about the boys, your mother and I will keep them occupied.”

…………………………………………………

Glorfindel stepped silently into the dimmed room and looked hopefully, as always, at the pale figure on the bed.  As usual he was greeted by closed eyes. The room was filled with the intense scent of athelas, vaporized in a steaming bowl of hot water to ease the Elf-Lord’s laboured breathing. This time however the magic plant seemed to fail. Glorfindel was not relaxed by inhaling the steam either. The affected breathing of the Elf-Lord however was not the greatest cause for concern. Elrond’s lungs would recover given time, but the distressing fact that the Elf-lord had not woken yet shocked all. Elrond had been unconscious for nearly four weeks now and there was nothing that indicated this would change anytime soon.

With a shuddering breath Glorfindel sat down in the overstuffed chair near the bed and looked at the unmoving figure. The burns were healing nicely, albeit slowly because of the lack of conscious efforts from the dark haired elf. But what worth did this have when he did not regain consciousness? Many thoughts circled in his mind of late and for the first time in his life he did not really know how to go on.

What if the Elf-Lord´s brain was damaged too much and he would never regain consciousness? What if he would wake up and was not able to lead Rivendell any longer? Both options were terrible images for the ones who hoped day-by-day that all would turn out well in the end. On the outside, Glorfindel still held the hope high for the sake of Elrond´s family but deep inside, he had nearly reached the end of his endurance. Bowing his head in despair, the golden warrior could no longer hold back the tears he had held in check for so long, and he was grateful that no one was witnessing this. All looked to him for guidance and strength and he played his part with much self control and will power. After weeks of hard labour and hoping every day for relieving news from the healers, he was weary beyond measure in both body and spirit.

He jerked up, when someone touched his shoulder lightly and quickly slipped his mask of confidence back in place. “Please take my seat”, he said softly to Celebrían, yet the look on her face told him that she had seen through his charade. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she whispered. The golden haired warrior shook his head and embraced the silver haired woman. Quickly hot tears soaked his tunic and so they stood relishing each other’s comfort. As Centhar entered the room, they broke apart and Glorfindel planted a kiss on Celebrían´s forehead and squeezed her arm reassuringly.

After closing the door quietly, he walked aimlessly down the corridor toward the destroyed part of the house. The outer walls were restored by now, yet the interior still looked chaotic. Even worse was the smell. The smell of fire burning was always there. It had penetrated every piece of furniture. The inhabitants had removed all draperies and hangings and all coverings and linens, either burned or unharmed, but the smell could not be driven away.

This corridor was the last to be restored, because no important rooms, like the kitchen or the healing ward lay here and had needed immediate attention. This day Glorfindel and many other inhabitants had the first opportunity to look through what may have remained of their personal belongings. Reaching his chambers, he climbed over a black pile of molten items, no longer recognizable. After a look around, he realized that not much was left of the room he called his. Unenthusiastically he poked at the scattered items at the floor not hoping to find anything he could still use.

Suddenly however his eyes widened, as he glimpsed his bow, lurking under the remnants of his bed. Quickly he removed the burned wooden beams and blackened sheets and could hardly believe his eyes. The bow was unharmed and it seemed as if the fire had made a curve around it. A smile crept back onto his face. The bow was a precious gift and had served him well.

With new confidence, he searched further and found many items the fire had spared. Stowing the things in a bag, he took a last look around and left the now useless room, walking down the corridor toward his temporary new home. The old rooms would be restored, if possible, but for now there were much more pressing things to attend to.

Walking by the twins’ bedroom, he stopped again and stepped through the gaping door frame, now lacking its’ door. Standing in the middle of the destroyed chamber, he shuddered as he thought about how much more disastrous the outcome could have become if the twins had not slept in their parent´s bed that night. He did not know if anyone would have been able to rescue the children. Then he sighed. The outcome was bad enough already.

Glimpsing something well known on the floor, he bent down to retrieve two fluffy stuffed toy horses made by Celebrían. They were a little dirty and tousled but otherwise unharmed. He stuffed them into his tunic knowing how cherished they were by their owners.

When he heard a commotion outside, he walked through the still supported main door and realized that the helpers were ready to depart. Having expressed his thanks already, he stopped before Galadriel and Celeborn and bowed with his fist over his heart.

Celeborn squeezed the hand of the golden haired warrior firmly after his wife had embraced Lord Elrond´s chief councillor. Waving toward the window where Celebrían stood the two wood elves nodded and turned. Glorfindel knew that Celebrían had said her farewell already.

Standing there until the procession was out of sight he turned and headed back inside. He had another task left to attend to, hoping that any item worth rescuing had survived.

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Chapter 10: return to normal?

Five days later most of the debris had been cleared away and nearly all of the inhabitants had returned to their restored rooms. Items from the burned interior were brought outside and inspected to determine if they could be reused. Many items could be cleaned and renewed, others were lost forever.

The greatest damage was in the kitchen area. These rooms were undoubtly where the fire had started and were completely destroyed. Lives in Rivendell slowly returned to normal, or so it seemed.

Glorfindel and Erestor sat in silence in Elrond’s study, trying desperately to wear down the mountain of paperwork piled high at the desk. Both elves worked efficiently but wondered inwardly how the Elf-Lord managed this day-by-day on his own. Glorfindel hated sitting here. He felt he was betraying his friend with every paper he reviewed. Looking into Erestor´s face, he saw that his friend was fighting a similar internal battle. Nonetheless, it could not be helped; the work had to be done.

Looking up when the door opened, Glorfindel smiled at Celebrían who was entering holding a tray with hot steaming teacups. It was just the break he needed right now. However, when he looked again at his Lady, his face sobered. Despite her smile, she looked pale and appeared frail. The worry for her husband was draining her and seeing the two elves sitting here in his study didn’t help her mood either.

“Thank you. Will you stay with us?" he asked as he took the tray from her with a grateful smile.

“No thank you,” she answered. “…You know… Elladan…. I can’t leave him for long.” Glorfindel nodded and without another word she turned and left. Erestor closed the door behind her.

While sipping his tea Glorfindel looked at the dark haired councillor sitting opposite him, but Erestor was again lost in thought and was not aware of the gaze. Returning his focus to the papers, he contemplated what Celebrían had just said. Something was wrong with the child. He had been ill for the last three days. It was extremely rare for elves to become ill and even the healers could not discover the underlying reason for the child’s sickness. He did not eat, had a slight fever and was unsteady on his feet.

His brother fared little better and Glorfindel doubted that it was only the trauma of the fire catching up with them. They had been shielded from the drama which had befallen their father and the destruction the fire had caused. The elflings’ room had been restored first, and any necessary changes had been as small as possible.

The reason for their ailment had other possible sources of course. The boys missed their father and sensed the depression all around them. As young as they were, they felt clearly that the unnatural cheerfulness toward them was nothing more than a façade.

Two days ago they were allowed to see their still unconscious father, yet they couldn’t understand what had happened to him. They had only seen the unresponsive Elf-Lord and had thought him already dead. All attempts to convince them otherwise had failed. Glorfindel sighed, fearing that the children’s’ impressions might not be wrong. Elrond´s body was alive, yes, but his mind had retreated. He was like the dead; unreachable for the ones around him.

Glorfindel didn’t know how long he could endure this state, but what could he do? Should he beg the Lord of Mandos to complete his task, or perhaps he could beg the Valar to send Elrond back? But would he be restored as before?

…………………………………………………..

Later that day Glorfindel slipped into Elrond´s room. The healers had transferred him here, when his injuries had healed enough so that he did not require permanent attention. Centhar had hoped that the familiar surroundings would trigger a reaction. Until now his hopes had been in vain. Celebrían spent as much time as possible at her husband’s side, but was forced to leave often to look after her sons. Their condition did not worsen, but neither did it improve.

Glorfindel was relieved to find the room empty of other visitors. He briefly glanced at the bed, a habit that had become routine and then he turned toward the balcony door gazing towards the mountains. His thoughts ran in circles. What if…? What would become of the valley? What would happen to the rest of the little family without the Elf-Lord? What if…what if…what if…?

Sighing he knew that he was tormenting himself. He was someone used to acting. This suspended state made him crazy and the situation was becoming almost unbearable. He did not know how much longer they could go on like this.

After some time, he turned sighing and nearly tripped over a chair in shock, as two steel grey eyes looked back at him. He quickly regained his balance, the outer more easily than the inner and blinked not to succumb to an illusion or wishful thinking. Then he rushed to the bed overjoyed at the sight.

“Valar, Elrond,” he breathed, “You are awake!” Worry quickly replaced his relief as the Elf-Lord did not respond. He looked confusedly at the warrior, as if he did not understand what was said.

An icy hand grabbed at Glorfindel´s heart, as Centhar´s warning came back to him. ‘We fear that the lack of oxygen will do damage to the brain’. No! His mind screamed that this could not be. This was worse than death.

Fearing his legs would not support him any longer, he quickly sat on the edge of the mattress, taking the Elf-Lord’s hand in his. “Elrond…can you hear me, my friend?” he asked softly, quickly banishing all worry from his face. He gazed intently at the grey eyes.

“Glorfindel?” was the weak, but nonetheless clear reply. And with the reply the damage was done and the golden haired warrior could not hold back his tears any longer, knowing that Elrond had recognized him.

“Yes it’s me,” he choked. “Welcome back, my friend. You gave us quite a scare.”

Squeezing Glorfindel´s hand slightly Elrond tried a weak smile. “Not my intention,” he whispered.

Not trusting his voice Glorfindel only nodded, too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought.

They sat there simply looking at each other for several minutes. Finally, when Glorfindel was able to stand, he held a cup to Elrond’s parched lips, guiding him to drink.

Leaning back the dark haired elf nodded gratefully. “Thank you… so tired,” was all he could manage, before he closed his eyes again.

This time he would only sleep, Glorfindel thought, heaving a grateful sigh. Pulling the blanket up to his friend’s chin, he quickly left the room to find Centhar and inform Celebrían.

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Chapter 11: he´s back

Centhar had just finished his examination of the now sleeping twins, when the door to their room banged open and Glorfindel appeared breathless at the doorframe. All colour drained from Celebrían´s face, when she recognized the dishelved appearance and feared the reason behind it.

Glorfindel tried to catch his breath and quickly stepped toward Celebrían, seeing the worries his sudden entrance had provoked. Not wanting to heighten the tension any further, he took Celebrían´s cold hands in his and smiled at her. “He has awakened, and even better he has recognized me.” A small cry escaped Celebrían´s lips and Glorfindel quickly embraced her, feeling all the pent-up tension leaving her.

Stunned speechless for some moments instead the healer quickly gathered his supplies and left knowing that Glorfindel would take care of Celebrían. Throwing all dignity to the wind, he ran down the corridor, anxious to see for himself that the unbelievable had come true. His mind occupied with the many thoughts tumbling through it, he nearly collided with Erestor when he sprinted around a corner. Like Celebrían, Erestor also misinterpreted the need for haste and the dark haired councillor looked anxiously at the healer, after they had both regained their balance. Not wanting to say anything before he had seen it with his own eyes, Centhar simply ran past Erestor.

Overwhelmed within his grief, Erestor stood there frozen to the spot. Detached, he heard a door open and looked up when he saw Glorfindel emerging from the twins’ room with a crying Celebrían in his arms. He closed his eyes. His worst fears had come to pass.

“No!” he choked, barely able to take another breath.

Hearing the faint sound Glorfindel looked up and paled, seeing the desolate expression on his friend’s face.  Here was someone else who had misunderstood the situation. Everyone in this house was taut as a bowstring, ever fearing that the final call had come to their Lord.

Receiving a reassuring nod from his Lady, the golden warrior rushed toward Erestor and grabbed his arm. “Peace, Erestor,” he said calmly, quite happy that he could repeat the good news. “Elrond is alive. He has awakened and has spoken to me.”

The councillor’s shocked expression quickly changed into one of pure joy and together the three elves quickly followed the healer. Reaching Elrond´s room, Centhar suddenly hesitated. What if this was all a dream and he would wake just now to the gruelling reality? Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself, remembering the joy in Glorfindel´s eyes just a few minutes before. Taking a deep breath he silently opened the door and slipped inside, minutes later followed by Celebrían, Glorfindel and Erestor. The healer’s sigh of relief at seeing his patient awake and looking directly at him, was audible.

Rushing past him, Celebrían sat on the mattress and gently caressed her husband’s cheek. Words were not needed as the two gazed at each other.

Clearing his throat the healer stepped up beside the bed. “How do you feel, my Lord?” he asked softly, while watching his patient intently.

Tearing his gaze from his wife’s face, Elrond looked at the healer. Centhar registered with delight that the Elf-Lord´s eyes looked clear and bright.

“My head aches and I´m a bit dizzy, but otherwise all seems well,” he answered hoarsely.

Pouring his patient a glass of water, Centhar smiled. While he was swallowing the refreshing liquid, the Elf-Lord clearly recognised the rather forced smiles on Glorfindel´s and Erestor´s face and frowned.

“How long have I been unconscious?” he asked, redirecting his gaze at Centhar.

The young healer exchanged a quick glance with Celebrían. “You should rest now and regain your strength,” Celebrían answered instead of Centhar and took the glass from her husband.

Glorfindel cringed inwardly when he saw the frown deepen on his friend’s face. So much for this attempt to distract the Elf-Lord he thought.

“Centhar, how long?” Elrond asked again. The young healer flinched at the tone, knowing a command when he heard one.

“Five weeks, my Lord,” he answered softly.

Elrond, a healer himself, knew only too well what this meant and he gasped. Now he perfectly understood the fear and doubt on the faces of the four elves standing before him. They had feared for five long weeks that he would never wake again or be damaged to some degree.

He lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry”, he whispered, squeezing his wife’s hand absentmindedly.

Laying a reassuring hand on Centhar´s shoulder Glorfindel sat on the other side of the bed. “There is nothing to be sorry for, my friend. We are only glad that you have returned to us. That’s all that matters now.”

“Yes, it is,” Celebrían whispered tearfully and she planted a gentle kiss on her husband’s lips.

Elrond smiled and even Centhar relaxed a bit after the Elf-Lord had assured them again that he was well. Suddenly, however, the worry crept back across his face. Looking at his friends he was nearly afraid to ask. “What of Arahel?”

“Don’t worry, Elrond,” Erestor spoke for the first time, “he is fine.”

Intently searching the two Elf-Lords faces, Elrond clearly sensed that there was more to this simple statement, but for now he would let it be.

Suddenly noticing that it was much too quiet, he looked at his wife. “I miss the boys. Where are they?” With a supreme effort, Celebrían quickly hid her worry and forced a smile on her face. It was only due to Elrond´s weakened state that he failed to notice the tension all around him at the mention of his children.

“They are sleeping and they will be very eager to see you in the morning”, Celebrían replied diplomatically.

Not quite a lie, Glorfindel thought, admiring the quick reaction. Feeling that something was withheld from him, but much too tired to follow this thought any longer, the Elf-Lord smiled and finally heeded the healer’s advice. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly.

Four heavy sighs could be heard, as the visitors left the room silently, but with much lighter spirits then when they had entered.

……………………………………………………………………

The next day Glorfindel opened the door to Elrond’s room, but hesitated when he saw Celebrían sitting on her husband’s bed. “Glorfindel,” Elrond called, because he had spotted the golden haired elf. “Please come in.” Glorfindel nodded and stepped inside, silently closing the door.

The Elf-Lord looked much better today, albeit still far too pale for Glorfindel´s liking. Nonetheless he smiled to himself, as he thought about, how quickly the good news had spread through the valley.

When Glorfindel was seated in a nearby chair, Elrond gazed at him soberly. “Celebrían has told me, what Erestor and you have done. Thank you, my friend for doing what I could not, and… for saving my life,” he whispered. Glorfindel only squeezed his friend´s hand reassuringly. These few words were spoken with such gratitude, that it made him forget all the hardships.

“You are welcome,” Glorfindel answered and Elrond swallowed, knowing full well what risk his two friends had taken.

“Glorfindel, you never should have risked so much, not even for me,” Elrond said looking earnestly into his friend’s eyes.

Glorfindel sighed. “Stop it, Elrond. All has turned out well and that’s all that matters, all right?”

Nodding Elrond looked up. “How are your injuries now? Do they still pain you?” he asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. “All is healing well, thanks to Centhar. He’s a worthy substitute of you.”

“That he is,” Elrond confirmed, “that he is. But still I have not heard the whole story.” He was looking questioningly at Glorfindel. The golden warrior sighed, settled himself comfortably in the chair and began his tale.

Occasionally Elrond looked horrified or bewildered. Then he looked grateful after Glorfindel mentioned the help of the Lorien elves and the restoration work already done. Squeezing the hand of his wife, he silently thanked her for her parent’s help.

When Glorfindel had finished Elrond sighed, clearly feeling still some amount of tension between them. “Thank you, my friend and what part of the story have the two of you neglected so far?” he asked.

Caught off guard this time, Celebrían was not able to hide the worry for her sons. Elrond gasped, as he recognized the concern in her eyes. “Celebrían, what is it? Where are they? Are they injured? Please, you must tell me,” he said pleadingly?

Seeing that Celebrían was not able to answer, Glorfindel laid a reassuring hand on his friend´s arm. “Peace, Elrond, it’s not that bad. Elladan has been ill for three days. He refuses to eat and has a light fever. I think it is simply because he misses you and he senses the desperation around him.”

Calming down a little, Elrond nodded and embraced his wife, seeing the tension of the last few days leaving her in palpable waves. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I couldn’t tell you. You had just returned to us and… and…”

Elrond stroke her hair gently. “Shht. I understand, yet you should have told me.” Celebrían nodded, relieved that she could now share the burden of her worry. Easily guessing the next action, Glorfindel shook his head.

“Oh no, Elrond, there is no way for you to leave the bed. But…,” he held up his hand, seeing his friend about to protest, “but I will bring them to you, if you wish.”

Contemplating the compromise, Elrond knew this was the best result he could gain at the moment. He nodded. “Yes, please bring them to me. Thank you.”

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Chapter 12: little ones

When Glorfindel and Celebrían entered the children’s renovated room, the silver haired elf squeezed the warrior’s arm gratefully. “Thank you Gorfindel for everything and now for helping me again,” she said, quickly planting a kiss on Glorfindel´s cheek.

“No reason for thanks,” Glorfindel smiled back. He bent down over the bed and gently shook Elladan until the older twin looked at him with dulled eyes.

“Glorfi?” he asked softly.

“Yes, little one, it’s me. Would you two like to see your Ada right now?” the golden-haired elf asked. The eyes of the elflings, now both awake, grew wide.

“Ada is here?” Elrohir asked breathless.

“Yes, he is resting in the next room, my sweet,” Celebrían smiled and gathered Elrohir in her arms. Glorfindel did likewise with Elladan. He frowned, feeling the unnatural heat the little body emanated. Quickening his pace, Glorfindel, closely followed by Celebrían, ran down the corridor and opened the door to Elrond’s room. He saw the Elf-Lord sitting upright in his bed with his back leaning against the headboard for support.

Elrond looked anxiously at the two elves entering holding his children. He stretched out his arms to gather the older twin from Glorfindel and immediately began to assess the state of the elfling. Celebrían sat on the other side of her husband rocking a sleepy Elrohir in her arms.

Glorfindel noticed that Elrond had removed all his visible bandages so he would not frighten the children any more. Celebrían placed the younger twin right beside his brother in his father’s lap.

The boys looked up and Elladan stretched out his tiny hand to touch his father’s face. “Ada,” he breathed, “you are not dead?”

Tears ran down the Elf-Lord’s face while he carefully hugged his two sons close. “No,” he choked. “I’m here and I will never leave you both. Do you hear me? Your Nana and I will always be there for you.” Receiving two weak nods he rubbed soothing circles onto the boys backs reaching out with his healing senses to detect what was amiss.

After a while he opened his eyes and smiled reassuringly at his wife. The boys’ distress over the fire and the mistaken loss of their father went deep, but was nothing that could not be repaired. He instantly poured as much healing energy as he could spare at the moment into the two bodies.

Celebrían and Glorfindel heaved great sighs of relief, when Elrond placed the two now-sleeping elflings next to him in the large bed. Emotionally and mentally drained the Elf-Lord closed his eyes and leaned back. Glorfindel smiled and left the room to give the family some privacy.

Coming back an hour or so later with Centhar on his heels they smiled at the sight that greeted them. Elrond lay side by side with his wife, the elflings between them. All four looked content and slept peacefully. The healer turned wordlessly. His help was no longer required here.

Without a sound Glorfindel closed the door determined not to disturb them. He clasped the young healer lightly on the shoulder. Now the true healing could begin. Now he was going to sleep for the next century.

………………………………………………

Two days later Centhar gave his permission for Elrond to leave his bed. Not that he had the power to stop the Elf-Lord’s will anyway, but Elrond was sensible enough to heed the young healer´s warnings. He knew very well that his head injury was a severe one and not to be taken lightly.

When he had donned breeches and a shirt, Centhar extended his hand to help him stand. Instantly the room began to spin and the Elf-Lord leaned heavily on his young colleague. “Take it slowly,” Centhar said, as Elrond struggled to regain his balance.

“I’m tired of being confined to my bed,” the Elf-Lord groaned. “I want to feel the sun on my skin again.”

The young healer smiled back, “A bit of your own medicine, my Lord?” Elrond glared at the young elf and Centhar guided him toward the door, muttering. “Healers are the worst patients.”

“I heard that!” Elrond replied grumpily, but he squeezed the other’s arm affectionately.

Hours later Elrond eagerly walked down the stairs leading toward the dining room, much more confident in his steps now so he could walk unaided. When he pushed open the two double doors, he was surprised to see so many elves gathered there. All fell silent, as he looked around, until two high pitched cries cut the silence.

“Ada!” “Ada!” The twins shouted, leaving their seats and running toward their father. Glorfindel quickly got in their path, slowing them considerably, not knowing how steady Elrond was on his feet just yet.

“Hold on, slow down,” he said, catching the two whirlwinds in his arms. The children had recovered remarkably quickly. “You do not want to knock your Ada down, do you?”

Shaking their heads the twins lowered their eyes, not really understanding why their father suddenly could not catch them as always. Elrond, kneeling meanwhile, sent a grateful nod toward the golden warrior and opened his arms. At a slower pace the twins rushed into their father’s arms and snuggled close.

A raising murmur could be heard at this scene. The elves of Rivendell were happy to have their Lord in their midst again. Elrond walked over to his usual seat, obviously enjoying the cheerful atmosphere. He squeezed the shoulder of his wife gently.

While the dinner was served, he took a quick look at Erestor and Glorfindel and observed them quietly. Red patches, where the burns had healed, still showed on some parts of the skin, yet the two elves seemed to feel no more discomfort. Looking at the happy faces of his children, he was relieved that they too had healed from their mental trauma.

Lost in his thoughts, he jerked up when Celebrían gently touched his arm.

“Where have you been, love?” she asked softly.

Elrond smiled and shook his head. “I’m glad that all turned out well in the end. I only wish I could have thanked your parents personally for their help.”

Celebrían smiled back. “That’s not necessary. My naneth enjoyed being in charge of something she was not accustomed to.”

Before Elrond could repeat anything the door opened again and five representatives of King Valandil entered, guided by Lindir. Elrond recognized Baradon and his little charge Arahel in front of the group and rose. “Please join us”, he said, gesturing them toward his table.

Unsure Baradon hesitated, seeing Glorfindel and Erestor sitting there. Clearly remembering his shameful behaviour toward the Elf-Lords he lowered his eyes. Elrond, not yet knowing what had happened, frowned and looked at Glorfindel. He realized here was another part of the story he did not know about yet.

Not wanting to let the sudden silence stretch any longer, he redirected his gaze at the man. “What is wrong, my friend?” he asked, waiting for the man to look up. Shifting uncomfortable the councillor finally looked up. He had hoped to make his apology in a more private manner, but it could not be helped. He took a deep breath.

“My Lords,” Baradon finally managed to say, addressing Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor, “I’m sorry about what happened to you when you went in search of Arahel, and I’m forever grateful that you did.”

Sensing there was more to this story that he did not yet fully understand, Elrond squeezed the man’s shoulder reassuringly. “There is nothing to be sorry for, my friend. You are welcome. All that matters in the end is that we can sit together today.”

Looking into the open and friendly faces of the three Elf-Lords Baradon sighed relieved.

Feeling a tug on his robe, Elrond looked down at the little human boy. Celebrían lifted him into her lap, giving him the opportunity to say something. Quickly the boy gripped Elrond around his neck and planted a shy kiss on his cheek when he bent forward to look at the boy. “Thank you,” he whispered in the Elf-Lord’s ear, “for not leaving me there.”

Wriggling from Celebrían´s lap he repeated the action with Glorfindel and Erestor. Elrond smiled at the boy and hugged him close when he had returned to him. “You are welcome, young one,” he whispered back, battling fiercely to hold his threatening tears in check.

Only then did he realize that it had become deadly silent in the room. Every pair of eyes was directed at him. Lifting the boy, still wearing his splint around his ankle into the free chair next to him he whispered. “Would you like to get rid of these splints tomorrow?”

The shining eyes of the boy were all the answer he needed.

To be continued……………………..

To Lose Hope, is To Give Up

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Chapter 13: epilogue

Early the next morning Elrond removed the cast from Arahel´s leg. He had received a message from King Valandil thanking him for rescuing his son and promising to visit over the next summer.

Later that morning they said farewell to the royal group. When the procession was out of sight Elrond turned and for the first time, he really looked at his house and the damage the fire had done. He rounded the house hesitantly yet eagerly to assess the state of repair. Absentmindedly he trailed his fingertips over the long gash on his forehead, knowing full well how narrowly he had escaped this chaos.

Walking inside, he headed toward the kitchen where the fire must have started. They would never find out exactly what had started it. He turned left and hesitated as he looked at the blackened door of his library. Fearing the worst he slowly pushed the creaking door open and looked into a room no longer recognizable.

The many tables and chairs usually lining the wall were no more. The book shelves had crumbled under their heavy load as the fire had licked at them. The walls were blackened and the draperies smoke-soaked beyond any hope of repair. Everything was ready to be torn down.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder he jumped, so absorbed had he been in his thoughts. Looking at Glorfindel, he frowned when the blond elf smiled at him. He was more in the mood for crying not laughing. Sensing Elrond’s inner turmoil Glorfindel grabbed the Elf-Lord’s arm. “Come,” he said softly, “I will show you something.”

Puzzled Elrond followed his seneschal down the corridor until they reached a door. With a bow Glorfindel smiled and opened the door. “After you!” he said. Raising an eyebrow Elrond moved past Glorfindel into the old storeroom beyond and gasped at the sight that greeted him.

Blinking rapidly he could hardly believe it. He saw long rows of books and scrolls, maps and tomes neatly piled up along the wall. Many elves were simply sitting on the floor cleaning what was still of worth from the ash and dirt the fire had left. “Most of the books could be rescued, albeit a few were destroyed or beyond repair,” Glorfindel whispered in the Elf-Lord’s ear.

Unable to say anything and not trusting his voice right now, Elrond walked along the rows and let his fingertips wander over the books. He was neither aware of the smiles that followed him nor the grateful nod Glorfindel sent toward the many helpers. After a while Elrond swallowed twice and looked around. “Thank you all. This means so much to me,” was all he could manage at the moment, and it was needless anyway, for the elves saw the joy in their Lord´s face. Literally fleeing from the storeroom to save the last of his dignity, Elrond was gone, leaving bemused smiling elves and a satisfied Glorfindel.

Standing at an open window Elrond wiped the tears from his eyes never aware of the two elflings watching him in awe. After a tug on his robe, he knelt and scooped his sons into his arms. “Why are you crying, Ada?” Elladan asked anxiously.

Elrond smiled. “I am crying because I’m happy. These are tears of joy not of sorrow.” Satisfied with the answer the twins snuggled close. Yes, all was well again.

The end